Wrath of the Risen God: Arcane Renaissance Book Three

by Tim Paulson

  “Veronica.”

  “And you need our help?”

  “Correct. I'm relieved you've come. The Ganex are getting ready to evacuate.”

  “Evacuate? Why?” Giselle asked.

  “Because of the Faustlanders... the Republicans... whatever they call themselves now. They've broken through the front lines. The Ganex have received orders to abandon the castle and reform to the west where they'll join with the rest of the army and engage in a fighting retreat. I will not be doing that. I have another mission.”

  “Which is?” Giselle asked.

  “To find and free Mia,” Veronica replied, still sitting.

  “I saw her. It was right before your men arrested us,” Giselle said. “At least... I think I did.”

  “They're not my men, they're Ganex, doing their job. Though I have had them patrolling those halls in the hope that they'd see something.”

  “What you mean? You are not Ganex but you order Ganex?” Piotr asked.

  “Piotr makes a good point,” Giselle said. “You just happen to know how to become a Ganex officer that can order them around?”

  Veronica sighed. “You're right, there's more to my mission here. I was to observe this castle and keep tabs on the Ganex as well but that's not as important as Mia.”

  “Who sent you here? Why is Mia so important?” Giselle asked.

  “I can't tell you who. Mia is very important to someone who cares about this castle and your family. So do I. We believe something special was happening here, something that hasn't been seen in a long time. And now it's all been disrupted.”

  “You like to speak in half-truths. There are about a hundred stories with characters like that. I'll let you in on a little secret, Veronica, if that is your real name, those characters were villains!” Giselle said, hands on her hips.

  Veronica shrugged. “Again, I'm sorry. I'll have the Ganex free you. You don't have to help me, but I beg you, please do. Mia needs help.”

  “You said she needs to be freed?”

  Veronica nodded.

  “But I've seen her, she was free. She was walking on her own. It looked like she was going somewhere,” Giselle said.

  “She's not herself. If you can get close to her you'll see. I can't. They know me and avoid me and given a chance they'll expose me to the Ganex.”

  “You keep saying 'they',” Piotr said. “Who is they?”

  “The Baroness and Mia, and some others she's got with her,” Veronica said.

  “My mother is trying to expose you to the Ganex? She hates the empire. She'd never help them,” Giselle said. Nothing this Veronica was saying was adding up.

  “I don't think she cares about them. From what I've gathered she's been collecting things from around the castle. She might be preparing to leave.”

  Giselle frowned. “Leave for where.”

  Veronica shrugged.

  “My people have many stories about shape changers like this one. As you say, none good. I say we leave her, get out of here,” Piotr said.

  Nearly every fiber of her being agreed with Piotr. Giselle's mother had been stern in the past, she'd been callous even, but she'd never been malevolent, and she'd always spoken against the empire. She also knew stories about people who could change their shape. Sometimes it was witches who did it, sometimes dierlijt, or creatures called doppelgangers, but it was never good. Still... she'd been mistaken about Piotr. As annoying as he was, as creepy as his twitchy little whiskers and beady little eyes were, he'd turned out to be a loyal companion. Which was why she had to ignore his advice.

  “What do you need us to do?” Giselle asked.

  Chapter 9

  “We'll figure it out... someday. Maybe.”

  -Goliath technician and design specialist Gerund Votenson when asked when it will be possible for goliaths to carry firearms re-loadable in the field, 1618

  Aaron was running toward a cliff. He could feel the wind in his hair, smell the salt of the waves in the air from the constant crashing surf, hundreds of feet at the bottom. As he got closer, as his mind rebelled at the idea, he knew he must speed up. He had to push past the point where it was possible to stop, to run recklessly until he came to the very edge and...

  He couldn't imagine himself actually jumping. As he approached the edge in his mind he'd felt something, a small twinge in his center, but that was the point when it ended. His mind went blank and his imagination reset completely to a blank, empty slate.

  Fascinating.

  Mentally, Aaron checked off test one hundred twenty-seven as a failure.

