The Horns of Ruin s-9

by Tim Akers

  We found our way back to the Spear of the Brothers. Its remnants, at least. Just as I had feared, the central tower had turned to chalky powder and collapsed. There were bodies. I found a door, then a stairwell, then more doors. I got out from under that sky of madness and felt a little better. Even Owen seemed to be relieved to be out of the gaze of his former god.

  The architecture had been shuffled, levels misaligned, doors hanging open and corridors flooded. I didn't think I would find my way back to Cassandra. Turned out not to be half as difficult as I was expecting.

  Some kind of feedback had found its way to the chamber with the pressurized dome, where I'd left Cassandra and that cranky old Amonite Malcolm. The dome itself was cracked like an egg, steaming with frost and an aura of flickering light. The rest of the floor was leveled. Cassandra and Malcolm stood by the ruin of the dome, looking up at it. Cassandra was… changed.

  She turned to me when Owen and I slid down a bit of wrecked floor and into the chamber. She wore little armor: pauldrons and a halfbreast, gauntlets, armor for her hips and pelvis. Boots. She wore nothing else. Her nakedness reminded me uncomfortably of Amon, hovering above the city. The armor was metal, but charred. And the bloody handprint on her chest leaked through the metal, for all the world looking like it had soaked through the armor from her skin. When she turned to me, I saw that she was blindfolded. Smears of ash showed on her cheeks.

  "You…" I started.

  "I have accepted what you turned away, Eva," she said. Her voice was unchanged, only sad. "I am the Champion of Amon."

  I shuddered at the sound of her voice. Malcolm looked between us, then at Owen, then shrugged.

  "What happened here?" Owen asked.

  "Place blew up," Malcolm said. "She started babbling, then she stopped, then the place blew up. She shielded me. When the smoke cleared, she looked like that. So." He clapped his hands and turned to me. "What's happening outside?"

  "It's complicated," I answered.

  "I figured." He looked back at the dome, then fished something out of his robe and threw it to the ground. The remnants of his soulchains. "Complicated is good, sometimes."

  "In this case, complicated will end up destroying the city," I said. "Those two are going to keep at it until one of them is dead. And they're too evenly matched for it to be a clean fight. The city won't survive."

  "None of us will, in the grand sense," Malcolm said quietly. "Alexander was barely holding on to the power. And that was with the people behind him. He's played his hand now, revealed himself as the Betrayer. Tell me." He turned to us. "Do you think the city will worship Alexander the Betrayer?"

  "No more than they'll worship Amon the Mad," Owen snapped.

  "Some of us will," Cassandra said.

  I nodded. "There will be split loyalties. And neither will let the other live, either way." I walked up to Malcolm. "What's that thing called? The damned holy battery?"

  "The Ruin," he said. "They're both tapping it now. Even if it only held the power Alexander has gathered in the last two hundred years, this battle could last for weeks."

  "But you said it goes back farther than that. Back to when the Titans fell."

  "Aye. Don't worry. The energies will drive them mad long before then."

  "Or they'll kill each other," I said.

  The building shook, chunks of ceiling and tile clattering down into the chamber.

  Malcolm nodded. "That does seem the more likely conclusion."

  "What if we destroyed it?" I asked.

  He turned to me, a quizzical look in his eyes. "Destroy it? What good would that do?"

  "Drain them of their power. At least the stored stuff. I don't know, maybe it would weaken them enough to put them on their heels."

  "Or it could destroy the city. It's a boiler, Eva. You don't just punch a hole in it."

  "There are pressure valves, though. The impellors. That's what Amon was getting at, when he was working with the Feyr." I made a connection in my head. "It's what the Chanters were looking at, too. They were working with the Feyr, building something. They must have been figuring something out about the Ruin, and Alexander didn't like it."

  "That's why he sent his little dead army, to crack them open?" Owen asked. "And we've been worshipping this guy?"

  "There are valves. But emptying the Ruin through them…" Malcolm shook his head. "I don't know what would happen."

