The Secret Kings

by Brian Niemeier

  Because Teg’s wounds still weren’t healing. And he still lay unconscious, his breath hissing through a tube.

  The chief medic removed his gloves, washed his hands, and stepped into the outer room with Astlin. The scent of antiseptic soap followed him. His friendly but tired face seemed to have gained some extra lines since she’d brought Teg in.

  “How is he?” she asked.

  “For a patient you say is pushing sixty, he has the muscle and bone mass of a man half his age.”

  Astlin gestured toward the operating room, where an assistant was helping the ship’s only nurse load Teg’s limp form onto a gurney.

  “Never mind that. Why isn’t he waking up?”

  The medic sighed and laid a gentle hand on Astlin’s shoulder. He turned with her to watch as Teg was prepped for transfer to a private bed.

  “I’ll level with you,” he said. “That debris embedded in his skin caused some ugly looking wounds but didn’t damage any major blood vessels or organs. Despite the beating he supposedly took, there’s no sign of brain damage, and his bloodwork came back clean. If you’re asking why he’s in a coma, we just don’t know.”

  “Mind if I take a stab at it?” asked a self-assured male voice.

  Astlin turned and saw Jaren standing right behind her.

  The medic gave a start. “And you are?”

  The transformation that Jaren had undergone since she’d left made Astlin look twice. His thin angular face was now clean-shaven; his waist-length red hair tied with a cord at the nape of his neck. Before he’d looked like a feral castaway. Now he could’ve stepped from the pages of an adventure tale—a pirate captain right down to his naval uniform jacket and missing hand.

  “He’s Jaren Peregrine,” Astlin said.

  The medic turned pale. “The captain of the Exodus?”

  Jaren’s green eyes fixed themselves on the medic. “That’s right. Until recently I was in pretty much the same shape as Teg.”

  “I’m not sure that qualifies you to diagnose my patient.”

  “Let’s hear him out,” Astlin said, admitting silently that she’d hear Shaiel out if he showed up with a theory on Teg’s condition.

  Jaren pointed through the window. “See that pile of black rocks?”

  Astlin and the medic looked into the pan.

  “Notice anything strange about them?”

  Staring at the bloody pebbles gave Astlin no new insights, but the medic suddenly dashed back to the operating room. He picked up the pan and examined it closely for a moment before turning it upside down.

  Only one or two rock fragments rattled down on the steel table. When the medic turned the pan toward the window, Astlin saw why.

  The blood’s frozen!

  The medic set down the tray of pebbles cemented together with iced blood and returned to the outer room.

  “Those rocks froze my patient’s blood,” he told Jaren in a serious tone. “Care to explain?”

  “The rocks are cold,” Jaren said matter-of-factly. “You didn’t notice while you were taking them out?”

  “I used forceps.” It was hard to tell if the medic was more annoyed with Jaren or himself. “And I don’t make a habit of touching foreign objects removed from patients’ backsides. So let’s skip to the follow up question. Why are the rocks cold?”

  “A shady customer I did a job with carried a sword that was always cold. The blade was grey and gave off a dark blue glow.”

  “Sounds like a Lawbringer’s sword,” said Astlin.

  Recognition dawned on the medic’s face. “I’m an idiot. Shadow blades freeze the tissues they cut—just like Teg’s wounds. I thought it was just frostbite from too much time on the Stone Stratum.”

  “You had no reason to expect it,” said Jaren. “But I know swords, and I think the stuff you pried out of Teg is the ore that shadow blades are forged from. It’s concentrated Void.”

  The medic rubbed his chin. “If you’re right, then it’s possible that Teg’s been poisoned in a way we can’t detect.” He pointed to Astlin. “You told me when the patient was admitted that his body’s recuperative powers have been enhanced.”

  “Yes,” Astlin said. “I think it’s caused by nexism.”

  “If the Void is really some sort of anti-life substance,” said the medic, “then prolonged exposure to it might counteract even nexically accelerated healing.”

  “We need to neutralize the poison,” Jaren said.