  He hadn't yet succeeded in wresting any control back from the veil infused stone that encased his consciousness, but he had learned quite a bit. First, that emotion mattered. He'd had the idea to test emotions when he remembered that during his fight with Mia he'd paused. It had only been for a moment, but it had happened, he was sure of it. That was because of Greta. He'd heard her battered voice, wavering, calling to him, and feelings of sorrow had flooded his thoughts like the sea into a sinking ship.

  Yet as often as he remembered that moment, it hadn't happened again. His body still obeyed Buckley's every command without the slightest hesitation. Interestingly, if he did let himself remember that moment fully and feel the emotion of it, his mind would go blank. So whatever rules governed his body, they definitely didn't like emotion.

  The other important thing he'd learned is that the reset happened more and less quickly depending on the amount of emotion in the memory. He hadn't quite discerned the pattern yet but he would. He never slept, never ate, nor did he engage in any other activity that would prevent him from his task. It was only a matter of time and Aaron had a great deal of time.

  The irony was that he'd always hated emotions. Feelings were what paralyzed you when you stood up in front of others to explain your report. They made you unable to speak up when you had something to say, or blurt something when you shouldn't. To Aaron, emotions meant a lack of control of himself. It was like having a creature inside him, just waiting for the chance to claw its way out and wreak havoc on whatever he wanted to do.

  He'd worked hard for years to be more like his adopted father Baron Halett. The man was calm, collected, self-assured. He was like a beacon to Aaron, a lighthouse amid a storm. Especially when he'd first come to Aeyrdfeld and didn't know anything but the life of a student. Marcus had spent time with him, teaching him, sometimes only by example, but it had helped.

  It was too bad he was gone. Aaron wanted nothing more than to earn his respect. He'd had a few setbacks, that was certain. Being too afraid to be with Giselle had been a mistake. Not the fear itself, he'd never been with a woman in his life up to that moment, obviously he would have some trepidation. He didn't judge himself for that. No, his failure had been avoiding her, and the Baron, and not asking for help. He'd suffered but more importantly, he'd allowed Giselle to suffer by thinking she was unwanted, and that had been foolish. It made him feel wretched, childish so much so that...

  His mind went blank.

  What had he been thinking? Ah yes. Well, that would be test one hundred twenty-eight. What emotion would that be? Sadness? Likely yes. That was another problem with being someone who preferred not to think about his own emotions. When it came to classifying them, he had a poor understanding of how exactly you did that.

  There was something that worried him more, however. If he kept testing the limits of his cage, so to speak, there might be some effect over time. If the rules that bound him kept resetting his mind every time he had an emotional reaction of note, would it dull his emotions with time? Could it slowly turn him into the automaton he appeared to be, an unfeeling mass of human-shaped stone?

  He had to try though. He had to. Buckley was the true monster, not just unfeeling but selfish and endlessly hungry for power over others. He had to be stopped. It was worth the risk.

  Even as Aaron thought about him, Buckley adjusted in his seat in the chair. It was past noon now and the man had not yet bothered
to take lunch, he was so focused on reading through the piles of information on his desk. This was not surprising. Aaron had stood silently nearby while Buckley worked late into the night so many times he'd lost count. It was no wonder he'd become so powerful, the man's work ethic was tantamount to madness. If only he had some compassion in him.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come,” Buckley said, putting down a large document and carefully marking his place with a small knife.

  The caller was one of the company's security detail, a tall man in his late thirties with a touch of gray to his goatee. There was a pistol on his waist and a sword at his hip. The expression on his face spoke of something disquieting.

  “Sir, one has returned.”

  Buckley jumped up from his chair, hands slapping the surface of his desk. “How many have seen it?”

  “Two sir, those stationed on the roof, one of them reported directly to me. As you instructed.”

  “They are both back up on the roof monitoring it?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Golem, kill this man,” Buckley said.

