Wrath of Kerberos tok-9

by Jonathan Oliver

  Below Silus now turned the dry, dead world from which he had been sent. Even without moving, he knew what hung above him; he could sense its call. He reached out and found himself deep within the clouds of Kerberos. He’d gladly stay here forever, abandoning his body for the embrace of the god. Silus was surprised to find that this thought caused him no guilt, and it was this realisation that made him aware of the dangers he faced here. He had to focus, and so he asked the question that had been on his mind ever since they had come to the settlement.

  “Who is Illiun? Where do his people come from?”

  The azure clouds surrounding him darkened, the rumble of thunder preceding a flicker of lightning.

  Again Silus travelled without moving. He found himself hanging before a new world: a blue-green planet. For a moment he thought that it was Twilight itself, but it couldn’t be. Vast continents dominated the globe, bejewelled with the lights of hundreds of cities. A small grey moon orbited the planet, and here, too, he could see the lights of civilisation. He watched, astonished, as ships rose and fell between the planet and its satellite.

  When Kerberos spoke, its voice seemed to come from within himself.

  Twilight is not the only world that hangs in the eternal void; there are others, worlds long dead, the discarded toys of youthful deities. The planet that turns before you now is one such world. With this creation, I thought that I had finally realised the full potential of my power. Millennia before your time, Silus, a faithful people thrived here, dedicating their lives to the advancement of their own kind, all the while worshipping the being that had given them life.

  Silus’s perspective shifted and now he was looking down on a huge, shining city at the centre of which, like a needle thrusting into the heavens, stood an impossibly slim tower.

  My churches were architectural marvels, the likes of which have not been seen on any world since. Here there was no theological dissonance, no separate creeds or offshoot cults to stir up conflict amongst the populace; when the hymns were sung and the prayers chanted, it was with one voice, and to one god.

  Inside the tower, in a church bathed in the light of a hundred stained-glass windows, priests wearing robes of myriad colours administered to the largest congregation Silus had ever seen.

  Not one man, woman or child was without faith. The sermons and prayers of the priesthood drew the people closer to me. Each new church and cathedral erected in my name drew the faithful’s eyes heavenward to gaze in wonder as I slowly turned above them. I welcomed their adoration, but I should have known when to keep them at a distance. For in being drawn closer to a god, does not humankind find the desire to be more like gods themselves?

  As you can see, Silus, this civilisation was far in advance of your own. Instead of magic, they had technology. They discovered the way to the stars, though their disappointment was great when they found that the cold stretches of space open to them were without life. Their cities spanned whole continents and not one person wanted for anything.

  But the spirit of humankind is to always strive for better, and this they did, and in so doing they committed a blasphemy so great that it would lead to their destruction.

  Silus fell through the city, tumbling so far that he thought he would pass right through the planet’s core. Instead, he came to rest hanging over another city, this one easily as big as the metropolis above it, though here, far beneath the ground, there were none of the usual sounds of life. When Silus looked more closely, he saw that no vehicles or people moved on the city’s thoroughfares; it was as though the place was deserted.

  Not deserted, Silus, merely waiting for its citizens to be born.

  Within these buildings they slept, cradled in artificial wombs, dreaming in amniotic slumber. In striving to be closer to their god, the people of the world that I had created claimed a right that only a deity should wield; the right to create life. This world’s scientists were the midwives to a new race, engineered to be the servants of their creators. Artificial men and women emerged from the womb fully grown, ready to serve their masters. Though this disturbed me greatly, I did not intervene. I had given my creations free will and I had learned hard lessons — across many worlds created and destroyed — of the perils of taking that away, once given.

  Silus was inside one of the buildings now, in a hall that seemed to stretch on forever. Within were ranked an endless succession of smooth round objects, like huge pearls. There was a muggy heat coming from them that reminded him of the cow-sheds during calving on his uncle’s farm. He watched in astonishment, and horror, as the perfectly smooth surface of each pearl began to wrinkle and split; fully formed adult humans pulled themselves out of the slime in which they were immersed, and stepped forth.

  The children of my creations were, like their parents, utterly brilliant. Their minds were incisive and focused. Yet still they were willing to serve, using their gifts for the betterment of the world to which they had been born.

  Silus watched as the artificial humans integrated themselves into the civilisation above. So like their creators were they, so convincingly human, that soon it was impossible to distinguish between those of natural birth and those who were the product of science.

  Their integration into society was seamless. However, in one area this new race was very different to their creators; they were godless. They soon came to reason that as they themselves had not been created by a deity, then what use was there for such a thing? They observed none of the rituals and ceremonies of the faithful, although, for a time, they tolerated the religion of their masters. But unlike the minds that had created them, they were evolving. Soon their intellects were beyond those of their creators, and the servants quickly became the masters. So dependent on their artificial people had my children become that they did not realise that they had been usurped, happy, as they were, for their every need to be administered to, all the while sinking into comfortable complacency. The artificial race came to control every aspect of their lives.

