The Rot's War (Ignifer Cycle Book 2)

by Michael John Grist

  For a time Seem remained. He sat atop the black pyramid and regrew his wings and the horns jutting from his shoulders. He sat and listened to his brother dying on the veil below. At times they spoke, as the air within the pyramid grew thin. The Emeritus told tales of his loneliness, and how he'd watched Seem for so long, dreaming of a time they might rule a conjoined Empire together; a marriage of the masters of machine and beast.

  "It never came," Seem said.

  "It could have."

  "It could," Seem agreed, though he did not believe it. It was a final kindness, to the last caste of his kind.

  "Your diamante body awaits," the Emeritus said at the last, after a day of barely breathing, a day of shared insight and farewell. "I had truly meant it for myself. But now it is for you."

  After that he fell silent.

  Seem found the bay his machine body was contained in by following a trail of ambling Gnomics. They did not speak, but some of them pointed as Seem came near. It lay in the center of a large shipbuilding yard in the middle of the land.

  The body within was a solid hull of shining diamante suspended on thick chains within a deep pit. It was nearly as long as an Aigle ship but completely smooth and featureless, shaped almost like a landshark, but flattened and sheer.

  "What is it?" he asked aloud.

  "It is Awa Babo," a nearby Gnomic answered. Its voice startled Seem; the first time he'd heard any of them speak. "The Emeritus' new mind."

  Seem looked at the little Gnomic. It looked just as weak and half-formed as all its fellows, though it wore a cotton band of red about its upper arm, and the spark of sentience danced in its eyes.

  "How is it you can speak?" he asked.

  "Some of us can," the Gnomic replied. "The Emeritus was not a genius alone. I am, however, as are my team."

  Seem considered. It was good, to have sentient Gnomics alive still. "Would you come to join my city? There will be a place for you there."

  The Gnomic shook its strange head. "There is no place for me there. There is no place left in this world, now that my master is dead. Instead we will build a ship that shines white, as his pyramid once did, and we will take to the ocean within it, never to know a master again."

  Seem felt conflicted. "It is a sad plan. Can you see no better future for yourselves?"

  The Gnomic regarded him calmly. There was no fear in its little face. "You have freed us. You have untethered us, also. I thank you for the first, and despise you for the second. My bond to the master was all that I had. Now that it is gone…" he trailed off. "As thanks, I leave you the Emeritus' mind. It will also be your punishment."

  Seem frowned. "Punishment?"

  "If you ever move within it, you will be cursed with immortality," said the little Gnomic. "It cannot die. That is a fate I would not wish upon any."

  Seem walked along the machine's length, stroking the hull. It was perfectly smooth and glossy to the touch, but cold.

  "Is it alive?"

  "In a fashion," said the Gnomic. "Though in waiting."

  Seem rapped on its surface. "I have never seen life made out of metal."

  The Gnomic frowned. "Yet you destroyed the Aigles, and the Ators. Did you not hear their cries?"

  "That was the sands," said Seem absent-mindedly. "I could not hear them. I do not read the veil."

  "And what of those in the towns?"

  Again Seem was confused. "There were none in the towns. They all died in the sands. We came upon your people defeated."

  The Gnomic eyed him curiously. "That is impossible. If you did not kill them, who did?"

  Seem sighed. There were no answers to what madnesses the Emeritus had committed. He pointed at the long hull of metal. "This is impossible."

  "Then you will not take it as your body."

  "I will not. Rather I would ask you to bury it here, deep down with a heavy mound over the top. Will you do that for me?"

  The Gnomic looked at him for a long moment. "Yes. I will do this as a final gift, since you reject the mind. It is the work of my life, abandoned."

  "There will be other works. Only pledge you will not war with me again."

  "How would we? We are defeated. There can't be more than a hundred of us with minds of our own. In our ship we will dwindle and die."

  Seem looked at the little Gnomic. He'd never seen a whole caste die before, and it made him ashamed. "I'm deeply sorry."

  "As am I."

