Krox Rises

by Chris Fox

  The Talon streaked by, ending three in the first pass, and another two on its reverse run. The Inuran fleet followed in its wake, eagerly devouring those Wyrms too slow to flee.

  The Krox had been broken. They’d won.

  Voria stood tall over the world that had given her birth. She tapped into the magic Shaya had given her, and used a simple spell to make her voice heard by every follower who’d just given of themselves to help save their world.

  “For my entire life,” she began, her blazing light illuminating the world she’d rebirthed, “I have lived upon Shaya. I have sheltered under her branches, or what I thought was her. I was taught that she would save us, and today she has. Shaya has bequeathed to me her legacy, and I now take up the same mantle she bore. I will protect not only this world, but all the worlds of this sector. Today we have proved that Krox can be beaten. Though the cost has been great we have driven him from our world. We have crushed his minions. And we have persevered. Now, for the first time, we will ride to war. We will sail into the Erkadi Rift, and we will put down Krox once and for all.”

  Voria could feel her followers, every last one. She felt them rejoice. She felt their hope, their adoration, and their affection. These people were ready to stand as one, and she had little doubt that they would overcome Krox.

  “I’m coming for you, Nebiat,” she whispered, peering across the stars at the vast expanse of purple on the far side of the sector. “It’s time to end this feud.”

  54

  Spark of Life

  Nara sank wearily to her knees atop the stage where a goddess had been born, and stared up through the dome at the vacant space that Krox had occupied a moment ago. The terrified screams had stopped, and the people hadn’t fled. Most began returning to their seats, or stared up in awe at the newly reborn planet of Shaya.

  Ducius moved to the edge of the stage, where he began attempting to reassure people who didn’t need it. Their goddess filled the sky above them—what did his reassurances matter? Always campaigning, that one. It wasn’t her problem, at least. She’d done what she came to do, and had somehow managed to outwit Talifax. For now, at least.

  Nara gave a contented sigh, and settled back on her haunches. Her part in all this was finally done.

  Frit rushed to her side, close enough that she could feel the heat. “Are you all right? You’re so pale.”

  “I could sleep for about a year.” Nara stifled a yawn so large it made her jaw crack. “Raising a goddess really takes it out of you. Would not recommend.”

  She turned her attention to Voria’s shining form hung in the sky above them, powerful, and clean, and, well…inspiring. She made the perfect goddess, and Nara was terribly grateful she’d avoided the small voice inside her that wanted the power for herself. She’d be an absolutely awful goddess, and she knew it.

  Frit watched her for a moment, the heat close enough to warm, but not harm. She brushed a lock of flaming hair from her forehead, and glanced over at the Caretakers, who were all staring at Frit, and of course at Kaho. “Uh, looks like they noticed us. I was going to ask about running, but I guess the chance to do that has passed.”

  “I’m done running.” Nara rose shakily to her feet, and her gaze fell on Ikadra, still bobbing up and down in the center of the ritual circle. How could she have forgotten? She rushed over to the staff, and her heart sank.

  The sapphire, for the first time she’d ever seen, was completely dark. Cracks spiderwebbed across most of the surface, and the metal base was no longer warm to the touch. “Oh, Ikadra.”

  The cost had been high. Too high.

  “Maybe he can be saved,” Kaho offered lamely. “Some artificers are quite skilled, especially among the Inurans.”

  “He was built by a god,” Nara explained softly, “and he was my friend.”

  A hot tear migrated down her cheek. She stared down at the weapon, the hardest casualty she’d had to endure in this war thus far. His loss was more real than the thousands of Shayans that had died in the battle. Even when he’d thought she’d killed Voria he’d still given her the benefit of the doubt. No one had trusted her like that. Not even Frit.

  It took several moments for her to realize something had changed. Ducius’s droning had faded. The crowd had gone silent, no longer panicked or awed. Just silent. She glanced up at the dome to see what had drawn their attention, but didn’t see anything worthy of cause. Voria’s magnificent shining form was…gone.

  A sudden glow came from behind her, and Nara whirled to find Voria no more than three meters away. Soft, white light emanated from her skin, but she looked otherwise as she always had, not a hair out of place in her bun.

