by Kylie Leane
Zafiashid laughed and he shot her a glare, fluffing the fur of his chest in frustration. “I would be grateful, Mother, if you took better care of the sand-ship I will inherit when you cross the Osiris Gate.”
“You will not inherit it, my prince. Your queen will.”
“It will still be my sand-ship.”
Torka cracked a laugh. “Maybe we might find your queen some legs this time, heh, boy. Some records did say those Zaprexes could rebuild limbs better than our Kattamont mechanics.”
Aaldryn quenched Khamsin’s internal raging tornado. The indecency of the Human man was beyond insulting. It was enough to justify cleaving his head from his shoulders and putting it on a stake. Had this been any other Pride, he would have.
“I will prepare myself for the dive, Mother.” Aaldryn turned sharply, his fan-tail coiled irritably. Maybe if he had wind-blessed luck, Torka would take a bad fall this scavenger hunt and never come back up. After all, the burning-sea took no prisoners. He heard his mother’s laughter as he stomped away. It was troubling, though; he was not entirely sure if he was happier to be away from Torka or his mother.
Neither his mate nor his blood-brother were in their cabin, their usual hiding place from the crew of the Pride. Aaldryn breathed in their lingering scents. It calmed his nerves. Collecting his assortment of archaeological and dive equipment from a locked chest he donned the hand-crafted belts and foot-paw pads and snatched up the face-mask. It was a ghastly thing, made all the more uncomfortable by the tubes that attached to his air-gills, but the presence of toxins could be possible in any ancient Zaprex ruin, and that could not be taken lightly, even by a Kattamont. He had seen Humans melt when exposed to spores and gases below the surface of the burning-sea.
He headed topside. Zafiashid’s voice was shrill over the groaning of the Lawless Child and the bustling of the crew as they anchored the sand-ship on the edge of a high dune wave. Khamsin’s spirit soared through him and Aaldryn breathed out deeply, sensing the delight of the wind-god as its tentacles danced around the metal of something beyond his sight. They had found it—something old, and yet it felt impossibly new and undamaged by the passage of time and the burning-sea.
Aaldryn sighted Nixlye on the deck leaning over the railing. Her tail poked through a hole in her wheelchair, flapping in a clear display of joy. He smiled. For a half-breed, his mate leant more toward a Kattamont nature, and for that he was eternally grateful. Her Humanness was in her peculiar hands and her cute little nose. She had none of the magnificent Kattamont air-gills but had at least inherited a tail and fur. She was already a queen, though she pretended otherwise for the sake of their Pride unity and his mother’s sanity—though neither queen would admit it to the other.
At the death of a queen, such as his Pride mother, the waiting neutral princess would mature and take her place, inheriting the Pride, including the princes and neutrals under her rule. His mother was not dead; she was an outcast, staying alive by her sheer desire to win back the honour she had lost. Nixlye was not a neutral princess, but, out of deference to his mother, she kept the façade as his mother’s princess. He was sure this was only possible because his mate was half-Human and their Pride was one of misfits. It was the part of her that was Human that did not mind being a second queen to his mother.
After all, in truth, it was his mother who suffered—she had no princes, no one to care for her; she was alone—like a rythrya stone amongst the sand dune waves, weathering the storms of the burning-sea’s rage.
Nixlye was the true queen; the shadow queen his blood-brother would often say.
With stubby ears twitching, she caught his stare. The glow of her rosy fur brightened at his admiring gaze.
“Ryn!”
He smiled at her shortened version of his name. It bothered his mother, which was perhaps the reason both his blood-brother and his mate used it so often.
“Oh, Ryn, isn’t it beautiful! I wish I could go with you.”
His chest ached as she rolled the wheels of her chair around. Under the patchwork blanket of her own making, he knew her legs lay limp. Only he and his blood-brother had the privilege of seeing her uncovered. His mate was strong, not only in spirit, but also in body. Her life was one of tribulation. He had been childish, thinking his little extra digits were a blight on his life. Nixlye had still been in the womb-sack of a female, and, due to the mutation of her bones, her legs had never developed correctly. It pained him to think that were it not for the softened heart of one Iposti she would not be alive to love him.