  * * *

  Years passed, and the Yoked Empire flourished. In time it spread across the Hasp mountains and the Sheckledown Sea, rose back through the Mjolnir lands of purple forests to encircle the world. Seem flew on at its fore as he always had before, spreading knowledge and seeking it.

  At times his final days with the Emeritus haunted him. In him there had been a fellow, a brother, and now he was alone again.

  That changed when he met Avia.

  In her Seem saw terror and hope alike; a spiral of answers to all the questions the Emeritus had raised. In her he saw the Heart and the veil, the Darkness and the Rot, and at her side he knelt to learn, entranced.

  He reshaped his empire for her. He ordered her book printed across the world, and her revenant arches carved throughout Aradabar. In time, as their love grew, he placed his seed within her belly, and soon their child was born.

  When the Rot came, he alone remained in the city. He sent his people away, and they became his diaspora, spreading knowledge across the world and sowing the legend of Saint Ignifer. He sent his armies away also, the Mandrays and their Caract riders, the bats and their Autist handlers, the Dark Giants and the Men of Glass, the landsharks and the Hoplites and the Spiders and the descendants of the Gnomic race. Many begged to stay, but they all obeyed.

  Last of all, he watched as Avia fled with their son, pursuing the madness of her visions. He alone would wait; the last guardian of lost Aradabar. He would wait until his son came back for him, until three thousand years had passed and he had long been driven as mad as the Emeritus.

  Then his son came.

  KING SEEM II

  Sen sat atop Ignifer's mountain at the end of the world and wept, and didn't know why.

  The earth rumbled underfoot, the Rot was gathering overhead, and there was so much he still had to do, but he couldn't stop crying. Tears came up from his middle like a spring that wouldn't stop. Every drop emptied him out further.

  He was so tired. He couldn't remember any more how much had been lost. They'd made lists, some distant part of himself remembered. They'd made a Book of people and places, but he couldn't imagine what filled it. The pages blurred in his mind with letters he didn't recognize.

  Who was he, now? Memories of a thousand Drazi churned inside him, of Lord Quill and his man Black, and now they too were fading. For every gain there was loss, and it never stopped. He'd stepped through the veil so many times, in pursuit of Seem's army. He gathered them then left them behind, each time anew. He was always leaving, always running away.

  Somewhere ahead another Sen was climbing through snow, believing he rose to save his world when all he would do is run, leaving those he loved to die in the Dark. Somewhere behind his city rose toward revolution believing they had a chance, because he'd told them they had a chance. All he could see now was the churn and impermanence.

  Nothing lasted. Nothing was worth this.

  "Go back," he whispered, barely audible over the roar of the volcano. It's what he would say to himself, to that other Sen who was climbing even now with hope in his heart. Go back to Feyon, go back to the others whoever they are and be with them for your last moments. This is too hard. There is no reward in this.

  He wrapped his arms about his knees and rocked. He was cold inside and cold outside, though already the heat of the volcano was rising. It didn't touch him.

  At least he still had Feyon; one friend in all his life. He clung to their hollowed out memories together. The two of them had lived in a millinery in the Slumswelters for a few precious years, and by them
selves built a newspaper that brought all the castes together. It was wonderful, but even that memory rang false. What castes was he striving to save, and how could he succeed if he didn't know who any of them were? What use was it to even try?

  Fresh fits of tears broke over him. Everything was lost.

  "Not everything," came a voice. He felt a warm hand at his back and turned.

  It was his mother, Avia. She was so young, as fresh-faced as she had been on the day she fled Aradabar, and now he was going to lose even this. He tried to speak but all that came out was a choking sob.

  "My son," Avia said. Her eyes welled with tears too. "My brave, strong son."

  She rested her head against his back and wrapped her arms about him. Soon he did not know her name anymore or recognize her voice as it whispered kind words in his ear, but still he felt her arms around him.

  "I don't want to do this anymore," he said, stuttering between sobs. "Please."

  "Only a little further now," she said. Her breath tickled in his hair. "Just a little more."

  "I feel like I want to die."

  "Sen, my darling. Think of the Saint, rising in the sky. Think of your Feyon, and of Craley. Wouldn't you fight further for them?"