  Nara plucked Ikadra and offered the staff to Voria. “Can you save him somehow? It’s all my fault…I’m so sorry.”

  “Well, I should hope so.” Voria raised an eyebrow, and stalked closer, though a smile threatened to appear, “You did murder me after all.” Then she gingerly accepted Ikadra. “Still, I suppose there really was no better option. I certainly can’t think of another way for you to accomplish what you did without Talifax’s intervention.”

  “You…knew?” Nara blinked up at Voria, and scrubbed tears absently away.

  “No, not at the time,” Voria explained. She laid a hand over Ikadra’s sapphire, and a pulse of multicolored magic flowed into the staff. “But a great many things are now clear to me thanks to the…snarky advisor left by my predecessor.”

  Voria smiled at the air, as if sharing a joke with a person Nara couldn’t see.

  A faint glow, almost imagined, came from Ikadra. Nara had never seen anything so beautiful. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Voria admitted. “I’ll need Inura to repair him, I think. But he’s alive, if a little quiet for the time being.” Voria offered the staff to Nara, who blinked up at her in surprise.

  “Voria, you can’t possibly entrust an artifact of that level of importance to a traitor,” Ducius snapped as he stalked over. He’d kept his distance, but had apparently found the act offensive enough to speak up.

  “Ah, Ducius, you’re probably one of very few people still willing to speak to me in that manner.” Voria, in all her power and glory, walked calmly to him, and stopped so close as to be almost intimate. Nara was desperately grateful that Voria’s attention wasn’t focused on her, though she was still mystified as to why the goddess seemed willing to forgive her.

  Ducius’s eyes widened, and his beautiful skin paled as he seemed to realize who he was addressing. “My goddess…well, I suppose that’s you. Please, forgive me, Mother. It’s just all so new. I apologize for my temerity, but to be candid, I will never like you, Voria. Goddess or no.”

  Voria barked a short laugh. “Never change, Ducius. I don’t want your blind obedience, though it is probably more convenient if you save your…disputes for a more private environment.”

  Nara glanced out over the audience, who were all staring at Voria in silent awe. There was adoration there. They would die for her, every drifter, and every Shayan.

  “What will become of us now?” Ducius asked.

  “You’re going to run this world,” Voria explained as she gestured up at the dome showing the glorious world she’d given life to, a feat that left Nara numb with awe. “It will always need a Tender, and I can think of no one better to guide our people. I have made the world self-sustaining. What I have given cannot be taken away. Never again will our people be forced to sustain the tree. Instead, the tree will sustain them.”

  “And what about you?” Ducius asked, looking crestfallen, despite having his station confirmed by a goddess. “You’re not staying, are you?”

  “I can’t,” Voria admitted. “Krox isn’t gone. Our ally’s capital is in dire need of help. Help I might be able to provide now. And there are…other threats that need to be addressed.” She met Nara’s eyes, just for an instant, and Nara knew she was talking about Talifax.

  “And her?” Ducius indicated Nara, and she straighte
ned self consciously. She held Ikadra as if she had every right to. She’d be damned if she’d grovel before a Shayan noble.

  “It’s time to found a new religion, Ducius. Pompous as I still find it, I am a goddess, and I need a temple. That temple will reside in the Spellship, and the person I want running that temple is Nara.” Voria took a step closer, and rested a hand on Nara’s shoulder. “She’s going to turn this ship back into what it once was. A center of learning. A place where magic can flourish. And together, we’re going to reclaim this sector.”

  “I…see. As you wish, Mother.” Ducius bowed stiffly from the waist, and when the audience saw the gesture fifty thousand people rushed to duplicate it as quickly as possible.

  “Wait, you want me to do what?” Nara blinked up at Voria. “I don’t know the first thing about running a religion, and even if I did, I find them useless. You know that.”

  “And this is precisely why you are in charge of mine.” She faced Frit and Kaho. “I can see your minds clearly. There is anger, but there is no malice. Neither of you has anything but ill will for Nebiat. As far as I’m concerned that makes you allies. If you’d like, Nara will make a place for you here, until you decide you want a better one. Yes, Kaho, even you.”

  Nara could scarcely believe it. Not only had they survived, but they’d won, despite the heavy cost to the world below. She was surrounded by friends again, and it seemed all had been forgiven.

