Storshae’s gaze became austere. “You kill the Intel sacrifice first.”
“Hopelessly doubling down on your commands makes such a threat seem weaker than before.”
After another pause, Storshae smirked. “You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t just end your efforts to resurrect my father. You want him alive nearly as much as I do, for you have your own plans, your own questions to ask him.”
“Then we fight,” Toono said. “And then you die. You will become my Dev sacrifice, and you will never get to witness your father rise from the grave.”
Storshae stepped down to the floor so that he was face to face with Toono. “And if you die—”
“Then you’ll be forced to find a way past Bryson Still.”
Storshae scowled at the last name. Why would Toono use that name rather than LeAnce?
Toono’s gaze remained placid. “I don’t know if you realize this, but the only sacrifice coming from the Intel Kingdom would be Bryson. He is not the kind of person who would have it any other way. If we don’t hunt him down, he’ll go out of his way to hunt us down. And I’m afraid—even if they miraculously had the skill to wield Anathallo and Dimiourgos—that Elyol, Vliyan, and Sigmund would fail miserably when faced with such an opponent, even if they were to fight together, and even if Sigmund used his Branian. Bryson has one of his own, too.” Toono paused, then added, “And don’t think you have what it takes, because you don’t.”
Storshae snatched Toono’s throat, squeezing with an iron grip. Toono, however, stood casually, one hand tucked in his robe pocket and the other still leaning against his cane. He eyed Storshae with disinterest, allowing the king this moment of power.
“There have always been two qualities of yours that have sickened me,” Storshae muttered, leaning in close to Toono’s face. “Your arrogance and tranquility.”
“No use in working myself up, especially not when this close to my goal.” Toono lifted his chin and tilted his head, stretching his neck in Storshae’s grasp. “You have one avenue to bring your father back, and it goes through me. I am the only one who can defeat Bryson.”
Storshae sneered. “Do you know what else has always bothered me about you?” After a short silence, the king answered his own question, reaching for Toono’s forehead. “What is it that you hide beneath your bandages?”
Storshae pinched the bottom of the bandage and began to peel it back, but a palm struck his chest, sending him flying backward, up the steps and into his father’s throne, which was obliterated by the force of the collision. Storshae finally hit the floor of the stage, lying in the wreckage of what he had considered the most important memento of his father. Had Toono really packed that much strength behind a single palm strike?
Storshae stared at the wooden rafters and stone archways of the hollow ceiling. A tear trickled down the side of his face before staining the wooden debris beneath him. He’d spent his life respecting his father by refusing to sit in his throne; now he lay in a bed of its wreckage. He heard footsteps climbing the few steps that connected the main floor and the stage.
Toono placed a foot on the wreckage, one hand still in his pocket. He gazed over the king and said, “Show this orphan where the Dev sacrifice is.”
* * *
Toono followed Storshae toward a building that looked like nothing more than a gray block of stone. He had noticed it long ago, and despite its peculiarities, he had never tried entering or asking about it. As they reached a pair of guards standing at the foot of the building, a section of stone slid upward, revealing a doorway that couldn’t be seen before.
Toono stepped inside after Storshae. The building had no rooms, just the floor below them, three other walls in the distance, and a ceiling high above. There were no windows for sunlight, but there were hundreds of torches scattered throughout. Prison cells stretched across the floor and stacked on top of each other toward the ceiling.
Toono made it a point to conceal his thoughts, his mind feeling vulnerable the moment he had stepped inside. “This is a building of Permanence,” he said.
“Yes,” said Storshae. “The Confines of Consciousness.”
“Interesting.”
Ever since the quarrel between the two men earlier that day, Storshae had mostly remained silent.
They reached what seemed to be the building’s farthest corner, where a distant cell held a single woman. Toono took notice of the damage in the Permanence walls of her cell.
“This is Homina, your Dev sacrifice,” Storshae said.