  "Will it be something better than the city getting destroyed by those two bastards, throwing the entire Fraterdom into chaos?"

  He bent his head to one side and thought, steepling his fingers against his lips.

  "I can't guarantee that it will be."

  "Close enough for me," I said. "Show us where these valves for the Ruin are."

  "Hold," Cassandra said. She was standing between us and what remained of the door. "I cannot assist you in this. You act against Amon."

  "But I act in his interest," I said, turning straight to her and clasping my hands across my sword. "If Alexander doesn't kill him in this fight, he'll be so badly wounded that he won't be able to hold on to the power of the Ruin anyway. Better to let it out now than have it tear free later."

  She stared at me, hands clenched into a fist between her breasts, legs set to receive a charge. No other movement.

  "We don't have time for this, girl." I walked up to her. "Are you going to stop me from doing this?"

  Several breaths. She shook her head.

  "Then move or follow. We're going."

  And we went. When the room was empty she touched a finger to the bloody handprint on her breast, then smeared it against her forehead. But she followed us.

  * * *

  What the Feyr had told me of the Ruin was minimal. An ancient place. An atrocity lodged in the soul of their people, and then passed on to us. That it could be used to prevent the cycle of gods was a by-product, and one that the Feyr had never tapped. Leave it to man. Leave it to Alexander.

  It did explain why we built our city on a lake, though. The Ruin itself did not float, nor did it sink. It simply was where it was, and the city was built up around it. The Elemental of the Feyr had described it like a sore, burned into reality. It looked like a rock, though.

  Malcolm led us through the wreckage of the Spear and out. The sky resembled a white-water rapids now, conflicting currents rushing together and churning in near invisible turmoil. Whatever madness drifted down into the city was turning Ash into wreckage as well. Buildings burned, sirens called, but no one was answering them.

  "I would take the 'train," Malcolm said, "but I'm pretty sure they're not running on schedule today."

  "Smartass," I answered. Turned to Owen. "That wagon of yours available?"

  He shook his head. "Do you honestly think the communications rig is going to work in this mess? And if it did, do you think anyone would answer?"

  "Mm. Well. I guess we're walking."

  Not a long walk, but a difficult one. Streets were flooded or had fallen through, replaced with sudden lakes and rivers that coursed through the infrastructure. Usually stable boulevards tilted, and buildings creaked dangerously. Lots of glass, lots of debris. Lots of bodies, and most of them dead at the hands of other citizens.

  What had I done? What cost was I asking the rest of the city to pay?

  "You've done nothing that should not have been done," Cassandra answered, though I'd kept my mouth shut. She looked at me with those blindfolded eyes. "These things have unfolded in a way that could not be expected."

  "Are you going to be creepy like that forever now? Because if you are, I'm not sure we can still be friends."

  "Maybe after the apocalypse I'll feel a little more chipper," she answered.

  "Thank gods," I said.

  What should have been five minutes by foot took us half an hour, and we were all on edge by the time we got where we were going. I'm not sure I could have found the place without Malcolm. As it was we kept getting lost, doubling back, finding new roads that hadn't been ruined.
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  The building itself was uninteresting. Long and flat-sided, cut out of granite, no windows. A sign on the front declared it to be part of the power grid.

  "That supposed to be funny?" I asked.

  "We don't get a lot of opportunity for levity in the Library Desolate," he answered. "Is it funny?"

  I didn't answer. We went inside, with the help of Malcolm's passkey and a complete lack of guards.

  "You'd think these guards would have stuck, at least," I said. "Alexander's true nature couldn't have been much of a surprise to them."

  They had stuck, though, and died in their service. When we found them, they were stuffed into a closet. Dead, not hiding. Butchered. I immediately thought of the groups of coldmen Owen and I had found around the city. Similar slash wounds, similar savagery. We exchanged a look.

  The foyer of the building led to a freight elevator. No stairs. We all got in, locked up, and began the descent. Quiet ride down, but when the doors opened we were all a little open-jawed.