  Aaron watched as the guard captain's eyes widened, saw the hesitation as he tried to decide whether to reach for his sword or his pistol. Aaron didn't want to kill this man. Surely he had a family, a wife, and children, a mother and father who would mourn his loss. Yet despite Aaron's desires, he obeyed. A thick hand swatted the pistol from the guard's grip, grasping his throat with stone fingers. There was a crack as the man's neck vertebrae were crushed. Aaron dropped the limp corpse to the floor.

  “Good. Now go upstairs. You will kill both guards there and smash Narael's returned toy. Make sure you arrange the bodies around the device. I'll call for someone to take care of the mess.”

  Narael had expressly forbidden this action. He was to be notified immediately when one of his floating pyramids returned. Buckley wasn't just defying him, he was using Aaron to do it.

  Why was he doing this? He'd been threatened severely by the sorcerer. Buckley had slept poorly for days afterward, tossing and turning, waking up covered in sweat, sometimes cursing under his breath. Aaron had seen it all, he'd seen how the threats had affected Buckley, yet the Veil Company executive had moved immediately to undermine the sorcerer's will. He'd set up guards to monitor for the return of Narael's creations, telling them to report it only to him. Aaron had suspected that might bode ill for those involved, but that had been intellectual speculation, seeing them killed, indeed, being forced to squeeze the life from their terrified bodies as they tried to flee, was another matter entirely. Yet he ascended the stairs and did it all the same.

  Aaron then approached the floating double triangle as it hung motionless in the center of the roof of the Veil Company Headquarters building. The afternoon sun glinted from the smooth stone as the thing slowly rotated.

  He used his fists to smash the stone object. It took several hits to crack the stone but he managed it. The light faded and the pyramid dropped to the surface of the roof, inert.

  “Good work,” said a voice behind him.

  Buckley. He'd followed him, watched him. Even now he didn't fully trust his pet golem.

  Good, Aaron thought. Be concerned Buckley. Somehow, he would find a way to make those feelings a reality.

  The Veil Company Executive stepped forward, pulling on his goatee as he inspected the smashed pyramid. “This is one of the early ones. The symbol here is only two lines. He made this over two months ago.”

  Aaron didn't know why Buckley spoke to him. He could not respond unless specifically asked a question. There was no conversation, no speculation, no disagreement. He suspected Buckley liked it that way.

  “Pick it up. We're taking it somewhere. Come,” his master instructed.

  Aaron complied, gathering the remains of the smashed pyramid into a nearby square of double-thick canvas that the two guards had just laid out before Aaron killed them.

  They descended the stairs in silence, using the back service stairway. It was a way in and out of the building that Buckley boasted weeks ago that he'd had put in specifically for handling delicate situations. In Aaron's experience that meant murders, people who'd been tortured for information, and of course, Buckley's occasional groups of women. It seemed impossible for the man to ever have enough. To Aaron, who'd had a hard time even suggesting relations with his own wife, it was nothing short of revolting. Power, money, women. Nothing satisfied Buckley. Aaron might feel sad for him, were he not so violent. He was more an animal than a man. No reflection, no compassion, and little if any restraint, just primal lust in every form.

  Buckley led him below into the complex beneath Veil Headquarters. As they reached a descending hall Aaron could see sections still roped off from the 'disruption' as Buckley called it. Veil Company employees in overalls moved like a hive of bees. Each time they'd passed, the halls were cleaner, more finished. Soon it would be like nothing had happened at all.

  They arrived at the station where attendants ran forward to open the doors wide enough for Aaron to pass through. A veil cart was waiting, that's what the company men called it, though to Aaron's eyes it was more like a series of horse carriages linked together. At the rear was a fascinating contraption manned by a single technician that used veil power to push the linked carts along a single steel beam. The ride was not smooth, as the carts tended to bump back and forth against the central beam, but it functioned adequately enough, giving the company a way to move persons and small amounts of freight unseen through tunnels beneath Valendam. It actually looked like the technicians had stolen and re-purposed a former section of the sewer for use as their tunnel. It was ingenious and could revolutionize travel on the continent, Aaron was sure of it. What other wonders was Buckley keeping only for himself and his company?