  The medic held up his hands in a cautioning gesture. “That’s outside my expertise. Keep in mind that I became ship’s surgeon by default. Anyway, I meant poison in a metaphoric sense. If we are dealing with some kind of toxin, it works on a nonphysical level.”

  “How do you treat a spiritual poison?” Astlin wondered aloud.

  Jaren looked her straight in the eye. “With prana”.

  “Much easier said than done,” the medic warned. “The only reliable source of pure prana on board is the ship’s fuel line. Exposing Teg to that would be like throwing a patient who needs more sun into a star.”

  A solution immediately came to Astlin’s mind. “I know someone who can channel prana,” she said. “Two people, in fact—Tefler and his mother, Thera.”

  Both men stared at Astlin as if she’d claimed to be friends with an invisible, wish-granting dragon.

  “Tefler is Thera’s son?” the medic repeated.

  “Thera has a son?” marveled Jaren.

  Astlin choked back a nervous laugh. “Yeah. She’s the goddess of the White Well, and he’s her priest. But there’s another problem. They’re both in Avalon.”

  “So is Nakvin,” Jaren said. “No one’s more qualified to treat Teg.” He nodded to the Serapis medic. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” the medic said. “But how do we get past that Night Gen warship?”

  Jaren exchanged a look with Astlin. She knew what he was thinking without reading his mind.

  “There’s no way I’m doing that!” she protested.

  A smile twisted Jaren’s lip. “You got that nexus-runner through Temil’s shield and flew the Theophilus to the Stone Stratum.”

  “Temil isn’t protected by a devil queen who’s expecting an attack from Shaiel,” said Astlin.

  “Nakvin’s a queen,” said Jaren. “Can’t you overpower her? You’re a demigod.”

  Astlin threw up her arms. “Her daughter’s a full-fledged goddess!”

  “Besides,” said the medic, “Gid and the rest of the crew might not approve of trespassing in sovereign territory.”

  “Fine,” Jaren said. “Let’s ask permission to visit.”

  Astlin’s mouth fell open. “I don’t have Thera’s contact information. Are you saying I should pray to her?”

  Jaren rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t be the one who has to explain this. Look, you’re a nexist, right?”

  “Not exactly,” said Astlin. “I’m not tied to a nexus, but I can talk directly to the shards’ minds.”

  “Well, Thera is a nexus, right? Why can’t you talk to the whole thing at once?”

  Jaren’s simple logic left Astlin dumbstruck.

  “I never thought of that,” she said at length.

  “Why don’t you give it a try?” suggested Jaren.

  “There are lots of good reasons not to bother gods,” Astlin said.

  “True,” said Jaren, “but one good reason to risk it is in a coma right now.”

  Astlin thought of Teg, lying hurt and unconscious because he’d tried to help her rescue Xander.

  “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll reach out to Thera—but the ship’s passengers and crew have to agree.”

  “You’ve got my vote,” the medic said as he exited into the outer hallway.

  26

  Celwen stepped from the airlock of Gien’s stolen ether-runner and found Raig waiting for her with a squad of men in dark blue and black uniforms. Unlike most hallways aboard Night Gen ships, this one was fully lit; and besides Raig and his men it was empty. />
  “Admiral,” Celwen greeted him. “Courteous of you to bring a security detail. I am sure that Magist Gien will appreciate the extra protection.”

  A glint of satisfaction broke through Raig’s stern expression. “Not all of them are here for our esteemed guest’s safety, Lieutenant.” He motioned to three security officers on his left. “These men will escort you to the brig. You are hereby placed under arrest.”

  The arresting officers came forward just as Gien shuffled in through the airlock.

  “That was fun!” the Magist said, adjusting the black cap over the netting that covered his face. “I missed flying. You’re a good passenger, too. You only screamed a couple of times.”

  Raig’s grey brow furrowed. “This is the man who will negotiate Temil’s surrender?”

  “Yes, sir,” Celwen said. “This is Magist Gien, the de facto ruler of Temil.”

  “Let me remind you,” Raig warned her, “to guard your comments. They may be entered as evidence at your court-martial.”

  Two members of the security team flanked Celwen while the third bound her hands behind her back.

  She scoffed at Raig. “What happened to your concern for the crew’s morale?”

