by Conner, Jack
Even so, Avery could imagine few likely outcomes that he, or Denaris, would live to see.
From time to time, frustrated by not knowing what was going on, he began to peek, lifting the lid of the trunk, just slightly, and casting his gaze quickly about before shutting it again. He saw mostly what he expected: a bustling dirigible surrounded by other dirigibles sailing over Hissig toward the Square. No sign of Rigurd, though the Collossum must be present. He did catch sight of Sheridan, who commanded a dirigible to port.
What surprised Avery—although, upon reflection, he didn’t know why; it was just so startling in and of itself—was the presence of the ray.
Vast, reality shimmering around it as it cut the sky, it plowed through the air above the fleet of dirigibles, blotting out the new-come stars and casting an enormous shadow over the city. Of course, Avery thought. Haggarty would want to keep order during the ceremony, and what better way than to have a tool that could throw any dissenters into paroxysms of fear the moment they acted out? Avery knew Layanna could counter the psychic aboard the ray, at least to a certain extent, but Rigurd would expect that. Which meant the Collossum believed he could defeat her if she showed herself.
Avery gripped the knife tightly, feeling his hand shake. How could he possibly stop Rigurd, a god surrounded by soldiers so zealous they had risked death to make themselves edible to it?
The fleet of dirigibles approached the Square, descending. As the deck rocked slightly, Avery caught glimpses of it, seeing a vast stretch of people—there must be hundreds of thousands—gathered before the rearing statue of Sir Haled on its raised dais, hemmed in by soldiers, both Army and Navy, and kept carefully back from the area of the statue itself. The ceremony would evidently be conducted right before it. At the moment some high Navy official was bellowing words through a bullhorn, trying to incite some excitement, or perhaps awe, into the crowd. Zeppelins cut the air overhead, shining spotlights down on the Square, and Avery supposed these, too, had been acquired from Octung, now operated by members of the Ghenisan Navy.
As the fleet lowered toward the Square, Sheridan herself broke off, taking her dirigible up. Avery watched her go, noting that she approached the ray. She would trust no one else but herself to command it during the ceremony.
The fleet descended to an area kept free of civilians near the statue’s dais and the soldiers aboard threw down ropes. Avery ducked again, feeling the ship sink to the ground, rock slightly as it settled, and then go still—but only for a moment. It shook again to the tread of boots, and Avery imagined the soldiers throwing down a gangplank and marching off to gather protectively around a disembarked Rigurd. At least one soldier would have remained on the ship, and there would be more on the ground. Their eyes would not be on the ships, though, but on anyone that strayed too close. And any sentries left aboard would be watching the ceremony, not their own craft ... or so Avery hoped.
Raising the lid, he saw one soldier on deck lighting a cigarette and, sure enough, watching the assembled soldiers escort a figure who must be Rigurd toward the cleared area before the statue, a sort of stage. There they paused. The man with the bullhorn was shouting, “...on your knees! On your knees before the Great One! ON YOUR KNEES!”
The throngs that had gathered, willingly or not, stared at the man, and Avery could feel their hate and fear. Many tried to catch a glimpse of Rigurd, but he was too tightly hemmed in by soldiers. One figure that they could see was Grand Admiral Haggarty, standing to the side of the statue upon the dais, hands behind his back and lancing the crowd with his gaze. He was a tall, severe man, not unhandsome, but cold, with a lean face and hard eyes.
A bank of television cameras filmed him, and Avery noticed some had been mounted in the gathering’s flanks, perched on cranes, and were filming the crowd’s reaction. Those at home would be getting quite a show.
At the moment, the crowd was resisting. Some had knelt, but most had not, and, seeing their resolve, some of the ones who’d already knelt began to stand again.
“ON YOUR KNEES!” the man with the bullhorn shouted. “ON YOUR—”
Admiral Haggarty strode forward and wrenched the bullhorn loose. Tossing it aside, he raised the microphone he carried, which trailed a long wire, and said, very distinctly, into it, “Soldiers—I will give the crowd ten seconds to kneel. After which I will order you to start firing. Ready your weapons. People of Hissing, your ten seconds begin—NOW. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven ...”