  The Ruin of Ash was a wide, flat stone, big as a hockey field, glossy black and pitted. It looked a lot like the Feyr artifacts we had seen, only huge. It radiated energy, like a hot furnace about to blow. It was nestled into a bowl-shaped room. The room was lined with drumlike receivers, gathering and emitting some invisible force. Just standing in the doorway was like being deaf in the loudest room you've ever heard.

  "This is it," I gasped. Malcolm nodded, but kept his head down. "What do we do?"

  "Nothing," said a voice from the corner. The two men, their tattooed eyes, their bulky robes. They walked toward us like monks, hands clasped at their waists, sleeves hiding their fists.

  "Who are you people?" I said as I led my little contingent out of the elevator. "I mean, I've appreciated your help, but what's your part in all this?"

  "This is our point," he said, nodding to the Ruin behind him. "And we have appreciated your help as well, Eva Forge."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  The nearer one shrugged and tore out of his robe. Not a man at all, and not wearing armor. He was armor. Bulky chest and backwardbending knees, arms like a giant's. And the tattoos around his eyes? Scales, just like the rest of him. His mouth yawned with teeth, and was as wide as both my hands together. He wore shielded gauntlets, bound to sharp punch daggers. He smiled at me with gods so many teeth.

  Rethari.

  "Dramatic, my brother," the other one said, calmly drawing back his robe and then rolling up his sleeves to reveal similar weapons. "Can't we keep our dignity?"

  "You sent the artifact, didn't you? To get us here, to this point? To reveal the betrayal of Alexander and drive us to war against ourselves?"

  "Not at all. We had no idea Amon still lived. That was just icing. All we wanted to do was drive the scions of Morgan away from the godking. This…" He raised his hands and nodded. "This is just serendipity."

  "We're here to destroy that thing," I said. "And we're really not going to let you stand in our way."

  "What luck. We're here to destroy it, too. Just…" And he cocked his head to the sky. "Not yet."

  This gave me pause. I didn't like that our paths aligned. I looked to Malcolm, but he just shrugged. Cassandra stepped forward.

  "You mean to free the power entombed in the Ruin, to force the turning of the cycle and ascend your gods. I will stop you," she said.

  "Stop us from doing what, little girl? You want to destroy the Ruin? Fine." The one still wearing a robe held out his hand. It contained a tiny wheel and chain. "Here is the plunger. We've already set the charges. We will give this to you. We'll even pull the trigger, so that you might escape and live."

  "They won't blow it yet," Malcolm said. "Not until Alexander and Amon kill each other."

  "Why?" I asked. "Why wait until then?"

  "The power would release from the gods, but the cycle would not turn. Not immediately. Maybe a month, maybe a year, but it would stay in the mantle of mankind. New gods would arise."

  "Not if you blow it up," Cassandra said. "That kind of release would overwhelm the city, no matter when you do it." She looked at me. "It might be enough to kill the Brothers, and leave the rest of us mad with divinity."

  "Until the cycle turned," Malcolm said. "Which we would have no mind to prevent."

  "So," the Rethari said, gripping the plunger. "We seem to be in something of a draw. If you'd all please step back…"

  The ghost appeared from the direction of the Ruin, rushing up the bowl of the room without making a sound. He started as little more than a fog, quickly solidifying as he came. Feet away from the Rethari he struck. I heard the blade go into meat, once, twice, and then a tearing slash that buckled the giant creature's back. Those tattooed eyes bulged, and then he tumbled to the floor.

  His companion howled and went to slash at the assassin. I drew iron and put him down before he could even take a step.

  Nathaniel knelt behind the fallen Rethari, blood on his blade and mouth. He looked up at me, chest heaving, skin white, the wound I had given him still oozing into his shirt. Maybe not so much of a Healer, after all.

  "I could not let that happen," he said. His voice was wet with blood. "Not to Alexander. All that I do, I do for him."

  "I understand," I said. "Thank you."

  "So. Redemption at last, Eva Forge?"

  "Let's not be idiots, Nate."