  Then came the first blasphemous act of this new race. Religion was banned and the churches and cathedrals — any place of worship, no matter how small — were shut down. Such beliefs were backward, the artificial race argued, and did nothing to advance the cause of humankind; spirituality was the reserve of the superstitious and the frightened. That these beliefs be entirely eradicated over time, a programme of enforced sterilisation of those who stubbornly held to their faith was put into practice. This, finally, shook my people out of their slumber, though not before the majority of them had succumbed to this tyranny. Those who had avoided the needles of the doctors took up arms, only to be brutally put down. They knew nothing of war, but their creations learned the art quickly. Once the populace had been subdued, seeing that their actions would not be universally embraced, the artificial race decided to drop the facade of progressive rationality entirely.

  I had given my people free will. I had decided not to interfere in the world that I had created, and which they had shaped. I had tried a rule of absolute power before, on other worlds, and it had led to a people who only praised me because they were afraid. But when the artificial race triggered a terrible weapon, destroying an area much larger even than the peninsula you call home, Silus, the wrath of old returned.

  Silus was hanging above the planet once more and he shuddered in horror as flames took a whole continent in their grip and turned it into wasteland in less than the blink of an eye.

  I was too late to intervene. My people were eradicated. My beautiful world, which had been created and populated entirely by my will, was ruined, now ruled over by an alien race that paid me no heed. Only when I rained down fire, unleashing a destructive force more powerful than their own, only then did they truly hear me, and for a moment some of them actually believed.

  In my rage, however, I had missed something.

  Silus’s perspective shifted again, pulling him away from the inferno raging below, the continents sinking into seas of lava before being obscured entirely by
globe-spanning clouds of smoke. Now he was staring past the burning world into space, and for a moment he didn’t realise what it was that he was supposed to be seeing. But then Silus saw it — a brilliant streak of light burning into the heavens, rising from the planet below like a meteor in reverse.

  That was a ship carrying Illiun’s ancestors, the last remnants of the artificial race. When my destruction of the planet began, some of the usurpers acted quickly, throwing themselves into the void to escape my wrath. And for millennia they have evaded me, using their technology and their growing knowledge of the void to seek out the places where time and reality are at their weakest, punching holes through space and putting whole universes between us.

  But now their means of escape lies in ruins, and it will be you, Silus, who will now be the agent of my judgement.

  S ILUS AND HIS companions had grown close to Illiun and his people during the time they had spent together. Katya had helped Rosalind and Shalim look after Hannah, and Zac had become firm friends with the small girl, integrating with the family just as if they’d been neighbours back in Nurn. Not once had these people threatened them. Granted, the silver-eyed men had attacked Kelos and Shalim, but that had been nobody’s fault but the savage world on which they found themselves. In fact, the people of the settlement simply did not have a violent bone in their body, as evidenced by their inability to defend themselves against the Order of the Swords of Dawn. Yet Kerberos was now telling him that they were of a people that had been responsible for the death of an entire race, killing them merely because their philosophy differed from their own. Was it right to finish what Kerberos had started, and kill the few surviving remnants of that ancient civilisation? Silus couldn’t believe that they posed a threat to anybody in their present state.

  He could feel the god’s displeasure at this thought even before it spoke. The clouds that enfolded him darkened again and, for a moment, Silus got the sensation that he was being drawn deeper into Kerberos. He fought against the pull, fearful that the deity’s displeasure would mean his dissolution.

  Illiun and his people are not just a threat to yourselves, but the whole of Twilight. This dead world that you have come to will one day be your home. You are on Twilight, Silus, but far in your past.

  Silus’s mind reeled. The idea was almost beyond belief. Where was the vast ocean that he knew so well? Would this dead place one day be far beneath the waves?

  The sorcery that saw the wrecking of the Llothriall clashed with the energies unleashed by Illiun’s ship when it punched its way into this realm, pulling you and your companions back through time to a Twilight not yet begun. If Illiun and his people are allowed to remain here, to breed and grow on this young world, then the life you know, the people you love, will never have been. Katya and Zac will blink out of existence. Everything will unravel into oblivion. There will never have been a Twilight as you know it. These people are not a part of my plan for your world, Silus, and, really, what are the lives of this few, compared with the countless millions? Would you let this handful of usurpers live, at the expense of your own race? They are not human. Remember what I have shown you.

  I am sending a creature to this world, one which can remove the usurpers from existence, just as their existence threatens your own. Seek this being out, bring Illiun and his people to justice for what they have done. If you fail, you and all those you love will be consigned to oblivion.

  “But why me?” Silus said. “Why can’t you eradicate them yourself, or use the Swords to enact your wrath?”

  Because they trust you. I would rather they walk to their deaths voluntarily, unknowing, than fight against me again. They have escaped me far too many times for me to take that risk. This is where it must end, Silus. You must be the agent of my wrath.

