by Chris Fox
Oceans of power flowed into Ikadra’s sapphire, far more than the audience alone could provide. Voria cocked her head, wondering where the extra was coming from. She glanced at Inura, and while a potent quantity of life streamed from him to Shaya, there was no way it could account for the sheer volume.
“Come,” the shade said, speaking for the first time since the ritual had begun.
The amphitheater fell away, and her perspective spun as she left the Spellship and flitted into the void above it. She didn’t feel the cold, any more than she needed to breathe in a memory.
Her new perspective stopped and she inspected the Spellship and the surrounding fleet. Thousands upon thousands of vessels in all shapes and sizes dotted an unfamiliar system. Most resembled sleek Inuran ships, though they were different enough that they belonged in another era. There were so many of them.
A wave of pure, brilliant, white light burst from one, and then another, and then dozens, and then hundreds. Every ship sent a ray of light toward the Spellship, the united voices of an entire culture pouring their hopes, and dreams, and their faith into the drunken woman Voria had observed.
The light concentrated on the Spellship, building in a corona until Voria had to shield her eyes against the brilliance. It exploded outward, a pulse of magic that rippled through the entire fleet. When it faded a towering woman stood near the center of the fleet, a colossal version of Shaya, comprised completely of light.
The shade materialized next to her. “I’ll never forget that day. It changed nothing, in the end, but it gave my people hope.”
Voria faced the woman, the ghost of the mother of her entire culture. “Thank you, Shaya. I know what I have to do now.”
19
Symbolic Representation
By the time Crewes limped down into the crater his feet had been sliced to ribbons. He kept walking mechanically forward, his teeth gritted, and short, fast breaths coming through his nostrils with every agonizing step. Each one brought him closer to the immense amethyst glow. If not for the spear, he’d long since have fallen, and he increasingly trusted its steady length as he forced himself forward.
At some point, he realized, the branch had changed, and was now more of a staff. The surface was the same, but now lined with intricately carved pictograms, the kind he’d seen both in the Temple of Van and the Temple of Shi. Together those pictograms seemed to tell a story, but Crewes was too tired and in too much pain to try to puzzle that crap out. The changes to the tip of the staff were easier to process. The jagged end was now a flat, black stone. Obsidian, if he had to guess. It was a real spear now.
The ghost leopard continued to shadow him, and when his feet finally stopped obeying, and he stood swaying in place, it began to pace impatiently across a clearing ahead of him. Crewes licked parched lips, and glared at the cat. “That light ain’t going anywhere, and I need a minute.”
The cat gave a low whine.
“Gods. You’re almost as bad as the major.” Crewes forced himself back into motion, and started following the cat. He had no idea when he’d stopped assuming it would attack him, or when it had transformed into him following the thing.
But the cat seemed to know where it was going, and he could see its shadow up ahead, silhouetted by the strange amethyst glow.
Crewes held up a hand and studied it. The way the light played on his hand wasn’t odd or anything, but wherever it touched his skin tingled. The magic was quieter than fire, but also more insidious. He could feel it seeping into him, more and more the closer he came to the Catalyst. Was it him, or was the magic getting stronger with every pulse?
His head began to spin, and suddenly the world canted drunkenly. He fell onto his back in a patch of damp jungle debris, and found himself staring up through a break in the trees. The night sky filled his vision, countless stars backlit by the swirling pink energy that bubbled up around him.
It seeped into his body, and his consciousness began to expand. A riot of colors permeated everything, tree trunks suddenly glistening with multicolored tapestries. Dream magic had washed over them continuously for so long that it had seeped into the wood, and into the soil.
And into Crewes.
As he watched, a scene began to play out in the sky. It was a battle on a scale that dwarfed any of the scrapes he’d been in, and he’d seen a lot. On one side of the sky lay a pulsing, red star, its malevolence both terrifying and somehow enticing. Before that star stood a protective god, his body as large as a planet. The god was a disembodied torso, basically, with a well-muscled body.