Slowly at first, then with panic, the people knelt. Everyone had fallen to their knees by the time Haggarty reached “Two”.
He nodded. “Excellent. I thank you. I do not want to begin my rule with a bloodbath, but I will do what is necessary to maintain order. I will let our new patron introduce himself in his own fashion. He is a great and high member of the Collossum, and we should all be honored that he deigns us with his presence and patronage. Know this: converting to the faith of the Collossum is mandatory, and necessary. It will save us all. Had we failed to do this, the Starfish would have wiped us out this very night. Even now it poises offshore, waiting to see if we carry this through.”
He let that sink in, then continued: “Many of you know that the former Prime Minister, Gwendolyn Denaris, has been arrested and detained on my orders, and there has been much gossip and rumor about what I intend to do with her. The truth is this: she was forcibly given the Sacrament only hours ago and will now be my first official offering to the Great Lord Rigurd. I give this gift to him on behalf us all, thus symbolizing the conversion of Ghenisa and sparing us from unimaginable horror. Do I speak for you all? Say ‘Aye’.”
There were some murmured “aye”s among the gathering, but they were few and weak.
Angrily, Haggarty said, “All say ‘Aye’ or I will have my men fire—”
“You’re a piece of shit!” shouted one young man on the third row, rising from his knees. He was a nasty-looking piece of work, with tattoos on his face and hair shaved into obscene patterns. Still, as he stood there with hate in his features and the light of television cameras drenching him, he represented the entire country. “I’ll say Aye to a fist in your throat, you cocksucker! It’ll be a windy day in my momma’s cunt before I—”
Using his own sidearm, Haggarty shot the man in the belly. The man gasped, blood bursting from his lips, and sank to his knees. Haggarty advanced, and the crowd drew back.
The Grand Admiral, stepping past the cordon of troops and through the bank of cameras, kicked the man in the face, spilling him onto his back, and fired several more times, hitting kneecaps and scrotum, before very calmly and slowly reloading his pistol, having to set the microphone down first, which he did patiently. Cameras whirred, and somewhere a woman cried—probably more than one; Avery could not hear over the murmurs of shock. The sentry standing guard on Avery’s dirigible had let his cigarette burn down to his fingers, and now he cursed and flung it away.
When he had slipped another magazine into the pistol, Haggarty swiveled his gaze around at the crowd, many of whom flinched and drew back, then studied the mewling, writhing creature before him.
“I won’t beg!” the man shouted, spittle spraying from his lips. “I won’t—”
Haggerty shot him through the head. The man slumped, blood and brains pooling under him. Then, without another word, Haggarty shoved the weapon back in its holster and returned to the center of the stage, but not before collecting the microphone.
“Once again,” he said, “when I give Denaris to the Great Lord Rigurd, do I speak for you all?”
There came a chorus of “aye”s.
“Well?”
“AYE.”
“Then let us begin.”
Haggarty turned to the side and nodded. Two soldiers dragged out a sick and weary-looking Denaris. She was obviously diseased, her skin a grayish-yellow and clammy sweat covering her face. She was not taking the Sacrament well. In any case, she was too weak to resist as the soldiers brought her before the Grand Admiral, though when they s
hoved her to her knees she did have strength to curse him.
“Bastard!” Her voice was so rasping and strained that Avery barely heard it, and he doubted the television cameras picked it up. “I—”
“That will be all.” Haggarty’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Your time has come, Gwendolyn. I am sorry. I tried to get you to surrender peacefully.”
“Peacefully? You—”
“Enough.”
His face was a rigid mask, but anger lurked beneath it, and Avery could well imagine what might happen if Denaris provoked him. She must have seen it, too, and not wanted her final moments remembered that way; she kept silent.
“This country now belongs to the Lords of the Abyss,” Haggarty said, “represented on land by those we know as the Collossum. All hail the Collossum!”
