by Chris Fox
“Master,” Alaunus said, rising to his feet and throwing back his cowl. His long fiery hair was bound with a leather cord, not so very different from Osiris’s own. “My visions have failed me. I see little of the coming days. I do not know the way. What is to become of us?”
The distress in his voice pained Osiris, but there was nothing he could do to forestall it. He owed them honesty, particularly Alaunus. The man had the sight more strongly than any servant Osiris had met in the last nine thousand years. “You will age and die. The power you draw from the sun is fading, and in a matter of hours it will vanish entirely.”
No one spoke, save the rain. Osiris couldn’t blame them. How would he react to such news? Even having known it for so long, it still shocked him to his core. He possessed a link to the First Ark. He would continue on, slumbering away during the dark time, until the sun’s strength returned in the Age of Aquarius.
“Is there nothing to be done?” Britannia’s clear voice rang out as she too rose to her feet. She raised delicate hands to remove her cowl, dark hair spilling down her shoulders as she met Osiris’s gaze.
“The cycle turns,” Osiris said, wishing it were otherwise. “But all is not lost. Many places of power remain. These Sources will contain energy for a dozen generations. Hundreds, if they are not tapped too heavily. Some part of your power will survive with them, if you husband it. So too will artifacts survive.”
He illustrated the latter by sliding the tooled leather sheath from his shoulder and offering his sword, hilt first, to Britannia. Her mouth fell open as she stared at the golden hilt, and shocked whispers broke out from many cowls. The weapon was sunsteel, one of only a handful in the world. Its power was incalculable, and Osiris had wielded this one longer than these people’s civilization had existed.
“My lord, I am not worthy of this. None of us are,” Britannia protested, yet she took the hilt reverently. She slung the scabbard over her shoulder, tears in her eyes.
His gift made it all real to them. He was departing their world, and by leaving the weapon he was passing his stewardship to another. “The weapon’s strength is incredible. It may well last your descendants until the next age. Teach them. Let it become a symbol, a remembrance of the great power their ancestors wielded, and that they will one day wield again.”
“As you say, my Lord,” Britannia replied, dropping to her knees and wrapping a protective hand over the golden hilt.
“There is much you must prepare, and precious little time to-,” Osiris began, but broke off as unexpected power stirred within him.
It began as a low buzz, but quickly built to a crescendo of gathering energy. He lurched forward, barely aware of Alaunus as he rushed in to catch him. Power gathered within Osiris, much as it did whenever he shaped. Yet this wasn’t his doing, wasn’t his command. Whatever was happening was beyond his control, the strange power bubbling within him like a cauldron about to boil. Then silver light burst from his eyes and mouth, the fire of the universe searing his very consciousness as it departed.
This cannot be. His risen whispered, an odd mix of awe and shock.
Osiris shuddered as the access key left his body, bereft of the Ark’s incredible power for the first time in many millennia. He lay against Alaunus’s chest, shivering in the rain as he struggled to understand what had just befallen him. There was only one explanation. Someone had bound the First Ark using a Primary Access Key. It should be impossible, but the proof was undeniable.
“A terrible calamity has just befallen the world,” he said, forcing himself to his feet. The assembled druids watched him in silence, their expressions horrified. “The First Ark has been stolen. I must reclaim it, or I too will perish along with all of you. The thief will take its power into the next age, and the other Ark Lords will be unprepared when next they awaken.”
No one spoke. What could they say? Osiris didn’t wait. He gathered himself, blurring north with all the speed and fury he could muster. The wind and rain whipped at his cloak as he bounded over hills and through valleys. He ran for long minutes, crossing the land he knew so well, faster than it had ever been crossed.
At long last he arrived at the Valley of Hidden Voices, the place he and his companions had discovered so many millennia ago. Back during the last ice age when the world had been frozen and harsh. He stared up at the massive black pyramid, the First Ark. Its sleek surface was untouched by the rain, untouched by time itself. It hadn’t changed in any way since the first time he’d laid eyes on it, though the land itself was different now.