  “Aran will be docking soon,” Voria said. She smiled magnanimously at Nara, and the expression seemed completely out of place on her prim and proper face. “Why don’t you go and welcome him home, officially, on behalf of the Temple of Voria?”

  Nara didn’t have to be told twice.

  55

  Bromance

  The first thing Davidson became conscious of was his raspy breathing. He raised his head off his chest, and swung it drunkenly around as he tried to understand where he was. In his tank, the command chair.

  He was alive. There was air. And it was considerably warmer than it should have been. Wait, was that thunder in the distance? That would require atmosphere. Had someone moved his tank while he was unconscious?

  “Davidson?” called Aran’s familiar voice from outside the tank. Metallic boots thunked down on the turret. “You alive in there?”

  “Aran?” Davidson’s throat ached something awful, and his voice sounded it. He licked his lips and tried again. “I’m down here! One sec. I can manage on my own.”

  Davidson rose shakily to his feet, and moved to the tank’s ladder. He tested his broken shoulder and winced. Using only his good shoulder, he scaled the ladder slowly, judging each rung carefully as he climbed from the tank. Every muscle ached, and exhaustion added a toll to each step.

  He pulled himself up the final rung, and out into afternoon sunlight. Fat, white clouds dotted a blue sky, which wasn’t protected by any sort of shield. Davidson looked around him in wonder. “What the depths am I looking at, man? What happened?”

  Aran removed his helmet with a hiss, “Voria is a goddess now. Literally. She brought life to this world, and made it permanent. The whole thing.”

  “So she saved my ass,” Davidson realized aloud.

  “How so?” Aran asked. “You looked fine to me.”

  Davidson jerked a thumb at the tank below him. “I had a leak. There’s no way my O2 would have lasted. The only thing that could have saved me was…a goddess creating an atmosphere, I guess.” Davidson’s mood shifted suddenly, and he gave Aran an uncomfortable glance. “Did anyone tell you about the Hunter?”

  Aran’s face fell to match Davidson’s, and his tone was just as somber. “I’ve watched the battle footage. She went down swinging.”

  “She was a good ship.” Davidson sat on the edge of the tank, then reached over and popped open the aft compartment. He fished out a beer and tossed it to Aran, who caught it. Davidson removed a second one and opened it with a hiss. “To the Wyrm Hunter. She’ll be remembered by every last soldier she ever saved.”

  “To the Hunter,” Aran agreed, and raised his beer.

  Davidson raised his beer and drank. The cool liquid slid down his throat, and set to warming his middle. If ever he’d earned a beer, this was it.

  “I know it’s a bit soon,” Aran ventured, “but have you considered what comes next?”

  “What do you mean?” Davidson savored a second mouthful of beer.

  “Ternus doesn’t have a conventional fleet anymore.” Aran paused to sip his own beer. He seemed to enjoy it, though not like Davidson did. He just needed to spend more time around the guy, and that could be remedied.

  “And?” Davidson prompted when Aran didn’t continue.

  “And you don’t have a ship.” Aran nodded behind him, at the Talon’s silhouette against the setting sun.

  Davidson hadn’t paid the vessel much mind, but now that he looked at her he saw the changes. He didn’t know how, but she was more impressive than ever. “I think I see where you’re going with this. Looks like you just grew some extra quarters.”

  “And I need officers.” Aran gave him a grim stare. “Listen. We lost a lot, man. All of us. The Hunter. Ternus. Your own damned government. We’ve got the tools to get some payback, but not if we let them keep jerking us about like puppets. Do it on our terms. Join the Outriders. We’d be proud to have you.”

  Aran offered a gauntleted hand, and after a moment Davidson accepted it. He took another swallow of beer, and let it roll down his throat before replying. “You know what? I’m in. I love Ternus, but I’m not going to serve under someone like Austin. Not after what he ordered our fleet to do today. He sacrificed us as cannon fodder to screen his precious black ships. If he ain’t loyal to us, then we sure as depths aren’t loyal to him.”

  Davidson spit over the side of his tank.

  “I couldn’t have said it better.” Aran took another swig of beer, then rose into the air. “Why don’t we head back and get you some quarters?”