Toono immediately spotted a resemblance between this woman and someone else he knew. Besides the long black hair, it was the way she wrapped it around her wrists and grasped onto it.
“Do you know Illipsia?” Toono asked.
The woman’s head rolled to the side, resting loosely atop her shoulder. Her hair curtained her face in greasy strings. “You are different,” she whispered.
After a pause, Toono asked, “How so?”
“I’ve never met someone like you.”
Taking a knee, making himself eye level with Homina, Toono asked, “And what am I like?”
“Me.”
Toono paused and glanced up at Storshae. The king shrugged and said, “She’s always been crazy.”
Toono gazed back at the prisoner. “And what are you?”
“A primordial remnant.”
This woman was strange, but in a way that interested Toono. He wished he had asked about this place before.
“But you seem to be a more direct line,” she noted, each statement becoming more cryptic than the last. “You scare me.”
“Well, that’s a first,” Storshae said, arms crossed as he leaned against a bar. “Somehow, I’m still not surprised, though.”
Toono stood up. “Is this woman related to Illipsia?”
“She’s her mother.”
Gritting his teeth, Toono’s gaze fixed on Homina, recalling a conversation he’d had with Illipsia when they first met. “Illipsia believes her mother was killed long ago, after she had finally succumbed to a wound given to her by Mendac four years prior.”
“A lie I told her,” Storshae said, an air of disinterest in his tone.
“And now you want me to kill her mother?”
“You needed someone power—”
Swssh! A dagger was jammed upward into Storshae’s chin before he could finish his sentence. Toono gripped its handle, blood spilling over his fist and along his fingers. Storshae’s breaths were ragged and heavy, his eyes wide with forlorn shock. He gagged, his open mouth revealing the dagger’s pointed tip, impaled through his tongue from below.
Toono twisted the handle, then pulled Storshae close, using his other hand to simultaneously thrust a blade into Storshae’s chest. He twisted that one, too. As Storshae’s irises and pupils slowly faded to white, Toono leaned in and whispered, “You viewed me as an orphan, thinking that I could never see you as anything less than a king.”
Toono pulled both daggers free, and Dev King Storshae dropped to the floor. The Rogue Demon wiped his blades with the sleeve of his robe.
“This whole time, I’ve only seen you as number nine.”
39
The Cave on the Seafloor
Agnos sunk like a rock.
While animals and humans shared the land as home, the sea belonged to only the former. Yet, here where Agnos plummeted, he saw no signs of life—not a single fish. He was definitely where he needed to be. Such phenomenon weren’t coincidence.
As predicted, this part of the mission was the easy part. He simply needed to occupy a steel bubble and let it carry him to the seabed. And because of its steel-like material, the water pressure wouldn’t break it—or so he believed. Once on the sandy floor, he’d circle the bottom of the tiny island in search of the cave.
His descent was bathed in a silence the likes of which he’d never experienced—save, of course, the untouched depths of the Warpfinate; nothing could compare to that.
He touched sand and stare
d in awe at the thick pillar of island that jutted from the seafloor. From the surface, the island had appeared tiny, but beneath the water its base was huge, lined with cragged cliff-sides and deep crevices that gave off the appearance of thousands of tall, narrow cave openings. It almost looked like an ancient tree, with thick roots twisting from the ground and forming the trunk. How was he supposed to find the specific cave?
Using all of his effort, Agnos pushed against the bubble. It budged only slightly. Moving a bubble of steel wasn’t an easy feat—especially for Agnos—but with the added resistance of not only the sea, but the sand in which the bubble sat, it became damn near impossible. At this rate, it’d take days for Agnos to circle the base.
He didn’t have days.
This was stupid, Agnos thought. He came to a stop and sighed, reaching behind his back for Orbaculum. He’d need to use an elastic bubble, which he hadn’t planned on resorting to until his escape from the cave—if he had made it that far. Luckily, the sea was not deep here. Even the moonlight could reach him. Come to think of it, it seemed too illuminated at such a depth. He shouldn’t have been able to see the island’s base so clearly.