A low thrum of power resonated through the land around Osiris. The Ark itself vibrated, then the structure began to sink, descending into the earth with alarming finality. Osiris understood what he was seeing, but he could scarcely believe it. Whoever had stolen the Ark was putting it into stasis, preparing for an age bereft of power.
It was exactly what Osiris had been planning to do, but now he was trapped outside with no way to reach the safety of the rejuvenators. No sanctuary to weather the ravages of time.
There was only one god who could have orchestrated this, could have found some loophole that allowed him to break Osiris’s bond with the Ark. Set. His treacherous brother had returned, and now controlled the most powerful of the great Arks.
Did he know of The Well? What if he opened it? He could doom them all, and even if he did not he would possess an advantage over every other Ark Lord. The rest would slumber away the gulf of time, but Set would be able to wake periodically, to use the vast reserve of power to sustain his life. The others would have to husband their reserves, gambling that it would carry them forward to a day when the sun would again sustain the Arks.
Not so Set. He would emerge more powerful than ever, and this time Osiris would not be there to oppose him. Could not be, for no matter how clever he was there was simply no way to survive for thirteen millennia without the aid of an Ark.
Chapter 1- Angel Island
Trevor reflexively reached for his cell phone to check Facebook. Then he remembered Facebook no longer existed. Neither did his iPhone, or any other electronic device. They’d all been destroyed in the wake of the sun’s coronal mass ejection, or CME as it they’d come to call it. Had that only been eight weeks ago? How ironic that he should find that more strange than the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, a walking corpse. His heart no longer beat. He didn’t need to breathe. His skin felt cool to the touch.
Then there was the mouthful of razor sharp fangs. Not quite as obvious as the black claws where his fingernails had been, but much more unnerving whenever he smiled. It was impossible to miss the almost palpable aura of fear he left in his wake as he passed through the encampment. It was a different flavor than that caused by his companion, despite the fact that both were mythological predators. People trusted werewolves—more so than walking corpses, anyway.
He and Commander Jordan made their way past the last knot of refugees, finally reaching the top of Angel Island. The heavily forested little spur of land was just a few miles across, connected to Sausalito via a ferry that had stopped running when the CME had wiped out most of the electronics required to run it.
Now the only way to reach the island was using one of the more conventional sailboats that ringed it, a vast fleet of them gathered from all over the bay. They bobbed up and down on soft blue waves, sails blindingly white in the afternoon sun. Trevor glanced up at the fiery orb, untroubled by its brilliance as he would have been while still alive.
“We’re running out of room,” Jordan said, stepping up to join Trevor. The beefy man wore a black T-shirt and grey cargo pants, which somehow managed to look like a uniform despite the fact that he no longer worked for Mohn Corp. “Food isn’t an issue yet, but space is.”
He was right. The entire island was dotted with small clusters of multicolored tents, most liberated from the REI store in Corte Madera. They were up to almost three thousand people, which was more than the island was able to support. Sanitation was fast bec
oming a problem, as was supplying the place with fresh water.
“Maybe it’s time to start clearing the rest of Marin,” Trevor suggested. He turned to gesture at the blackened remains of the Golden Gate bridge. A full quarter had been destroyed in the nuclear blast that Irakesh, the ancient Egyptian god, had unleashed a few weeks ago. “Thanks to baldy, the southern border is clear. If we can block the Richmond bridge, all we have to worry about is any zombies that wander down from the north.”
“How many can you control, do you think?” Jordan asked, peering at Trevor through unreadable sunglasses.
“I don’t know yet,” Trevor replied with a shrug. He faced north, staring up the harbor towards Larkspur. Bad memories there. That was where he’d helped Irakesh kill Bridget. He wasn’t sure if Blair had forgiven him for that. He certainly hadn’t forgiven himself. “I’d guess a few hundred. At the very least I can set up a beacon to draw them to me. You and the others should be able to kill them.”