He hooked his extra digits into his belts and levitated over the deck, landing beside her in a swell of wind.
“If the Human oafs were not coming I would take you, love.”
“You shouldn’t speak ill of Torka; he is a nice man. Besides, I am half-Human, so you should be kinder to my people.” Nixlye fluffed her chest fur, settling back in her chair.
Aaldryn rolled his eyes. Nixlye’s insistence on acknowledging her Human side extended to wearing Human clothing, which was bothersome to get off her at night, and it ruined her adorable rosy pelt. Why keep fur as luxuriant as his mother’s under that much fabric? He did not see the point. Kattamont fur was supposed to be without restriction; otherwise it did not absorb sunlight or starlight—but, no, Nixlye refused to listen to his nattering on the subject.
“You’re judging me; I can feel it.” She eyed him.
“I’m undressing you in my head,” he sniped back.
Her tail thumped him, causing him to stagger forward, more in surprise than at the force of her strike. He caught her cocky grin and the shine of her mottled eyes.
“Find me something, Ryn. Bring me back a gift.”
She so loved the beautiful wonders they uncovered, the artefacts of centuries past that her fingers could touch and her mind process. He promised himself he would find something for her to cherish, just to see her happiness.
The wheels of her chair grated over the deck and her hands grasped the surface of the railing. Nixlye stared wistfully over the horizon. “Be safe, too,” she murmured.
“I will, I promise.” The adventure of discovery was thrilling, but it was still dangerous. Even with all the caverns of secret wonders, the possibility of finding clues as to why Utillia existed as a land of scorching irrational sand, there always remained the danger he might not return from below. He had been raised a warrior-scribe, and he would always seek the answers, despite the risks.
Aaldryn fluttered a soft breath of wind across Nixlye cheek, causing her to laugh as she tucked her hair behind a perky ear.
“I can feel it, Ryn.” She tipped her head toward him. “I don’t know what it is, but I know we’re getting closer to the source of our dreams. We’ll figure it out—what happened to us.”
She was speaking about his extra digits, his mutation, and how she even existed at all—half-breeds—they should have been impossible.
He did not know which was sadder: the fact that his mate believed unswervingly in the Zaprexes or that, no matter how much they searched, they never came any closer to that which all misfits dreamed of—the cities of gold.
Aaldryn bent and nuzzled her cheek. “I trust our dreams. They have carried us this far.”
“As do I.”
Aaldryn straightened at Zafiashid’s low voice. He stepped aside from Nixlye sharply, bowing to the queen.
“There is an island nearby; we shall dock there and await your return. It is far too dangerous to keep the Lawless this close to a null-zone; we could destabilize the gravity and collapse the area onto you while you dive.” Zafiashid approached, brushing a paw through Nixlye’s hair tenderly. Aaldryn curled his foot-claws against the wooden planking.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Then you have your orders, prince. Come back alive.”
“Always.” He sent a swell of wind toward Nixlye to caress her cheek as he turned and skipped over the edge of the sand-ship into the burning-sea below.
One of Aaldryn’s great plea
sures in life was annoying Torka with his ability to walk on the burning-sea without sinking. Only skilled Iposti chaplains could do this, and the fact that he, a young prince, flaunted it, irked the Human scavenger to no end. He could tell from the twitching of Torka’s eyebrow and the way his lips curved into thin lines. The man loathed him, and the feeling was well returned in kind.
The surging pulses of the destabilizing gravity of the null-zone made his fur spike. He would never get used to the sheer power that Zaprex technology radiated, nor come to understand how and why pockets of emptiness would open up within the burning-sea and leave vast sectors unstable. Some burning-seafolk called them holes, but they were not holes in the term of a visible gap one could swing a rope into and drop down into the dark depths. It was an area of no sand, no burning-sea, just nothing—appearing suddenly and without warning in a sector. They could be big or small. If they occurred when a sand-ship was nearby, or right beneath a sand-ship...well, he had seen it happen from a distance and it was never pretty.