  It took nearly twenty minutes of travel before the line of carts stopped at an adjoined room. Company guards stood at attention as they approached.

  “Welcome to station nine sir,” said the foremost of the guards as he eyed Aaron with what looked to be a mixture of awe and disgust. “We weren't expecting you for several days.”

  “Is Vivian here?” Buckley asked.

  “Yes,” the guard replied, shifting his stance uncomfortably. He seemed not to like hearing her name. Aaron had seen her, heard her, he understood.

  Buckley nodded. “Good,” he said and continued on, through double steel doors. On the other side, there was a short hall that led to another pair of doors, these even heavier. Buckley stood in front of them, waiting while employees on the inside ratcheted them open, inch by inch. They were designed to seal on their own unless forcefully held open.

  Inside was a gigantic steel-walled room, lit by a thousand veil lanterns that hung from the ceiling in rows. Great pillars every thirty feet keep the ceiling from crashing down upon them. Aaron had a sudden thought that this dour blue-lit cavern was as close to a cathedral to veil technology as he had ever seen. This was where they worshiped their true gods: wealth and power.

  The further they walked, the more sense that made. Just as in the churches of the surface there were alcoves along the sides of the great open center. In these, rather than altars or confession booths, there were veil contraptions with teams of men and women working on them. Aaron had never seen the like of any of the creations therein. If only he could explore and learn from them, but his body would only follow Buckley, carrying the canvas wrapped smashed pyramid.

  A rotund older man with glasses and long wavy silver hair trotted up to them, he had a pair of veil goggles on his forehead. “Mr. Buckley sir! We were not expecting you today. It's a mess here I'm sorry to say.”

  Buckley waved him away. “Where is Vivian?”

  “She's in alcove fourteen sir. B-b-but if you'll please come with me. We have some excellent progress to show you on the dissection of that piece recovered from the colony near New Valendam.”

  “I'm not interested in progress. I'm interested in results. Now get back to whatever you were
doing before I have my associate pound you into a thin red paste,” Buckley said, nearly spitting the words through clenched teeth.

  “Yes sir, of course, sir,” the technician replied, backing away.

  “Idiots,” Buckley said under his breath as they walked on, passing alcove after alcove of technicians working on things that made Aaron's mind reel. The majority of them appeared to be recovered items of ancient design that were being taken apart or put back together.

  They found Doctor Vivian Blutstein standing in front of a series of man-sized cages. Behind her was a class one goliath, one of the smaller ones used for loading cargo or construction work.

  “I told you, all of the veil crystals must be of the same size and shape. That's why it failed. Go have them mill the larger ones down,” she was saying to a technician holding a notepad.

  “Yes doctor,” the young man replied.

  “Vivian, I have a present for you,” Buckley said.

  “Is it what we discussed?” she asked.

  Buckley nodded.

  “Excellent!” she chirped, clapping her hands together. “I was going to say I'm upset you've come early, we're nowhere near ready to show you the finished product.”

  Buckley's mouth formed into a toothy, predatory grin. “It will be ready in two days?”

  “Oh yes! I'm certain. Have your little friend put his cargo down right here. I'll have some of my people take it to its own alcove in a moment. Come, I'm happy to show you this morning's failure.”

  Buckley raised an eyebrow. “Failure?”

  “Come now Chester, all the greatest successes start with failures, often spectacular ones. Look here,” she said, gesturing toward the backside of the goliath.

  One of the cages was mounted on its back with an apparatus around it that reminded Aaron of nothing so much as a torture device. Wet liquid dripped from the cage. It was entirely filled with a mass of torn bloated flesh. Upon closer inspection, it looked like a horror had been jammed inside, or grown there. There was far too little space for the creature's mass, however, causing it to be partially shredded by the bars. The liquid dribbling from it was a mix of the black ichor that filled all horrors, and blood.