He blew into the middle of Orbaculum’s top three holes, creating a bubble a little bigger than himself. Once it was secure, he broke the EC chains of the outer force field of steel. He stretched his arms and kicked his legs, feeling a lot freer, the bubble molding with his limbs. It even held up against the water pressure. He had weaved his chains tight enough.
Agnos leapt off the seafloor and swam toward the island’s base. He needed to be quick; not only did he have to worry about the natural timer of the sun rising, returning the sea to its restless state, but also the limited oxygen supply contained in his bubble.
Every shadowy crevice he inspected ended up being nothing but a false cove. He had lost count of how many he’d looked at, but it had to have been nearing a hundred. And as time progressed, he grew more impatient. He began whisking past shadowy indentions, assuming they were nothing but deeply lodged nooks in the crust. He had severely underestimated the scope of this dream of his—no, he had simply miscalculated several variables.
Before long, he could feel his airway failing him. He panicked, swimming away from the base to get a wider view. His eyes darted every which way, but nothing stood out. Neeko had warned him about the dangers of such a dream, repeating them every day: You are trifling with beasts that will kill you, and I cannot guarantee you success. Tethering your soul to this dream of yours is like throwing you in a cage with a demon. You have no way to get out, and it’s likely you’ll die.
I don’t want to get out, a seven-year-old Agnos would reply.
For the first time in Agnos’s life, he feared his dream. He had always feared death at the hands of brutes in battle, and some of that was because he wasn’t a fighter, but it was mostly because he didn’t want to die a pointless death. There was nothing worse than such a fate. He replayed Neeko’s words in his mind: The only thing worse than living without purpose, is dying without purpose.
The bubble popped unexpectedly, and Agnos felt the sea’s pressure flood around him before having a chance to gulp for air. He held his breath and tried to swim toward the surface—such a foolish effort. His body was too weak; the surface too far.
A deep groan vibrated the sea. Agnos looked for the source of the sound, but his vision was becoming hazy. Still, he saw something swim out of the island’s base—a beast as large as five blue whales combined, yet sleek, wide, and flat like a stingray. Two tails trailed behind it like ribbons, and a line of fur ran down the middle of its back, dancing in the currents. It was such a majestic being.
Its groan boomed through the sea with enough bass to cause the island’s sides to crumble. It arched beautifully around the island’s base and headed for Agnos. From here, it may have looked small, but there was no doubt in Agnos’s mind that such a creature would have dwarfed his ship.
He heard more sounds from behind. These he recognized. He spun, a contingent of blue whales swarming toward him. Captain Gray Whale had come to his aid, but he feared she was too late.
Agnos looked forward again. He floated in the water, lost in wonder. The beast bore down on him at an unprecedented speed and opened its mouth. He stared into its massive jaws, containing hundreds of rows of teeth and a wide, flat tongue. As he accepted his fate, the whales converged on the beast. They swung their tails and butted their heads against it, but to no avail.
Agnos was consumed, entrapped by the creature’s jaws.
* * *
If you’re going to die, make sure it holds purpose.
Agnos opened his eyes, rolling onto his stomach and coughing water out of his lungs, the quote of his mentor ripping his mind from its slumber. He propped himself onto his elbow as he continued to hack up the sea. For a brief moment, he had lost awareness of what he was doing or how he’d ended up in this scenario.
The coughing subdued but didn’t cease completely. He pressed a hand against the hard ground and pushed his upper half up, gazing around at what looked to be a cavern. Suddenly, everything hit him like a ton of bricks.
He stood up, his drenched robes clinging to his skin. If this was a cave below the sea, there shouldn’t have been light. Why could he see so clearly? The light’s source waned around a bend just ahead. He turned, spotting the waterhole he must have entered from. How did he get here?