  “Sounds good.” Davidson rose to his feet, and looked back at his tank. They’d been through a lot together. “I’m going to drive her back in myself. One last question, though. What rank are you sticking me with?”

  Aran cocked his head, considering. “What rank do you want?”

  “I’m not really interested in responsibility. I was happiest as a lieutenant. I just want to drive my tank and blow shit up.”

  Aran laughed, and then replaced his helmet. “Welcome to the Outriders, Lieutenant.”

  Epilogue

  The universe shifted, and Nebiat appeared in the skies above her capital. Her wounds had been healed, but the memory was fresh. The pain of imminent non-existence wasn’t something she was eager to experience again. Ever.

  Yet the battle had been worth it. She extended an arm large enough to smash a continent, and marveled at the weapon held in her grasp. Worldender, the titanic spear, was clutched in her hand, pulsing with dark power.

  This was your plan, then. Krox mused. You never intended the death of your rival?

  “I’d have preferred to slay Voria, and that possibility existed,” Nebiat replied, deep satisfaction welling up in her. “But unlike you I’ve lived my life as a mortal. I understand that sometimes people defy the odds. Voria has always triumphed, every time we’ve met. Even if that triumph was merely her survival. Part of me didn’t really believe I would win, simply because I’ve never seen that woman be beaten. I was prepared for a loss today, and yet it was anything but.”

  She smiled down at her own world, understanding Voria’s need to protect her people. In that single way they were the same. Unlike Voria, though, her people were safe. An entire civilization waited on the world below, with the strongest of the Wyrms already building followings among the others. She took a moment to extend her senses, and to watch thousands at once. They competed, grew, and learned.

  Somehow, she’d managed to preserve her people, the people that her father had very nearly squandered in his mad quest to raise a god. Wha
t’s more, she now possessed a weapon that, theoretically at least, could slay a god.

  “Tell me of this spear,” she said, holding the weapon up for her own inspection. “Where did it come from? Who made it? And why is it so deadly?”

  Worldender might be the oldest object in the cosmos, Krox theorized. Rumors of its use stem from every epoch of the godswar, and Shivan’s use to slay Marid was but the latest instance in a long line of gods felled. Even I do not know the weapon’s origin, or the name of the god who forged it. Perhaps it already existed when our universe was created, a legacy of the denizens themselves. Whatever its origin, the spell can pierce any magic. It will nullify magic that comes into contact with the tip, and that includes you.

  The bit about the spear was important, but not the part that aroused the greater part of Nebiat’s curiosity.

  “Denizens? You mean the beings in the Umbral Depths?” Nebiat knew little of these creatures. She could seek the knowledge directly, if she wished, but Krox’s memories were sheathed under countless strata, and the volume daunted her. She could spend a century simply witnessing, and still not see a fraction of what Krox had endured during his immeasurable lifespan.

  Indeed. Perhaps they forged it originally, or perhaps whatever birthed them also created the weapon. Regardless, we have it now, and that is good. Worldender ensures that even Nefarius will be wary of us.

  Nebiat considered that. She’d dealt a series of crippling blows to the Confederacy. Ternus was doomed. Shaya was depopulated. New Texas had been crippled. Only Yanthara and Colony 3 remained intact, of the greater worlds at least.

  Virkon could be an enemy as well. Krox cautioned. And you have not accounted for Nefarius, or the treacherous spawn of Inura.

  “Haven’t I?” Nebiat gave a deep, throaty laugh. She made the sound perfectly mirror the laugh she’d borne before her ascension, and all over the world below Wyrms shot disquieted glances at the sky. She extended her perceptions, and took in the entire galaxy at once, seeing all her enemies. “I’ve retreated from the galactic stage, driven away by the mighty Voria. She stands in the open, over a ruined world. Now our enemies will look around. They will begin plotting, and scheming, and fighting. They will target each other, while they seek to pillage our world. They may invade the Rift, but they will underestimate us. They will assume we lurk here in the shadows, weak, and frail. And while they ignore us we will grow strong. We will let them spend their strength fighting each other, and I will spend the time studying my enemies. You will teach me of Nefarius, and of this Talifax. When they come for us, we will be ready.”