  "I don't want to fight. I don't care anymore."

  "But you do," said this beautiful woman, scarcely older than him. She took his chin and guided him to look into her warm gray eyes, eyes just like his. "You do care. You do have the strength. The Saint is within you, Sen, he grows out of you. There will be a reward, even for you."

  Sen looked into her eyes and saw hints of a blue figure streaking into the sky. He was so strong. He was everything Sen had ever aspired to be. He was a lie.

  "He isn't real," he said.

  "He is," she urged. "He sits before me now, moments before his greatest work is completed. What kind of hero would he be without doubt, without loss, if it wasn't hard, Sen? This is the hardest point, but believe me, the reward will fit the cost. You will save them all, Sen. You will have all you have lost returned. I swear this on the life of my son."

  He felt himself calming, as the blue light sparkled in her eyes.

  "Look," she pointed.

  He turned, and saw the Saint rising even now. The volcano had erupted, a pillar of flame cutting up into the sky, and with it rose the Saint. Blue armor ignited on his body, fiery blue misericorde spikes blazed into his hands, and he launched himself into the black of the Rot and drove it back.

  Sen gasped. It was wondrous. He had never seen it like this.

  "It's you," the woman whispered in his ear from behind, holding him tightly about the shoulders. "Do you see what you have done for your people? Do you know how much it meant to Feyon to see you like this, how much it meant for them all? He only needs a little more, Sen. A little further and it will be enough. You can do it."

  The heat of the eruption washed over him. Lava crawled near. His tears dried, and for a little while the hollow in his middle was filled with this vision of the Saint.

  "They're waiting for you," she said.

  He turned back to look at her. She was fading already.

  "Thank you," he said.

  "Thank you," she answered, then was gone.

  He got to his feet. The emptiness inside wasn't gone, if anything it was deeper now, but for a time it was bearable. This was the way to die, like the Saint, going gloriously into the sky.

  He rose on wings of thought, propelled through the veil on lost memories, and flew into the torrent of fire. The volcanic heat burned away any last traces of sorrow and self-pity. He was Sen and this had always been his mission, decided long before he was born, and he would do what he had come here to do.

  On the other side of the flames he emerged, and now the Saint was falling. The blue light fizzled away from his skin, leaving only this other Sen behind. He remembered that fall still, and the one who caught him.

  The great wings of Seem/Sharachus beat past and snatched up the other Sen with his eight Spider legs. This was hope then, and help. Sen watched as they descended together, as he spoke to a woman in the revenant arch and passed through, and then he watched the silence.

  Ash fell.

  Across the city echoes of himself played out; he felt each one like the tiniest ping in his mind: Sen running to a Moleman by the riverside; Sen riding his horse to see a Balast and a Feyon and a Spindle and a Deadhead at the Aigle palace, until finally he went to the Abbey, to the Gloam Hallows, and the veil opened through time.

  From underfoot the Darkness came. It swelled in from a distance like a vast and encircling fist, as unstoppable as the Dusts' summer rains. He watched as his father, Seem/Sharachus, rose to fight this untouchable dark, his wings spread wide and defiant, and he raced to him then, and caught him, just as he had been caught only moments ago.

  * * *

  The defeated.

  In the empty white of the veil, the words rang in Sen's mind. Where had he been, and what things had he done? There were so many lost armies, found. Here was his father, and here was the future, but where was he?

  Where was he?

  Seem/Sharachus stood before him in the white. Here he was a king again; far taller than Sen, muscled, black-skinned and winged, with eight powerful limbs emerging from his back and side like fingers in an Adjunc fist. This was Seem, his father, and this was Sharachus, who had watched over him for so long.

  Seem/Sharachus blinked, and looked at Sen.

  "Sen?"

  Sen touched his father, his friend. At least these two remained. Through his touch he gave everything, and received everything in return. He saw Mare, Daveron, Gellick, Alam, the Abbess and Avia again, remembered distantly from Sharachus. He saw himself in his mother's arms, remembered from Seem. It couldn't replace what he had lost, but it was beautiful still. That other Sen had received so much love.