He looked toward the light again, pressing forward slowly. His body, energy, and mind were weak. Walking took unimaginable effort. He placed his hand against the cavern wall as he rounded the bend. A short tunnel stretched before him. At the end was an unnatural dome of light. Beyond that, he could not tell.
He made his way down the tunnel, stopping next to the light. Its power pulsed against his skin. And now that he was this close, he noticed that the light stopped abruptly. Sure, a soft light stretched through the cavern, but there was a certain point where the light became stronger than the rest, resembling a barrier.
During one of Agnos’s adventures into the Warpfinate’s depths, he had read a book about an energy that could create light—one known as Tahara. It belonged to the Bozani of the Light Empire, for only they were strong enough to sense its current in their body and wield its power. Only a select few humans had been known to tap into their Tahara, but those were supposedly fabricated details of the fairy tales known as Of Five.
Agnos knew not to touch it. Something told him this light had been here longer than the Known History timeline. It had the ability to withstand time and could likely disintegrate whatever tried crossing its shield. He looked around. For what, he did not know. But he figured he’d exhaust any and all possible options before blindly penetrating the barrier. He spent close to ten minutes analyzing every inch of the cavern’s surface with no success before deciding to just go for it.
He extended a finger and placed the tip against the light. He screamed as it seared his skin, but he continued to push his hand through, persevering through the pain. The light now reached his shoulder as he felt around within it. He made contact with something cold, rough, and narrow. He tried to pull it out, but it was too heavy. It felt like it was attached to something bigger. As the light shredded his arm to pieces, he continued to feel around.
Touching something that felt like leather, he moved his fingers around the object. He felt the flimsiness of paper stacked together and ran his thumb across the material. His grimace from the pain turned into a wide-eyed look of shock. There was no mistaking what this was. He grabbed hold of it and yanked it out, the shield of light weakening instantly.
He stumbled backward and fell to his knees. Grabbing his shoulder, he cursed under his breath as he observed the shriveled remains of his right arm. He tried to move his fingers, then his arm, but nothing responded. He didn’t have time to worry about it. He needed to regain focus. He exhaled slowly, the pain still lucid in his mind, and gazed at what he had retrieved from the light. On the cavern floor lie a book, bound in
leather and tied shut with string.
He picked it up and stared at the cover, where something had been inscribed in a foreign language. He recognized it instantly, for it resembled the strange characters from the word on the chalkboard in Bryson’s dream from a couple years ago. It only made sense that such a book would be written in a language as elusive and ancient as Technous.
Agnos needed to get out of this cave. He couldn’t translate Technous on his own. He needed his glasses, which he had left on the ship, deeming it too risky to take them down here.
It seemed as if the sea, too, understood his demand. He heard something bubbling from around the cavern’s bend behind him. He glanced back at the shield of light that had softened to that of a single candle. Two skeletons sat next to each other, leaning against the tunnel’s end wall. He must have pried the book from their grasp.
As his feet began to soak, he glanced down to see that the sea was rising, and quickly. Was this the sea’s response to him grabbing the book or to the sun rising in the sky? He had no idea how much time had passed since he began the dive.
He fumbled with Orbaculum, trying to grab it from his back while simultaneously holding the book in the same hand. His other arm was useless. He finally managed to wrestle Orbaculum free, turning it over and breathing into the middle hole. An elastic sphere formed around him, and before kicking his way through the knee-deep waters, he took one last glance at the remains of what must have been the Thunder Queen and Mind King, two rulers of a time before Known History.
* * *
His sphere wasn’t strong enough. Agnos had kicked his way out of the cavern and was now in the open sea, but he may have entered an even less promising situation. The sea’s currents were strong and erratic, tossing him around like a leaf in a hurricane. Sunlight had returned above, and with it, the tumultuous waves. His window to escape had closed.
He had enclosed the chronicle that he retrieved from the cave within a smaller steel bubble as an extra layer of protection just in case the elastic bubble burst. The last thing he wanted was for it to be damaged permanently by the water.
The Chronicle Page 42