That body was translucent, and somehow comprised of cosmic dust, and magic. Crewes felt the familiar call of fire, and the more insidious song of dream. He realized he was staring at the being who’d spawned the twins, Shi and Van. At one time they’d apparently been united.
Arrayed against these two gods were dozens of smaller gods, supported by hundreds of Wyrms. The cosmic being, Shivan, towered over the smaller gods, but it did not save him. Wyrms streaked at him from all directions, and to his shock Crewes realized he recognized the largest. “If that don’t make a man feel small, I don’t know what does.”
It was Drakkon, the water Wyrm’s massive bulk made tiny next to an elder god. Drakkon dodged a fist as the god lashed out, but the blow crushed several slower Wyrms. The cloud of remaining dragons rose up around the god, stinging, biting, and casting, like insects against an armored warrior.
Crewes didn’t pretend to understand the magic he was seeing. He wasn’t a true mage or a war mage, or none of that. He was just a tech mage. But he knew the battle playing out was one that had shaped the sector for centuries. Maybe longer.
In time the battle turned against the cosmic god, and while many of the assaulting Wyrms had been slain, enough remained to finish him. They pierced his skin, disappearing inside, where they evidently wreaked havoc.
His body thrashed wildly back and forth, twisting and arching as he struggled to reach the smaller gods tearing him apart from the inside. A hot, angry tear appeared in his midsection, and began to spread across his entire body.
Shivan began to tumble from orbit, twisting slowly toward the jungle where Crewes still lay. As the body descended it split, one half pure fire, a flame that Crewes knew better than his own face. Van, his very first Catalyzation.
The other half fell to the northern hemisphere, the amethyst shard kicking up a spray of intense magic as it created the very crater that he’d been walking in. Where, in theory, he was lying on his back, but somehow also seeing it play out.
It was maddening. “Man, I hate this shit. What did spider-bro-chick call it? My ‘reductive’ world view. I kinda like not having to care about this crap.”
A low, feline growl came from less than a meter away where the cat sat on its haunches. The amethyst energy swirled around it, seeping in just as it had with Crewes. The glow built, and a distant song swam out of the jungle. The energy grew brighter, and brighter, then abruptly faded.
When it dissipated the cat was gone. In its place stood a set of Mark XI armor. The surface now had an iridescent sheen it had lacked before. He climbed to his feet with a groan, and reached down to pick up his spear. Only there was no spear. There was a gods-damned spellcannon in its place, right where the spear had been sitting.
His spellcannon, with the same iridescent sheen the armor had. “I hate this symbolic representation crap. What in the actual fu—”
“You have received her blessing.” Sarala’s musical voice came from the jungle. A moment later it came from an entirely different section. “You bear her mark now, Linus.”
“Man, I hate this woo woo shit. Can you just stand still for a minute?” Crewes moved to his armor and sketched a void sigil in front of the chest. He stepped inside, and winced as his lacerated skin came into contact with the interior. He took several rapid breaths, and his eyes teared up from the pain. “Does this mean we can get out of here? I don’t have to like…talk to the goddess or anything? That’s what I’
ve had to do in the past.”
She finally materialized before him, her cowl down, exposing her face. “You’ve spoken to a goddess?” Sarala blinked her large eyes at him, and Crewes had a very uncomfortable thought that seemed totally inappropriate to the situation. Her long, flowing robe obscured, but it did nothing to hide the curves.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t recommend it.” He reached down with a grunt and hefted his spellcannon. “So weird that it became a spear. Of course, it was weird that I had to truck around the jungle buck-ass naked.”
Sarala gave a laugh at that. “I told you, you needed to approach Shi with nothing but your own tools. You have done so, and learned the secret no one who has not initiated with both twins knows.”
“That they used to be one god?” As Crewes watched, the ivory double doors appeared behind her. They appeared in the space between blinks, as if they’d always been there.
“Shivan, he was called.” She pursed her lips, and her eyes took on a far away look. “I have communed often, and learned a bit of his history. But it is still Shi that I serve. And Shi does not dwell in the past. She seeks the future.”