“That’s going to take a long time,” Jordan said, shaking his head. The wind played through his hair. The military buzz cut had given way to blonde curls, and it humanized him somehow. “There are hundreds of thousands of zombies that way, and more will come south every day. I’m not saying we shouldn’t try, but we could be at this for years before we get rid of them all.”
“How’s the training going? It looks to me that you’ve got a couple dozen promising soldiers down there,” Trevor asked, nodding at a cluster of tents near the visitor center. It was patrolled by about a dozen men and women, each wearing black. They were all armed, most with rifles.
“They’re not ready to deal with combat on this scale. Besides, that’s not why I’m training them,” Jordan said, scratching at stubble threatening to become a beard. Trevor no longer had that problem. His hair had stopped growing when he died, leaving him with a permanent goatee. “We’re going to need them to defend the refugees. A militia of sorts. If we want to clear the zombies we need to do it ourselves, at least until we find a safe place for the survivors to hole up.”
“I thought that’s what this place is,” Trevor said, a bit confused. They’d worked hard to set up the island as a sanctuary.
“It’s temporary at best. People can’t live here, not long term. The bay has been overfished for too long, and there’s no farmland. We need to reclaim Marin and Sonoma, set up military compounds where people can start rebuilding their lives,” Jordan replied, folding his arms as he stared north. The wind ruffled his hair, cool enough that it would have made Trevor’s teeth chatter had he still been alive.
“You’re right,” Trevor said, returning his attention to the refugees gathered near the docks. “We’re going to have to do that sooner, rather than-.”
He trailed off, eyes narrowing as he focused on the soft waves lapping against the shore. The sun was sinking below the hills to the west, but there was still more than enough light. Especially to his enhanced senses.
“What is it?” Jordan growled, taking a step closer to Trevor.
“There,” Trevor replied, stabbing a finger in the direction of the water. Right off the shore. “Something moving under the water. Something big.”
Big didn’t begin to describe it. A pair of hairy shoulders broke the water not far from the dock. The creature’s face was inhuman, with long incisors and too-large eyes. Those eyes flared green, twin to Trevor’s own. This thing, whatever else it was, was clearly deathless. Smaller shapes broke the water all around it, these ones far more recognizable as once having been human. They moved too quickly and with too much purpose to be simple walkers, though. Their eyes glittered with intelligence as they sought targets.
“Get down there and see what you can do,” Jordan said, giving Trevor a shove.
Trevor fought down the urge to clock the commander, but he did turn to face him. “And just what the hell will you be doing?”
“Contacting Blair,” Jordan shot back, tone full of contempt. “We’re going to need help on this one, or people will die. Now get the fuck down there and stall. I’ll see if I can get Blair and Liz here to help.”
He was right. Trevor gave a tight nod, then turned back to the dock. He summoned the reserve of power deep within him. It had been growing for days, fueled by the sun. That seemed to be one of the advantages deathless possessed over werewolves. He could gain strength daily, while they had to rely on the moon to fuel their abilities. It looked like he was about to need every bit of that strength.
Trevor blurred, leaping down the trail toward the dock. He flew over rocks, bounded off pines. Faces peered up at him from in between tents. They were scared, but also curious. He ignored them as he rapidly approached the dock. The screams had already begun there, mostly from fear, but more than one shriek of pain. Trevor slid down a twenty-foot cliff, rolling back to his feet when he hit the bottom. He was near the water, close enough to get a good view.
Careful, my host. You are dealing with true deathless now, not the nascent deathless you so often encounter. They may be every bit as powerful as you.
“Great,” Trevor muttered, peering over a boulder as he sized up the attack. He’d known they’d eventually have to deal with greater threats than zombies, but he’d hoped they would take longer to show up.
His risen was right. The attackers were leaping through refugees much more quickly than a zombie could manage. They also attacked more intelligently, incapacitating without killing. He watched as a pale-skinned deathless in a black tank top and jeans shattered an Indian man’s leg. The man collapsed, clutching his knee with agonized grunts. The deathless kept going, downing another target as he moved on.
