The Awakened World Boxed Set

by William Stacey

  She heard footsteps and voices raised in argument. Then the small room's door burst open, and she saw her father, disbelief and anger on his face. The hallway was dark but for sunlight coming from its far end, where a door must have been open. Her father still wore the camouflaged uniform he had left home in the last time she ever saw him alive, but it looked like he had been wearing it for days. He was unshaved, his hair was wild, and his eyes were lined with red. There were people in the hallway behind him; the same young medic Angie had seen earlier, as well as Marshal, looking just as disheveled as her father. And behind Marshal were her mother and older brother, clutching one another. Her mother had been crying, and when she saw Angie, she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

  "God damn it," swore her father, sounding angrier than Angie could ever remember him.

  Her emotions surged at the sight of her parents and brother, and she would have fallen had Lodin not snaked his arm around her waist and held her tight against his chest. She shook her head from side to side. "I don't..."

  "Shhh," Lodin hushed her. "Watch and see."

  The child-Angie squinted at the sudden light and tried to raise her head to see.

  "I didn't know you were going to do this, not this," her mother said, glaring at the medic, her voice breaking. "If I had known, I'd have kept her at home, with me."

  "We've had to sedate her," the nurse said, her voice raw with emotion and exhaustion. "There are so many other patients, and this isn't a hospital. I'm not a doctor."

  Her father rushed inside the room and swept the curtains open, bathing the room in bright sunlight. The child-Angie cried out, closing her eyes, and tried to draw back but was unable to move with the restraints holding her in place. "Why is she restrained?" her father demanded as he unstrapped Angie's wrists and ankles.

  "Something happened to one of the orderlies earlier," the medic said. "She was trying to wash her, but when she touched her skin, she grew faint and passed out." The medic's voice broke. "We can't deal with an unknown infectious disease, not now. We can't cope with the problems we have. No power, no phones. No vehicles. Nothing runs." Her voice rose, became near hysterical.

  "Thank you, Petty Officer," Marshal said, placing his hand on the medic's forearm in a gentle gesture. "We know you've done your best. The situation has been difficult for everyone. You've saved lives."

  "Sir, please," the medic said. "We need help, some power."

  "We have no generators to spare," Marshal said, "but we still have power in the Bunker. We're going to move you and the other medical staff there. We've established an infirmary. There's medical supplies, food, and water."

  "Thank god." The medic wiped her forearm over her face, clearly near the breaking point.

  Her father finished removing the restraints and sat down on the bare mattress. The child-Angie hugged him, burying her face against his chest and sobbing. "I want to go home, Dad. I don't want to be here anymore."

  "We can't go home just yet, baby. But we're all going to the Bunker, to Daddy's work. You, me, your mother and brother, all of us. We're going to go where it's safe." Her father looked over his shoulder at Marshal, his face filled with barely concealed rage. Her father and Duncan Marshal had been best friends, but something had clearly stressed that friendship.

  "We knew there were going to be issues," Marshal said. "Q told us as much, that some of the ... sensitive ones might react violently once they had broken the spell—"

  "My own daughter? Jesus, Duncan. What if it was your child? We've made a deal with a devil!"

  "We had no choice, and you know it." Marshal's voice became sharp with emotion, as close to yelling as Angie had ever seen. "Q was right, right about everything. We were at DEFCON 1, Paul, DEFCON 1! When have we ever been that close? If they hadn't done it, we'd have launched a preemptive strike, and the Chinese would have helped the North Koreans. You know they would have." Spit flew from Marshal's mouth as he spoke. Her mother, brother, and the medic stared at him, their mouths hanging open. Marshal must have noticed them, because he lowered his voice, shaking his head. "No. Q was right. This is the only way we save the species."

  "God damn it, I just don't like it," her father said, holding Angie tightly against him, rocking her in his arms.

  Adult-Angie fell back against Lodin. She shook her head. None of this was real. It couldn't be. Tec had told her Marshal knew of the dragon, knew of the Awakening, but to see proof that her own father had been in on the end of the world as well ... It was too much.

  "My father was part of Project Grendel," she said, knowing it for truth. Her world was falling apart around her. "I don't want to see anymore. No more."