  Silus was blinded by a flash of light as a storm raged in the heart of his god. A wave of nausea washed over him and he realised that he was back in his body, his heavy flesh anchoring him to the floor. He could hear Bestion crawling around him, still chanting the words that had sent him into the presence of Kerberos. He tried to call the priest’s name, but his throat was too dry and he couldn’t make his lips work. Silus reached out and grabbed Bestion’s arm as he shuffled past, and the priest looked up with a startled expression, before realising that Silus had returned. Bestion brought him water then, and helped him to sit upright. The priest looked as ravaged as Silus felt, his robes soaked with sweat and his face pale.

  “Has the Allfather spoken?” he asked, the desperation for any news of his god writ large on his face. “Will He lead us to safety?”

  There was a knock on the door then and Katya stepped into the room, holding Zac; Silus noticed that his son had been crying.

  “I’m sorry,” Katya said. “You were such a long time and we were getting worried. Is everything okay?”

  “Well, Silus?” Bestion said, ignoring the interruption.

  Silus looked at his wife and child and realised then what truly mattered; the only thing that mattered.

  “Kerberos has spoken,” he said. “Help me to my feet so that I can tell everybody the good news.”

  PART TWO

  Arrivals And Departures

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Scaroth wasn’t sure which of his wives he was eating. It definitely wasn’t First Wife, as she was tucking into the carcass herself, glowering at him over the fire as she fed. Maybe it was Seventh Wife. He hadn’t seen her in a few days, although the last time he had she was being more than a little friendly with one of his shamans, so it was entirely possible she was now ensconced in his tent, doing the deed. That was the problem with having over forty wives; it was so hard to keep track of them. Scaroth didn’t feel much guilt, then, when he had to slaughter one to feed his tribe. Food was scarce and times were hard. The only thing left to hunt was a species of toad, and even then you had to boil it for hours to neutralise the poison in its flesh. He had considered moving the tribe on, seeking more fertile land, but he knew from experience that this would be pointless. Everything in this world was dust and rocks. He’d once asked his shamans why their god would treat them this way, but amongst the knuckle bones and entrails they’d found no answers. Many generations had passed since their god had shown his face, and all their prayers and sacrifices hadn’t brought him back.

  Scaroth was sucking the flesh from a thigh bone (as leader of the tribe, the best cut of meat was, of course, his to claim) when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wrenk, jumping up and down on his perch at the edge of the camp, waving his arms about his head.

  Scaroth put down his meal and stood, looking towards the guard.

  “Something’s coming!” came the faint shout. “Something is coming!”

  Scaroth looked to the others, but they were too intent on their food to pay much heed to Wrenk, though when the first rays of azure light washed across the foothills, some of them did look up.

  “What is it, Wrenk?” Scaroth called.

  “Something’s coming!”

  Wrenk tumbled off his perch and ran down the slope towards them, still waving his arms above his head. There was no doubt about it, Scaroth thought, the boy was touched. But then, in his infancy, his son had been almost killed by Tenth Wife fighting with Eleventh Wife, claiming that the child was hers. Scaroth remembered well the horrible sound baby Wrenk’s head had made when he’d been dropped on it.

  “Wrenk, be calm. What is coming?”

  “Burning blue disk, rising over the world!”

  “Shut up, Wrenk!” said First Wife, scratching her right tit as she noisily scraped her teeth against a fragment of skull. “We’re eating.”

  But there was indeed something coming, Wrenk hadn’t been wrong about that.

  The light that flooded down into the hollow was like nothing Scaroth had ever seen. Its azure brilliance picked out each individual amongst the stark rocks, highlighting them and making their dark-green flesh shimmer. The sphere that rose high above them was much much larger than Small Yellow
Fire God That Comes With Day. Maybe, Scaroth thought, this is our god. Maybe he has returned to us now that times are so bad.

  But when he looked to his shamans they seemed as unsure as he. Indeed, nobody in the tribe knew how to react to this divine arrival. Some had taken to fucking, rutting as though their lives depended on it, as though the end of the world was here and this was their last chance; others glanced up and then continued eating, while others sobbed, rocking back and forth in the dust as tears rolled down their dark cheeks.

  “You!” Scaroth called one of his shamans over. “What is that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is it our god?”

  “The old stories say that the god of our people was much smaller. And red.”

  “But this is a god, right?”

  “Must be.”

  “Then we make an offering. See what happens.”

  The wives of Scaroth collectively breathed a sigh of relief when the sacrifice was not chosen from amongst their number. Instead, it was decided that as Wrenk had been the first to see the god, then it should be he that was offered up to the deity. This had to be explained to the boy several times, but when it sank in he gave himself gladly, even smiling as the bone knife was plunged deep into his chest. Scaroth wasn’t sad to see him go. Once the ceremony was over, they could feast on whatever the god did not take.

  The shamans danced. The shamans pulled out Wrenk’s guts and held them aloft. The shamans dabbed the blood from the corpse on the forehead of every member of the tribe. The shamans burned the sacred bones of the First and inhaled their smoke.

  The shamans might as well have done nothing, for all the effect it had. The god hung there, silent and impassive, oblivious to what was going on below him. So, they waited. But eventually the tribe got bored of waiting for divine intervention and began to fight over the remains of Wrenk. His corpse was quickly pulled apart and consumed.