Somewhere in the pocket of nothing lay a Zaprex machine, a wonder of extraordinary history just waiting for him. Waiting for him to discover why the null-zone existed and why Utillia had become a land of moving sand, why misfit-children were born, and why the world they lived upon was crumbling, piece by piece.
“What do you think we’ll find down there, cub?”
He glanced at Torka as the man strapped his booster pack to his hips. While he did detest the Human, he had to grudgingly admire him for being the best in the scavenging business.
Aaldryn fitted his mask, attaching the tubes to his air-gills.
“The null-zone is small, so I suspect it won’t be a city entrance.”
Torka nodded. “Good, good. Last time we got a city entrance I lost three men.”
Aaldryn shuddered. Ah. Yes. That had not been a good hunt. The crystal-spores from the Zaprex corpses had been particularly lethal, and they had gone down so far, and so deep, he had almost expected to never resurface.
He had been glad Torka had been unable to scavenge the Zaprex remains due to the spores. Desecrating the fairy-kin’s castles felt disrespectful enough, let alone taking the hollow bodies for spare parts.
“It is unlikely that will happen this time, Torka.” Aaldryn shook his head. “But I do suggest caution. I suspect we will encounter some crystals, so full protective gear if any of you want to father children.”
“You heard the cub!” Torka shouted to his men, “Don’t mess up your suits this time!”
“Why doesn’t he wear one?”
Aaldryn glanced back at the questioner, giving the new-comer a smile as he stepped over the edge of the null-zone.
“I’m already tainted. Misfit-born, remember.”
“It’s why he’s here, numbskull. He can sense the shiny-crystals and warn you not to step your foot in it.” Torka whacked the young man over the head and Aaldryn smiled as he released Khamsin, beginning his dive. It was disorientating, as he knew he was going downward, but there was no reference point for the slow movement when all around him was entirely nothing. When he had first begun his expeditions into null-zones he had thought his eyes were playing tricks, catching signs of life, trickles of sand, and whiffs of light. He had tried to reach out and catch the strange fragments only for them to break up and disintegrate in his paws. Khamsin called it corrupted information and now whenever he took the plunge into the odd world of nothing he knew that surrounding him was not mere darkness but a lack of anything at all. It made him feel very alone, very empty, and even more frightened of the world he lived in. The burn of the scavenger crew’s booster-packs glittered, and he watched them pan out, creating a formation. Torka swirled around him; finally the man was in his element. Aaldryn eyed the booster-pack, wondering how easy it would be to accidently kick Torka hard enough for the booster-pack to grow unstable—
Aaldryn, I have promised to protect all the lives upon the Lawless Child, and that includes Torka. If you desire to fight him, you will have to do it as a Kattamont prince with a grudge, then mayhap I will aid you with throwing him overboard. Currently, the man has done nothing to slight you but ruffle your kitten feathers.
Aaldryn winced at Khamsin’s berating.
“You are no fun,” he muttered.
Faint light appeared below them. Aaldryn glanced up, shaking his head at the sight of the small sliver of daylight some distance above. Despite how long he felt the dive was, they had not truly travelled far. On his deepest dive he had reached the sixth level, which, despite the great depth, only gained them access to the very tops of the ancient Zaprex cityscape, and that alone had taken days to achieve. They had barely broken the surface during this dive. He looked at Torka. Honestly, he should get along with the Human he spent so much time diving with.
Torka manoeuvred his booster-pack controls, swinging towards him, his cheeks flushed rosy against the burn of the pack. “Any idea what it is, cub?”
Aaldryn squinted. This close he could finally make out the shape of the old Zaprex monument. His chest inflated sharply with surprise. This was a spectacular find. If only his mate and blood-brother were with him. He could imagine their delight.
“A flying machine.” He barely managed the words.
Torka clapped his hands. “Oh, oh!” The scavenger whirled back around to his men. “Lads! We got ourselves the catch of the sol-cycle.”
It must have crashed here. Khamsin nudged his mind. It is strange.