  "Courage, Angela," Lodin whispered. "We're coming to the end."

  The child-Angie's small hands shot around her father's neck, holding tightly to him. She gasped, shock on her young features. A moment later, her father's posture stiffened, and his eyes went wide, his mouth open. Adult-Angie gasped in horror, understanding what had just happened even if no one else in the room did. Her father fell, bounced off the mattress and onto the floor, his dead eyes staring up.

  The child Angie screamed. Her mother and brother screamed.

  Adult-Angie screamed.

  She had killed her own father, consumed his life force—years before the Shade King had bonded with her. Her. Not the Shade King, her.

  It had never been the Shade King.

  Always her.

  She didn't see as the fog drifted over the portal once more because she buried her face in Lodin's chest. She screamed and cried, her body convulsing in spasms. The portal fell apart, the stones crashing down once more as Lodin released his spell. Dust rose into the air.

  Her wails shattered the crimson night.

  Chapter 26

  Rayan Zar Davi waited in the dragon's underground temple, her hands clasped before her, as Aernyx stepped before the black dragon and bowed deeply.

  One of the few Aztalan aircraft, an old but sturdy bush plane, had been given to Rayan to speed her travel back and forth from the army HQ to the temple. There was a short airfield in the mountains above that was maintained by the Aztalans. Rayan had arrived at the underground temple only minutes ago. She disliked all the travel, but when the black dragon summoned her, she hurried to bow.

  And being indisposed was far preferable to having one’s heart cut out.

  The black dragon's breath rose in thick black smoke around her open maw. Her red eyes gleamed hungrily. "Well, Night Master, Lord of Vampires, have you killed the woman yet? Was she delicious?" As the dragon spoke, her long spiked tail swept back and forth. Had any of the servants been standing there, it would have crushed them.

  Rayan heard the mockery in the dragon's voice, as Aernyx must have, but his pale, youthful face gave no indication. He shook his head, sighing sadly. "Alas, no, Beautiful Mistress. I believe Elenaril has given her something, a talisman to shield her dreams, but now I can't even sense her at all. It's as if she’s simply ceased to be. Dead, I expect."

  Angela Ritter is dead? That was something Rayan hadn't known. She almost smiled, but then she remembered shoving her own hexed pulwar through the damned woman's chest and not killing her. The woman had a disturbing habit of surviving.

  Flames shot from the dragon's nostrils as she snorted. "Well, some good news finally."

  "There is more, Beautiful Mistress," Aernyx said. "Elenaril is dead as well. Slaughtered by Sudden Bloodletter. Coronado has fallen. Your army drives all before it."

  "Yet some escaped the demon. How?"

  Itzpapalotl always seemed to know more than she had any right to know, as had her brother Tezcatlipoca. Rayan had never understood how the dragons knew so much; dragon magic of some kind. They had taught the Tzitzime mages all the mages knew, not all the dragons knew.

  Aernyx hesitated. "Ephix Lamia," he answered. "She used magic to help the surviving elves escape. I do not know how, but I will learn soon enough. Elenaril's people currently flee to Fresno."

  "S
o," the dragon hissed. "The vermin yet flee my justice. That galls me. Your own kind, another lamia, defies me, offering the elven rabble sanctuary." Itzpapalotl licked the long claws on one of her powerful forearms. Her forked tongue was shiny and black, with waves of heat rising from it.

  "Ephix will die," Aernyx said with certainty. "I will end her myself."

  "I care not a whit about another lamia. Fey, humans ... you're all food." The dragon's head rose on her long neck, startlingly fast for such a large creature, and she glared down on them, sizzling spit dripping from her teeth to fall on the stones of the temple. "However, I do care very much about the Haanal X’ib. Where is the changeling? Scurrying to Fresno with the elven rabble, I suspect?"

  Aernyx went still, his mouth an angry slit. "I do not know for certain, but that seems most—"

  "She is in Sanwa City, Beautiful Mistress," said Rayan, the smallest of smiles curling the corners of her mouth. Even without looking, she felt the heat of the lamia’s eyes on her. She knew better than to humiliate Aernyx. The lamia was a clever and dangerous foe, but his servants were vampires, not humans. He could hunt whomever he wished in their dreams, but he did not have a network of human spies in Sanwa City, reporting via shortwave radio. Rayan did.