“Uh, okay.” Crewes didn’t really understand all the god machinations. Makinations? Hells if he knew. “Since I passed her test, does that mean she’s gonna let me take the Outrider chick? Captain’s got a deal with this Wyrm that’s been following us around like a stray dog, and I’m real eager to send it packing, if you know what I mean. He’ll leave as soon as we get her back.”
He took a painful step toward the ivory doors. Hopefully Bord was still on the other side, because damned if he didn’t miss that smart-ass kid’s life magic.
“You now possess the magic to retrieve her,” Sarala explained. She shifted into a cloud of mist, and swirled around his armor. “I will take you into her dream. She must be woken, and it is a delicate process.”
“Of course it is.” He shook his head, then spat onto the jungle floor. “Can’t ever be easy, can it?”
20
Memory Loop
Rhea glanced over her shoulder at the towering vessel, unique among all ships in the cosmos. Their charge was safe. The Spellship stood gleaming, ready for battle, just as she had for millennia.
“Down, Rhea!” Her father’s voice cracked. Rhea instinctively obeyed, and dove for the ground.
A moment later a void bolt slammed into the wall above her, disintegrating a large chunk of pristine metal. She was tough, but that spell would have killed even her.
“Thanks,” she called to her father as she rolled behind another pillar. She drew her spellrifle from her void pocket, and fed it air to increase its already enhanced accuracy. “Time to push back?”
Kheross, her father, crouched behind a neighboring pillar, his dark hair whipping about him in the breeze. He hefted a pair of wicked axes, his signature weapons. “Past time. I’ll go in hard on the right. As soon as they commit to me, end them.”
He didn’t wait for her response, nor should he have. They’d honed their teamwork over decades, and she was ready as he sprinted around his pillar and into the open. A hail of void bolts streaked out of the enemy ranks, the black-armored hatchlings eagerly focusing on Kheross. Every last one wanted him dead, with good reason. His reputation had been built kill by kill, for centuries.
Rhea leaned around the pillar and lined up her first shot. These hatchlings were tough, so she thumbed the selector to level four. That would drain her quick, but she was fairly certain none of these bastards was cool enough to walk away from a level four spell.
She selected the Aranthar’s Piercing Spike spell, which drew equally from fire, earth, void, and air. The spell was costly, but their founder had used it to end countless Wyrms, and his descendants had kept using it for a reason.
Rhea stroked the trigger, and the bolt shot into the closest hatchling. She fired a second, and then a third, all at different targets. All three hatchlings were still focused on Kheross, and as she’d hoped, all three lacked the magical defenses to survive. Each slumped to the deck, pools of dark blood flowing from the hideous wounds her spells blasted into their bodies.
Her father danced through the surviving hatchlings, and their dark blood sprayed across his crimson armor as he made short work of his opponents. A few moments later eight draconic corpses lay steaming on the metal decks.
“Do we press the offensive?” She called as she scanned the corridor for any more hatchlings. Nothing yet.
“No.” Kheross turned to the behemoth behind them, and she looked again too. The Spellship was awe-inspiring, pristine and pure, even after all this time. “Our mission isn’t to kill the spawn of Nefarius, much as we enjoy it. We’re to protect the ship, at all costs. Nothing gets inside. This ship is far, far more important than either of us. We don’t leave this room.”
The control room overlooking the hangar flashed suddenly as spells were exchanged inside. The glass shattered, and a blue- and white-garbed Outrider came crashing through. Urslaa, her elder sister, landed in a crouch, then rolled to the side as a void bolt slammed into the area she’d just vacated.
Rhea’s rifle snapped to her shoulder almost of its own accord, and she sighted over the hole where her sister had emerged. A scaly face appeared, and she adjusted her aim to center the crosshair over its heart. She stroked the trigger, and her last fourth level spell took the creature full in the chest. The force blasted it backwards, and out of sight.