  He pulled back from the touch, unable to bear it any longer. Seem/Sharachus was staring at him wide-eyed, one clawed hand over his mouth.

  "By the Heart, Sen," he whispered, "what have you done?"

  "I brought them all," Sen answered.

  His father/friend's eyes filled with tears. "No."

  Sen smiled and nodded, because this was a beautiful thing too. This was one act to make it all worthwhile.

  "Where are they?" Seem/Sharachus breathed.

  Sen opened up the veil to let them through.

  * * *

  The white about them dissipated, and Seem/Sharachus had the sensation of motion, though he didn't move a step. The sound of voices came to him, the scent of animals, earthy and ripe.

  The fogs cleared, until before them lay such a gathering of castes that it took his breath away. He hadn't seen anything like this for millennia. There were landsharks with Ghast riders, and Mandray hawks led by bats, and Butterflies tugging zeppelin mounts and Steam Giants hauling revelatory bomb barrels, there were Wyverns with Pinhead riders, Ogrics carrying enormous stone clubs on the back of Fetchling-hoisted Ptarmigan whales, there were Men of Quartz weaving walls of flame between them, and giant Spiders with mangonel-turrets on their backs.

  "They're all here," said Sen. "The lost army of Aradabar, waiting for you. I martialled them as they came back to Aradabar, to die at your side.

  For Seem/Sharachus it was an epiphany, a moment when everything crystallized around him. He had lost everything three thousand years ago. He had lost his love, his son, his army, his city, his Empire. His body had been cut from him and his mind had turned to madness. For so long he'd been alone.

  Now it was here again. Those nearest had already dropped to their knees. The Butterflies bowed their heads. The Spiders lowered their long bodies to the white ground.

  "How long?" he managed to ask, his throat tight.

  "Only an instant," Sen said. "For them no time has passed."

  Seem/Sharachus dropped to his knees before his army, this last vestige of a people lost so long ago. Such happiness welled through him that he couldn't contain it, and fresh tears rolled
freely down his cheeks.

  Here was his Aradabar, returned.

  He looked up at Sen and knew that he would follow this young man anywhere, do anything he asked, just for giving this back to him. He was King again and anew.

  "The greatest King that ever lived," said Sen solemnly, as though reading his mind.

  The army heard him and erupted into cheers. Their King was back.

  AWA BABO I

  Awa Babo was built for war, the last and best of the Mjolnir thinking machines. His forebears, those who controlled the mighty Mjolnir war craft, were playthings compared to him; soft-shelled contraptions made of watermelon rind and fermented beans, filled with twigs and branches like the nesting places of birds. They thought in rounded circles without true minds, following paths of cumulative directives written in fleeting vegetative matter. They drove the Aigle skyships and the Ator landships, they orchestrated the Mjolnir Federacy and were revered as the greatest thinking machines in existence, but they did not truly think. They did not know.

  Awa Babo was different.

  It took the combined expertise of the Mjolnir Federacy twenty years to bring him to fruition. The piping and lines that made up his mind kept one thousand of the Federacy's foremost artisans engaged up until the moment of the cataclysm, when the Emeritus died in his pyramid at the hand of King Seem. The metals that formed the long flat egg of his body were mined from the last Amelorian seams in the Hasp mountains, sent to build him instead of to the Aigle factories in Wertz or the munitions bays of Until. His shell was fused in the caldera of Mount Bal by enslaved Men of Quartz.

  Into him the Mjolnir Gnomics programmed the best of their wisdom and resources; so the learnings of centuries sparked new life across his many mental pathways. He was their last wonder before the Federacy fell, and they worked tirelessly to set the woven logic paths and crystal memories into his golden bombe-mind even as Seem swallowed up their border towns and made inroads into their heartland.

  By the time Awa Babo was ready he was the greatest thinking machine ever created, the most powerful constructed sentience on the face of the Corpse World. Had he been able to fully reach across the veil to the armies of Mjolnir he would have found a way to defeat King Seem. He would have torn him asunder and left his Yoked Empire to rot in the sun.