“Say ‘All hail’!” shouted soldiers to the crowd, and the crowd murmured, “All hail.”
“Say it!” shouted Haggarty.
“ALL HAIL.”
“Say it!”
“ALL HAIL!”
He glared at them, then gestured for the troopers who’d brought Denaris to him to back away. They did, and with grave dignity Haggarty seized her by the back of the neck and then, without a qualm, sank to one knee beside her, facing the same way she did.
“I, James Ivis Haggarty of the Ghenisan Navy and Ruler of Ghenisa, present this receiver of the Sacrament into the mercy and being of Lord Rigurd, Collossum and R’loth, from here forward Master of Ghenisa over me. May this woman’s soul be commended to the House of Joy.”
The crowd quieted, and Avery could feel the sudden tension that gripped them. From out of the shadows at the edge of the dais, Rigurd emerged, clad in ceremonial robes and head held high. The air shimmered around him, hinting at his otherworldly nature, and the crowd gasped as he stepped onto the dais. Avery wondered what those at home were thinking, or if they could sense the sudden hum he felt through his mind as the Collossum emitted some sort of psychic blast that had Avery swaying back and forth and blinking his eyes—and many others, he saw. The whole gathering had caught their breaths and opened their eyes, suddenly clutching or shaking their heads.
Then Avery heard a voice, though the Collossum’s mouth didn’t move; it was in his head. By the confused and fearful looks of those gathered here, it seemed that everyone received the same message.
I am Lord Rigurd.
People gasped, swore, and cried out, repeatedly shaking their heads as if to dislodge water from their ears.
Welcome, all, to the faith of the Collossum.
Rigurd moved to Haggarty, placed a palm on the Grand Admiral’s forehead. “Well done, my child,” Rigurd said aloud. “I accept your offering.” He moved to Denaris and laid a palm on her forehead next. “I will be your shepherd to the House of Joy. May all salute your passing and honor your memory, for you go to dwell with the gods forevermore.”
Soldiers shouted to the gathering: “Say ‘We Salute You” and, dutifully, becoming aware they were being taught an Octunggen rite, the Ghenisans mumbled the words back to them.
“This is bullshit,” Denaris said, and though her voice was weak and raw the microphones picked it up, and a ripple ran through the crowd. Avery felt an electric chill. He must do something. He must stop this. With the thick cordon around the stage, he didn’t see how. Nevertheless, he took stock of the sentry’s position and prepared to come out of hiding.
“Bullshit,” Denaris repeated. “You’re no god! You’re a monster! Some sort of cosmic demon! You—”
Rigurd backhanded her across the face, and she slumped sideways, breathing heavily. Avery saw a line of drool run from her lips, and her eyes fluttered dangerously.
Someone in the crowd started to rise, but there came the crack of a rifle, and the man dropped. No one else rose.
“I accept the offering,” Rigurd said, and spread his arms. As he did so, the air blurred more heavily around him, thickening and rippling and—
“That will be enough!”
This came from a figure just shoving through the crowd. Stepping swiftly through the kneeling ranks, Layanna approached the stage, blond hair shining, and television cameras laboriously turned toward her. Avery let out a breath, praying that she hadn’t come too late.
A rifle cracked, then another, but the air simply shimmered around her and the bullets did no harm.
“This travesty will not continue!” she shouted, and Avery thought he perceived a psychic echo to her words. “Rigurd, step away from the woman!”
Rigurd stared at her with dull, lizard-like eyes, then, as if obeying her, moved away from the Prime Minister.
Swiftly, Avery shoved the lid off the trunk and swung himself out of it. On the stage, Denaris was being led away by Haggarty, while Layanna had drawn very close to the clearing around the statue. People fled before her, afraid and making way for the violence they were sure was about to happen.
Layanna let her other-self explode out from her, and the crowd screamed and recoiled as her otherworldly lights bathed them.