Aaldryn frowned. Yes, it was strange—the way the eerie shape was suspended in the nothing, globs of sand surrounding it. Crystals were scattered, as though they had been shattered when the null-zone had been created. Others protruded through the hull of the ancient vessel in such a painful manner it made him cringe. He could only liken it to a pin-cushion from his blood-brother’s healing kit. The crystals’ glow was an allure though, drawing him closer as a moth to a flame.
There is something inside. Something different. Something…new…
“What?” Aaldryn raised his brow. “Really?” His tail flicked. New was good.
Khamsin’s wind rippled over his fur. Sometimes, young one, it is not always good. The wind is the element of change, and not all change is good change.
“Tah.” Aaldryn waved aside the wind-god’s concern. “We will bring Nixlye back a grand treasure.”
CHAPTER TWO
Beloved Nefertem of mine,
Why do you sit surrounded by mirrors that reflect your failures?
Do you not see the greatness I do—do you not see the inventor, the scientist, the coder, the life giver?
Beloved Nefertem of mine,
Your mirrors lie to you;
Kemet is not gone;
Kemet lives in you.
As long as your Song remains, and your Dynasty walks upon this world,
Kemet lives on.
NORTHERN TOWER – private communication linkage –
01010011 01100101 01101011 01101000 01101101 01100101 01110100
Jarvis breathed in deeply, his heart pounding. No matter how much he tried to calm his nerves, thick darkness still made him sick with fever. The shivering was uncontrollable despite the dense humidity of the hot, tight confines. He painted the world outside his tightly shut eyes through the tiny electric particles drifting around him, sending sparks of information through his skull, down his spine, and into the receptors spread across his skin. His tussle with a Zaprex machine had resulted in philepcon liquid contaminating his system, but he had adapted, slowly integrating it into his body. He rather liked the comforting feedback loop of extrasensory information that fed through to him from outside sources.
The steel wall at his back was slick with his own perspiration and blood. Even his heavy breathing contributed to the moisture in the air, making his downward climb slow.
It was not the first time he cursed his growing body. Wynnilas might not be the stockiest of Human breeds, but his recent grow-spurt and rigorous training had filled out what had once bee
n skeletally-thin limbs. If only he had kept his skinny boyish body for a while longer, this tight squeeze down an air-vent of a Zaprex star-glider might have been an easier adventure. What was his master thinking? He was supposed to be avoiding all contact with Zaprex technology, not diving head-long into some ancient vessel, rich with fairy-life.
He could sense it in the walls, a breathing of life that was waiting for long lost owners to return. Just as philepcon liquid flowed through his veins, so it silently swelled through the fortifications of the living ship, singing the melody of the dying world itself—a song he had picked up miles away and brought to Master Titus’ attention.
Titus may have been eccentric, wild like the wolves of the Ovin-tu Mountains, but he had a brilliance that Jarvis admired deeply. When he had told the Messenger Hunter about the possible Zaprex vessel buried in the burning-sea his first thought had been to use it to throw a signal to the House of Flames and warn them of Coltarian’s impending eruption—to evacuate—or as his master had so eloquently put it, ‘to get their totus out now!’. Yet was any place safe to flee to, really, when the Dragon’s return was fated? Khwaja Denvy, for whom Titus had great respect, was convinced the Dragon’s minions were up to something in Utillia, something that involved the ancient Zaprex technology. Though surely the old lion could not know for certain what had been occurring in a land he had not walked upon for centuries—even if that land was his homeland.
Jarvis felt his chest swell. Without him to use the Zaprex technology, Master Titus would never have considered delving into such a dangerous place. He might not know why he had ended up a Changeling, his body slowly being converted by the philepcon liquid he had been infected with, but he was convinced there was a reason for his current state.
He was going to do everything he could to help. As Messengers did what was directly before them, to the best of their abilities, so would he. Khwaja Denvy had grumbled and said a few of Titus’ more colourful Trench words before letting him accompany his master into the Zaprex ruin. The problem with having Zaprex technology living inside flesh was the inability to determine what it was doing. He could sense Khwaja Denvy’s concern for his well-being…and yet they were all more worried about Khwaja Denvy’s deteriorating health.