“I was gonna wait until you were done to interrupt,” came a sudden voice to her right, “but it looks like this might go on for a while.”
Rhea whirled to see the strangest sight she’d ever seen. A man stood before her in unfamiliar spellarmor, his skin dark, like mahogany. He cradled a spellcannon, and while it seemed primitive, that didn’t mean it couldn’t kill.
“Are you an ally?” she asked, cautiously of course. There was something familiar about him. She’d met him before, if briefly. He’d stood over her bed. Now why would he have been doing that?
“Yeah.” He propped his cannon on an armored shoulder. “And I’m gonna need you to come with me.”
“Do you have a name?” Rhea plastered her back to another pillar, and scanned for targets. The hatchlings were all down…until another wave came. “You might want to get into cover. The spawn of Nefarius will kill everyone here, and they won’t care that you’re not a part of the last Dragonflight.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure they can’t see me. This ain’t real. You’re in a dream, or some shit.” The dark-skinned man raised his free hand and pointed the armored gauntlet at something she’d only just noticed. A set of ivory doors carved with unfamiliar glyphs.
The doors touched something in her memory. “I’ve…seen those before. Been through them. A long time ago, I think.”
“Not that long.” The dark-skinned warrior snorted. “I guess they put you under to help with the healing, or to program you, or some other crazy shit. Don’t much matter. I’m here to collect you and bring you back to your scaly dad. Name’s Crewes, by the way.”
“My father is right there.” She nodded in Kheross’s direction. “And I don’t understand what you mean by ‘scaly’.”
“Listen, lady,” the man began, clearly exasperated. “I ain’t got answers. The captain has those. You want to know what’s up, you talk to Aran. I’m just supposed to bring you back. I don’t much like your dad, but he’s awfully keen to see you.” He pointed at her father, where he crouched behind the next pillar, seemingly unaware of this Crewes. “That’s just a memory. A fragment, kind of. He ain’t real. Now come on. This place gives me swamp ass.”
Rhea froze. No more spawn had come around the corner, and neither her sister or her father had moved…at all since Crewes had appeared. They were frozen in place. Could he be right, and if so, where in the depths was she? Could this really be a dream? What an awful form of torture.
“Very well, I will trust you. For now.” Rhea opened her void pocket and dropped the spellrifle inside. She gest
ured at the ivory doors. “You first, so I know it’s safe.”
“Sure.” Crewes shrugged. He pushed at one of the doors with an armored hand and it opened easily, allowing his bulky armor to slip through. On the other side lay an…entry hall of some sort. The walls were cut from planks of sturdy wood that had an ancient look to it. Strange spears and shields lined the walls, archaic and useless on the modern battlefield.
Several people clustered near the middle of the temple, if that’s what it was. Rhea’s attention was drawn to a familiar one, who so very closely resembled her father. He had the same hair. The same scarlet armor. Likely even the same axes. But there was one violent change. His eyes burned with the hellish purple of the spawn. Somehow, her father had been turned by Nefarius.
“I’m not going with you…not to that…thing.” She sneered at the fallen wretch that might have once been her father, but no longer. He hadn’t seen her yet. She could still refuse to step through.
“Lady, I can already tell we’re going to get along.” Crewes’s face broke into a wide smile. “I don’t have much love for your pops either. But Captain said to bring you, so we need to get moving.”
“Captain?” She asked, unsure who he might mean. She gave the others a cursory glance, and her jaw went as slack as a raw recruit when she recognized another man. “Goddess below…that’s the first Outrider. Aranthar himself.”
Crewes leaned in, and sized her up. He gave a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll tell you what. Do me a favor, kid. Keep the hero worship to yourself. The captain hates it, and he got enough of it back on Virkon. Best if you act like you have no idea who he is.”
It was so much to take in, the revelation that her father had fallen, and that somehow she’d ended up in a timeline with the living version of the man who’d risen to godhood, then died defending the order she’d been born into. Numbness washed through her, and she wished she could curl up and hide.