  I raised the bully and put lead in his eye. His skull pulped around the bullet's path, bright crimson on his white pauldrons. He tumbled back and was still. In the quiet that followed, I walked over to the Rethari detonation device and crushed it under my foot. When I turned around they were all staring at me.

  "I'm not much of a forgiver," I said. "Now show me how to vent this place."

  * * *

  The sky was a nightmare of light and current and arcane shadow. The city of Ash was cast in stark and unnatural darkness. The surface of the lake rippled with the impact of unseen forces, like a giant rainstorm. A thunderhead of ash and fury was growing over the battlefield, and the two combatants faced one another in utter silence and calm.

  With a roaring creak, the great circular tracks of the monotrains shuddered and strained into life. Behind their shrouding towers, the impellors sparked. Glowed with arcane power. Began to move. The trains inched forward on their tracks, slowly speeding up as the cycle of the impellors increased, each pass moving the trains forward a little quicker, each pass coming sooner and with more power. More strength. Strength unrestrained. Something was wrong.

  Thankfully, no one was on any of the trains. A small grace, on a day of great tragedy, with more tragedy still to come. The trains turned and turned, howling around their tracks. The force of the impellors exceeded all that the tracks had been designed to withstand, and kept going. Sparks showered down from the iron wheels, the metal of track and train starting to glow as they continued to accelerate. All across the city people stopped their rioting and their persecution and turned to look at the howling iron horses. The smart ones ran.

  When the tracks failed it was with a great sigh of straining metal and broken tolerances. In many places, freed Amonites ran to the failing system and tried to bolster them, but this was beyond their ken. Many died, only hours into the dawn of their newly liberated Cult. Many ordinary citizens died as well, for standing too close to faltering tracks, or not realizing what was happening and trying to get close enough to see.

  In most cases the trains just toppled from their tracks, skidding through towers and streets and across cobbled paths before burying themselves into a canal or building. Hot metal charred the ground as they rolled, flailing around like chain shot.

  On the impellors roared, faster and faster, their power drums glowing to sun's brilliance as they spun. Their force peeled open the towers that hid them, shattering their skin like a struck bell. Feyr boiled up from their hidden places, screaming in mad ecstasy, clawing at their ears. The impellors roared, and soon the towers that had been built taller than the tr
acks were crumbling. Walls boomed, windows popped, the steel framework splintering like china. The city fell, tower by tower, block by block. Only the ancient buildings stood, those that had been built lower than the tracks. Even those structures sustained damage as the higher places collapsed on them in a cloud of glass and steel.

  The impellors howled like sirens, like juggernauts, like the horns at the end of the world, calling damnation down from heaven. The horns sounded, and Ash fell into ruin.

  Above us, the sky wrinkled and flexed. The two gods of man screamed along with the ruining of their Fraterdom, and when the last gasp had left them, the world was silent. They fell to earth like broken angels, to crater into the city. The storm broke, the sky cleared, and the world breathed anew.

  20

  he crater was twenty feet across, lip to smoldering lip. What had once been a smooth stone parkway was now fragmented like cracked pottery. The heat of Amon's entry had fused the stone as soon as it was shattered. He lay at the bottom, venting arcane steam from the fissures in his skin.

  We pushed through the silent crowd that had gathered. Cassandra ran gracefully down the incline and knelt at the side of her god. I waited up top. The crowd began to mutter.

  I heard a lot about Amon the Betrayer, about how he was dead and was back. To finish the job he had started, some said. Others, that he had allied with the scions of Morgan to put down the true godking. Others claimed he was someone else, some new god. Some devil, or a sign from the next ascendant race. Some knelt right there and swore allegiance to this unnamed deity. Some called for a lynching. Some stayed quiet, too scared or confused to do anything but stare.

  When Cassandra looked up at me, the crowd stiffened. I hopped down and made my way to the girl.

  "They'll kill him," she whispered.

  "He might have killed himself," I answered, my eyes up on the crowd around us. "I think we're in a delicate place here, girl."

  "He did what was natural. He did what you would have done, in his place."

  "Aye. Doesn't make it right."