  "Sanwa City?" the dragon asked, watching Rayan. "Why? She is the eldest child of Elenaril. Shouldn't she be with the remnants of her filthy race?"

  "She spent more than a decade pretending to be human," Rayan said. "She built the Brujas Fantasmas herself, not the real Constance Morgan." Rayan had killed Morgan on this very spot, using a magical whip of energy to cut her head from her shoulders; the memory sent a shiver of excitement through her. "Despite her years of deception, it seems she still has allies among the Nortenos—and the Commonwealth. Marshal and Carter have named her commander of their joint forces. She leads the defense of Sanwa City. Even the Jaguar Knight fights for her."

  "You think I care about a human servant of the feathered coward?"

  "No, of course not, Beautiful Mistress," Rayan said as meekly as she could. "I was just trying to give you as much detail as possible." Rayan cared about Teccizcoatl, even if the dragon didn't. The man had more lives than a cat, more than a jaguar. But his long-running battle with her would end in Sanwa City. There was no escaping the death coming for him.

  The dragon sat back on her hind legs, rising and extending her vast leathery wings. "I tire of excuses. Send the army north to crush Sanwa City. Bring me the changeling. Kill all the others. Then move to Fresno and end the Fey as well." With that, the dragon rose and casually crawled over the side of the temple, disappearing into the labyrinthine series of caverns and tunnels.

  Leaving Rayan alone with Aernyx, who regarded her sullenly. "You go too far, woman," Aernyx said softly. "You should have told me of the changeling. You made me look foolish. Be wary. It could easily have been your heart that brought the demon to this world. You might yet find yourself stretched naked over the sacrificial altar."

  "Not if I capture Wyn Renna," she said, glancing at the blood-stained altar. She shivered. "Not if I crush that city."

  And she would.

  Chapter 27

  Angie had killed her own father, and the revelation tore at her soul.

  The days in Lodin’s tower passed in a blur. She stayed in bed too long, trying to find escape in sleep, but her dreams were haunted, filled with her father’s face. She barely ate, rarely spoke to anyone. The food the servants brought went cold. Eventually, they'd take the food away and replace it with more. When she couldn’t stay in bed any longer, she’d wander the tower's dark hallways, with Maeve always behind her, a constant pattering escort. The servants knelt before her, but Angie barely saw them. She could have been dream walking.

  Sometimes Lodin accompanied her, holding her hand and talking softly. At those times, she'd forget what she had done and find peace. When he left her again, the horror would rush back. She began to look forward to his visits. They'd talk for hours about the Hollows, his subjects, traitors in his kingdom—but most importantly, the freedom that came from accepting their special gift. He wasn’t like her, wasn’t wracked by guilt. He didn’t think of taking another’s life force as murder, merely a necessary part of what he was: a source mage. Her guilt, she realized, must have been why she had convinced herself it had been the Shade King that had taken all those lives.

  But it had been her. She knew that now.

  Lodin insisted it was the natural order of things. The two of them were the apex predators of the magical world. Others existed to provide life energy for them. To not make use of this gift was the crime. His magic made him king here, but it had also let him end the constant internecine wars that had plagued the Fey. Yes, there were still traitors—the troll chieftain Garaka Dun had been an example of one—but most of Lodin’s subjects lived in peace and happiness because of his rule, because of the power he held as a source mage. And once Angie joined her magic to his, they'd rule the Hollows together. None would dare stand against them. Nor did she need to worry about a human's short life span; he'd show her magic to prolong her life. They could create a dynasty that would last a thousand years.

  It was all lovely, exciting even, but every now and then, the image of a dark-haired warrior with emerald eyes would flash in her memory, and she’d feel a nagging worry that this was all wrong. Sometimes she even imagined a voice in her head, but the voice was muted, impossible to hear properly.

  And then Lodin would smile, and the worry and the voice would vanish.