  Raig’s emotionless façade cracked once again—this time in a faint smile. “Allayed by our recent victory.”

  “A victory I brought you,” Celwen said.

  “Pretension is an unbecoming trait,” said Raig. “Better to take quiet solace in having made reparation for your crimes, the easier to face execution bravely.”

  Gien sidled up to the admiral. “What did she do?”

  “It would be improper to discuss a subordinate’s case with uninvolved parties.”

  The admiral never deigned to look at the Magist, but nodded to the other half of the security detail. “Let us speak no more of Lieutenant Celwen and instead prepare for the negotiations. These men will show you to your stateroom.”

  “I am involved, actually,” said Gien. “You’re arresting her for selling her father out, right? I’m the one she sold him out to.”

  Raig finally looked at Gien. The admiral’s blue-green eyes widened but quickly narrowed again.

  “I see that we have much to discuss,” said Raig. “But a hallway is no place for sensitive conversation. We will adjourn for now and reconvene to address this subject later.”

  “We will address it now,” a deep harsh voice said from down the hallway to the left.

  Celwen turned toward the rough order’s point of origin and saw a towering figure in a mix of archaic armors and wolf pelts approaching. Her hackles tried to rise under the high neck of her form-fitting suit.

  Raig’s aura of command vanished, replaced by nervous desperation. “Prince Lykaon! There is no need to trouble yourself, sir. The matter is well in hand.”

  Lykaon strode forward as if no one had spoken, preceded by a musky scent. As he approached, Celwen saw a repugnant hunched form slouching along behind him.

  “The Anomian,” she cursed aloud.

  A thin, three-fingered hand emerged from beneath Liquid Sign’s scaled membrane-cloak and waved in greeting.

  “Hello, Celwen,” the Anomian’s smacking, sucking, and biting mouths said in concert. “I have been busy absorbing more qualities of your language and customs. Hopefully we can communicate better now.”

  Gien whirled to face Liquid Sign. “I’ve read about you!” said the beaming Magist. “Elegy for the Locust was a big influence on my order. It was inspiring how you pushed the boundaries of transessence.”

  The Anomian bowed its bulbous, stringy-skinned head. “You must be the Shadow Caste survivor. Praise from one who advanced our early work in such novel directions is an honor.”

  “Quiet,” Lykaon growled beneath his horned helm. He pointed a thick hairy finger at Celwen but spoke to Raig.

  “Here is the pilot you begged me to spare. Now you would have others spill her blood? Even that coxcomb Hazeroth slew his own prey.”

  Raig’s already ashen face paled. His mouth and eyes twitched.

  The full weight of Lykaon’s presence fell on Celwen. “Unlike Shaiel’s former Blade, I quickly tire of games. Have out with it! Did you betray your sire to the princes of this world?”

  The trials of the past several hours had left Celwen emotionally numb. She looked into the dark slits of the demon’s helm and said, “Yes. I did.”

  “You were warned,” shouted Raig. “That confession is the final seal on your death warrant!”

  Lykaon ignored the admiral and looked down at the Magist. “I smell your madness,” he told Gien. “Know that I can also smell lies. What was your interest in this woman’s father?”

  “He had part of Thera in his soul,” said Gien. “We wanted to take it out and put her back together. So we did, but not quite right. Some impurities got into the mix.”

  “Did you inflict the same wounds upon a man called Vaun Mordechai?” Lykaon asked.

  Gien chewed on the end of his own thumb. “I think that was Vilneus, but we all pitched in on the project.”

  Raig scowled at Celwen. “What did they offer you? What was the price for betraying your own blood?”

  The web of rationalizations that Celwen had spun over the years fell away, and she looked upon her own guilt.

  “I wanted to be a pilot,” she said. “My father objected. I wonder if he had some glimmer of nexic sight, because he saw war with the clay tribe coming. He feared for my safety. But living aboard ships on a voyage through empty darkness was like being caged from birth. I just wanted to fly.”

  The wall around Celwen’s heart crumbled, and she wept. She nearly screamed when Lykaon’s cold finger brushed a tear from her face.