They are gathering food. Once they have enough they’ll return and feed at their leisure. His risen said, tone emotionless.
Trevor was revolted, but also painfully aware of the rumble in his stomach. He badly wanted to feed, something he’d resisted as often as possible. He’d confined his meals to zombies, and even then he’d made sure no one saw him feed. If they found him disturbing now, that would only make it worse.
A roar drew his attention, and Trevor’s mouth fell open now that he was close enough to see the larger figure emerge from the water. It was easily fifteen feet tall, and now that he was close he could clearly see it had once been a gorilla. A silverback, unless he missed his guess. He hadn’t realized other primates could contract the virus, but apparently they could. What’s more, this one had been feeding often and well to have already grown so large.
Its meaty black fist closed around a middle-aged woman one of the other deathless had incapacitated. She gave a single shriek, which was cut off as the thing stuffed her entire torso into its maw. Trevor gagged at the horrible crunching sound, cringing as the woman’s entire body disappeared into the gorilla’s mouth.
It would be wise to wait for aid, my host. That one is beyond your ability.
“Maybe,” Trevor said, leaping over the boulder and blurring toward the gorilla. “But we don’t have time to wait.”
He leapt into the air, landing on the back of the gorilla’s neck. Its thick fur gave him a solid grip as he swung one arm around to slash at its neck. A gout of cold black blood spilled to the ground, and the creature gave another bellow as its arms came up to seize Trevor. It was fast, but not blurring. Maybe it hadn’t learned that ability yet, if he were lucky. Trevor instinctively transformed to green mist as the boulder-sized hands passed through the space he’d occupied.
He concentrated, summoning a wave of green light. It washed over the gorilla, cooking the thing’s skin and filling the air with the stench of burnt meat and hair. The creature slashed wildly through the air where Trevor’s cloud of energy hovered, its hands passing harmlessly through. It looked like he could hurt it, though the wounds closed as fast as he made them. At least it was no longer attacking refugees.
“Why do you fight us?” came a low feminine voice from below and behind him. Trevor shifted to see an Asian woman in her mid-twenties. Well, she’d been in her mid-twen
ties before dying, anyway. Now she had the same black claws and hideous green eyes Trevor did. She licked her lips, exposing a mouthful of razored fangs. “You are one of us. You should be feeding, not defending these cattle. You have fantastic abilities. You could teach us much. Join us.”
The other deathless had stopped their attack, and were returning to encircle him. Trevor drifted a bit higher, now out of reach of the still-enraged gorilla. What the hell could he do now? He couldn’t fight them all, and his experience with Irakesh had taught him that controlling the will of a sentient deathless was extremely difficult. So that was out. He needed backup, and he needed it now.
Maybe he could keep them talking until the others arrived.
Chapter 2- Light Pulses
Blair floated several inches above the ground, legs locked underneath him in a full lotus he’d never have been flexible enough to manage before his transformation. He drank deeply of the Ark’s power, allowing his consciousness to flow through the entire structure. It was fascinating. Heady. In many ways he was the Ark, and could use it to extend his senses. More than that, he could capitalize on its senses, and the Ark had thousands of them. He could feel the ocean, feel the Ark’s connection to something deep in the earth.
It was this latter that he focused on, trying once more to tease out the nature of the connection. Something powerful ran hundreds of miles into the earth, a sort of conduit. It was dormant, but he sensed it was capable of carrying enormous amounts of energy. That energy could flow both ways, which had piqued his curiosity. Where did it send the energy it gathered? If it could also draw energy, how and what did it draw that energy from? Blair understood conceptually that there was a network of Arks across the world, but how or why they’d been created remained a mystery.
Blair. Jordan’s voice thundered in his brain. He winced, losing his concentration. That severed his connection to the Ark, and he fell heavily to the stone. We need you out here. There’s an attack. Not just zombies this time. Deathless. At least a dozen.