  The days ran together, became weeks, and she began to worry less and eat more, to regain her strength. She even stopped wearing Nightfall, finding a side-sword a bit ... silly. After all, there were guards everywhere, her guards. Besides, Lodin would keep her safe. He'd always keep her safe.

  Forever.

  Sometimes the dark thoughts came back—always when Lodin was away attending to matters of state. Today was such a day. She wandered the tower's hallways, her thoughts a morass of self-pity, but she couldn’t remember why she felt so bad. Maeve accompanied her, chattering incessantly. Maeve was talking about braiding Angie's hair for a ceremony, telling her how beautiful she'd be. Angie barely heard the satyr. Her thoughts cascaded inside her skull: father, mother, brother, best friend ... lover. Whenever she tried to latch onto any thought, any memory, it slipped away from her. She had done ... something. Something terrible. But someone had loved her. Lodin. Lodin loved her. And she loved Lodin.

  No. Not Lodin. Someone else.

  Someone with green eyes.

  Someone she loved.

  Without realizing where she had been going, she found herself on the stairs leading to the tower’s summit. Then she was out in the open air, the wind blowing her hair about. Why did I come up here? She stared out at the landscape below. Maeve was asking her something, her voice filled with uncharacteristic worry, but Angie couldn't focus on the satyr's words. They might as well have been wind. What had Angie done that was so terrible? And why did it feel like she was asleep even when awake, her thoughts a thick fog? Maeve tugged at her sleeve, kept saying something, but Angie pulled free and stepped closer to the battlements. The sky was becoming a darker shade of crimson, what passed for nightfall here. She found she missed the true sunsets of her world.

  Her world. Not the Hollows.

  There was a war.

  She felt a coldness in her core, suddenly remembering gunfire, smoke, screams of the dying. Just as quickly, the memory slipped away again, leaving only Lodin's beautiful smiling face, those sparkling golden eyes.

  "My queen," Maeve pleaded. "Please come away."

  That was when Angie realized she had climbed atop the stone crenellations. The wind whipped her hair about as she stared down on Lodin's maze, his hilltop, and the junglelike glen behind it. From here, she could just make out the broken stones of the portal and the silver griffin that guarded them. Moonwing looked like a pet, and Angie smiled. Would his feathers be soft to pet?

  "My queen," M
aeve repeated. "Please..."

  And then Angie remembered—the memory startling her, cutting through her fugue like a rapier thrust through the heart—and she gasped: She had killed her own father. Driven away her mother and older brother.

  How could she have forgotten?

  Maeve edged closer, her hooves clopping on the stones. She reached out for Angie but froze when Angie leaned forward.

  Angie ignored the terror in the satyr's eyes. "Can you believe that I once feared the Shade King was the demon?" She laughed, a hint of hysteria in her voice. "Turns out, I was far worse than it could ever be."

  "My love," Lodin said softly, surprising her as he climbed from the steps and onto the tower’s summit. "Perhaps you should step down." He wore a golden toga that accentuated his broad shoulders and powerful chest. His chest hair was so blond it looked like spun gold. Everything about Lodin was golden. He held his hand out to her, his eyes shining, and she wondered what she had just been thinking.

  "My beautiful, shining lord," she said, filled with love for him. "You can see Moonwing from up here." She took his hand.

  "Yes, my love, you can," he said as he helped her down. He placed his powerful arm around her waist and pulled her toward him, hugging her against him. She kissed his cheek, glancing at Maeve and wondering why she looked like she had just swallowed a lemon.

  Fey were odd.

  "I was walking with Maeve," she said.

  "I know, my love. I have brought you a gift."

  "A gift?" Excitement coursed through her, and she ran her hands over his chest. "Show me," she said, her heart near to bursting with love.

  He knelt on one knee. Why was he kneeling? He was lord here. Others knelt before him. He took her left hand in his. "It is the custom in your land, is it not, to bestow a diamond ring upon one's bride?"

  "A ring?" she asked, her eyes smiling as she gazed upon this perfect golden man.

  He slipped a huge ring around her left ring finger. The diamond on the band was as large as her fingertip and glittered in the red sky. Angie gasped. "Yes, yes, yes," she cried, pulling Lodin to his feet and kissing him.