  “The tribunal is concluded,” said Shaiel’s Left Hand. “You have done my master a great service. Indeed, it is partly thanks to you that he was deified. I pardon you in Shaiel’s name.”

  Celwen’s numbness returned, spreading from her heart to her mind to her soul.

  Raig quivered on the edge of fury but held his tongue. He turned and walked away alone.

  “Shaiel’s pardon extends to the Magist,” Lykaon added, “if he swears not to rebel against creation’s rightful lord.”

  “I do,” said Gien. His robes fluttered as he raised his right hand. “I swear.”

  Lykaon bent closer to the Magist, and made snuffling sounds under his helmet.

  “Shaiel’s Law is satisfied,” the Left Hand said. He turned on his heel and marched back the way he’d come, with the Anomian creeping along behind.

  “Orders, Lieutenant?”

  Celwen almost jumped out of her skintight suit at the question. Amid her introspection she’d forgotten about the security detail.

  “Dismissed,” she told the lower-ranking security officers. All six men saluted her, though she could see the reservations in their eyes. She returned the salute, and they quickly left.

  Celwen found herself alone with Gien in the broad, black paneled hallway.

  “That was great,” the Magist said. “What should we do next?”

  “I will arrange new quarters for you,” Celwen said with a sigh. “Then I will return to my own, get out of these clothes, and take a wastefully long bath.”

  Astlin strode into the dim, spartan confines of the Serapis’ backup bridge ahead of Jaren. The low chatter among the few hands present stopped as she and the Gen passed between stations.

  Gid stood upon the Wheel, looking haggard in his rumpled grey uniform. He turned to face Astlin and Jaren as they approached.

  “The two of you are up to something.”

  Astlin cleared her throat before speaking. “We need to go somewhere else.”

  Gid grimaced. “No kidding. There’s nothing but an oversized chunk of rock between us and that Night Gen leviathan, and I don’t want to be anywhere near her when she’s done with Temil. The problem is, we’re fresh out of places to go.”

  “I was in the same pinch a while back,” Jaren said. “Wherever I went, th
e Guild was already there—until I signed on to the Exodus.”

  Gid’s face fell. “Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”

  “We can take the ship to Avalon,” said Astlin.

  “That was it.” Gid removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

  Astlin reached up and gripped the Wheel’s railing. “Gid,” she said, “Teg’s been poisoned. Avalon might have a cure.”

  “And it’s tactically sound,” said Jaren. “Nakvin and Thera have the realm sealed off. Shaiel and the Night Gen won’t be able to follow us.”

  “That sounds perfect,” said Gid, “except for one small detail. If the whole place is sealed off, how do we get there?”

  Jaren looked to Astlin. “She’s our ticket in.”

  “You plan to bust down a goddess’ door?” said Gid.

  Astlin raised her hands in a defensive gesture. “No. I’ll ask her to open it.”

  “Supposing she agrees,” said Gid, “What then? This ship wasn’t designed for inter-strata travel.”

  This was the part Astlin felt the least sure about, so she hesitated before answering. “I can travel between Strata at will. It should be possible to bring the Serapis with me—if I take the Wheel.”

  “I recall a similar discussion from before.” Gid crossed his arms. “You said that trying it with the Serapis would be too risky.”

  “She’s had two successful test runs since then,” Jaren said. “It’s a proven concept.”

  Gid frowned at Astlin. “Don’t you need to have visited Avalon for this to work?”

  “A secondhand memory from someone else will work,” said Astlin. “I could’ve pulled the image from Teg, but his mind is stuck in some weird dream.”

  She looked hopefully at Jaren. “Haven’t you been to Avalon?”

  “That’s what they tell me,” Jaren said, tapping his temple. “Not that I remember.”

  “What if your memories aren’t gone,” said Astlin, “just hidden? Maybe I can help you remember.”

  Jaren’s mouth bent in bittersweet grin. “I’ve led a pretty brutal life. The little I do remember makes it hard enough to sleep at night. There are plenty of memories I’d like to have back besides my trip to Avalon—my dad’s face; more of my time with Nakvin—but there are things I’d rather not know. And frankly, I’d rather you didn’t know them, either.”