The soldier at the bow of Avery’s dirigible was gazing with open mouth at the stage, and he didn’t seem to hear Avery until the last moment, when Avery jerked him back into the shadows and, with some fumbling, stabbed him in the throat repeatedly, letting the blood jet away from him. The man kicked and thrashed, then went limp. Awkwardly, Avery tore off the man’s clothes and shrugged them on, not bothering to make it too neat.
On the stage, Rigurd waited. Strangely, he did not bother to bring his own other-self over, perhaps allowing Layanna to strike first so as to preserve his energies.
As if to oblige, she surged forward with shocking swiftness, tentacles lashing and pseudopods heaving.
It was then that Avery saw the reason why Rigurd hadn’t brought his other-self over; a dozen men in Navy uniforms stepped forward from the sidelines he had moved near, each bearing a dripping, venom-laden whip. They struck, and strange liquid sparks flashed when the whips sank into Layanna’s phantasmagorical flesh. She pulsed with blue-white light, and Avery could see her form within the sac twist and flinch.
She grabbed one of the whip-wielders up, crushing him in her coils, then another, incinerating this one in green fire. They struck again, and she flashed again, her human face screwing up in pain.
I’ve got to hurry, Avery thought. Clad as the soldier, he lowered himself over the side of the dirigible and slunk along the ground. When a trooper looked his way, Avery straightened and tried to act natural. Fortunately he was not nearly as interesting as the show on the stage and the man turned right back around.
Layanna disintegrated a trooper and poisoned two others while the rest lashed and flayed her. With each strike, she retreated, and the material of her sac boiled away, making her smaller, more vulnerable. Avery feared for her, knowing there was nothing he could do about the whip-wielders, but fortunately he didn’t have to. A group of men and women, having snuck close to the stage on hands and knees, abruptly rose and fired at the whip-men, who flew backward, blood spurting. Avery recognized Janx, Hildra, Pete and several other of Boss Vassas’s people.
Avery had only slowed for a moment, cutting through the crowd of soldiers. Troops all around the gathering were taking aim at those who’d come to Layanna’s defense and would have fired, but Janx and the others weren’t engaged in a suicide mission; it was a well-coordinated strike. More men and women—many of them—most dressed in Army uniforms, began turning on their fellows, especially those in Navy uniforms, wrestling them to the ground, shooting them, engaging them in any way they could. The Army personnel targeted in the strike belonged to the upper echelons, and Avery recalled Boss Vassas saying that if the higher-ups were removed, the main body would support General Hastur.
Avery rejoiced. Hastur, working with Vassas, was making her move, just as he had hoped. The reality of the situation, though, was that army and navy men were fighting all around him. It wouldn’t be long until he was thrown into the mix, and it was a toss-up which w
ould shoot him first.
Avery had reached a spot near the stage, and with no further ado he shoved his way out onto it at a position near Rigurd, and even as the air was blurring more heavily about the Collossum in his preparation to launch an attack on a weakened Layanna, Avery stabbed him in the back.
Rigurd gasped, half spun, reaching a claw of a hand out toward Avery, but Avery, reeling back and taking his weapon with him, slipped into the writhing mob and out of reach.
Spitting blood, Rigurd fell.
Everything was chaos. Avery heard shooting all around him and through the wrestling bodies saw soldiers loyal to Haggarty firing into Layanna, who came on relentlessly, not pausing. She laid into the ones who had fired on her, stuffing them into her sac or otherwise killing them. In the process, she fed, swelling and glowing brighter.
Rigurd screamed as he fell under her blazing shadow, and screamed louder when her tentacles wrapped around him.
Someone punched Avery in the face and he went down. Warring shapes moved over him, and then he was wrenched off the ground and carried through the air. People shrieked and scattered. Confused, Avery looked around and saw that Layanna had looped a tendril around him and was drawing him to her. She must have seen him stab Rigurd and had marked the direction he’d gone. Now she laid him down next to her as she reached the thrashing, screaming form of Rigurd, blood pooling under him.
