“You didn’t volunteer.”
“I’m no astrophysicist. You are, though, aren’t you? Would you have volunteered?”
“Probably not.”
Their argument concluded. Zira stalked off, dejected, while Calenus moved to the other side of the room to speak to Saphi. He paid me a quick glance.
“Only fools feel the need to prove themselves. I’m smart enough to know when to fold,” said Ixiah, watching Zira’s retreat. He clicked his tongue and left the room, moving up the stairs.
Alone, Calenus beckoned me. I didn’t budge.
I was not his guardian, and wouldn’t pretend to be. Pride had drawn its line.
My cold shoulder seemed to amuse him, oddly enough, and with a smile he came to me instead. “You’re not going to eat?”
“Not hungry,” I said.
He looked past me, into the hall. “Let me show you euxodia.”
I’d heard that word before, but couldn’t recall when. “What’s that?”
“Our library.”
Their library looked nothing like Cerasaraelia’s. Up until now, my understanding of libraries was that they carried books. Calenus had led me into a room very similar in appearance to the one housing attica, except a little more furnished. Couches, desks, wall shelves with ornaments and strange gadgets, yet not a single book in sight.
But then I noticed all the little podiums near every couch, atop end tables, and on the middle of each desk.
There were books. I just couldn’t see them.
On the wall hung strange visors that looked derived from workshop goggles, circuitry through each translucent frame.
I nodded to myself, beginning to understand. Leid had told me that their books were not like ours, and she was right. “A database like attica.”
“Correct,” said Calenus, surprised at my deduction. We’d only been here half a minute. “Euxodia and attica go hand in hand. Our information is gathered by contracts. Each world’s geophysical and cartographical information is added to the attica database, but here our scholars can learn history, culture, or whatever else intrigues them.”
I thought of Leid sitting here, learning of The Atrium prior to our encounter. It made my heart heavy.
“How do scholars upload to the euxodia database?”
Calenus gestured to a stack of clear sheets on a stand beneath the wall shelves. They had looked like plastic file folders, but at second glance they looked more like lamination. The gadgets on the shelves, I realized, were writing utensils.
“Perhaps one day you can see how it works,” he said.
I didn’t respond. If Calenus thought he could recruit me, he was getting way ahead of himself.
“Each scholar is given a headset and sheet before they attend their contracts. They update euxodia from their experiences. We try to visit each world at least once every millennium to keep our records current.”
“Can I see the database?”
He nodded, handing me a headset.
I sat on the closest seat, inspecting the visor. Wherever my hands touched, those familiar blue sparks kissed my fingertips. I glanced at Calenus in question, but he only motioned for me to put it on.
I slipped it over my eyes and fastened the edges of the frame behind my ears. There was no warning to its activation, and the lenses lit up in a flash of blue phosphorescence. I jumped, startled, but was quickly subdued by the scenery. I was floating in space, stars like tiny flecks amid an endless sea of black.
“Think of something you want to know,” instructed Calenus. He sounded far away. “Any place.”
The Atrium.
Like attica, the lenses zoomed through space at warp speed, through constellations and solar systems. It slowed at a small planet in Aledon, Eversae Major.
There it was.
I was bombarded with flashing texts and images of planetary configuration, elements, species, history, geography…
Sanctum.
I was shown a picture of ruins. My heart grew heavier. Euxodia stated it was no longer in existence, having been destroyed by war. I tried to get the specifics, but that was all it would say. Sanctum was known now as Tehlor City, Hell.
Tehlor. I’d felt something when I was there, but Alezair Czynri couldn’t have known why.
Nehel.
Extinct, eight hundred years ago. When I looked further, the reason stated was NEUTRALIZATION. A contract breach.
I tore off the headset and glared at Calenus. His look was cool, seeming to know what I’d learned. Apparently I was that predictable.
“Neutralization,” I repeated.
“Leid left us no choice. There could be no witnesses.”
“You spared the angels. Surely a few of them saw what really happened.”
“They swore to secrecy. It was in their best interest.”
I clenched my jaw. “And what lies do they feed history?”
Calenus hesitated. “You destroyed your city.”
I stared, stung.
“The end of your race is told that you went mad after the death of your family, and burned Sanctum to the ground.”
My chest felt tight. I had to look away, unsure of what I might do. Calenus was a noble; attacking him was out of the question. Even here, he had almost a foot on me and violence solved nothing. It would get me nowhere in the long run.
Anticipating an explosion, Calenus sealed the library.
“There’s nothing left for you there,” he said. “You can stay here with us. It’s where you belong now.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so inviting of me.”
“Past is passed. What you were then is not what you are now. You are Vel’Haru. You are us. I am obligated to treat you with the same kindness as I do the others. I’ll hold no secrets from you anymore.”
I decided to put that statement to the test. “What were you trying to cover up?”
Again, Calenus hesitated. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“You said Leid left you no choice but to neutralize us. Why? What was her sickness that you spoke of?”
He looked away, conflicted. I stood, impatient.
“Why did her eyes turn black? Before she threw me off Eroqam’s port, she spoke to me. It wasn’t Leid. She told me Leid was not there.”
“Oraniquitis Loren.”
“…What?”
“Leid was infected. She had… invoked the powers of a proxy.”
I squinted, confused.
“The missing statue that you noted at the Sanctuary; it was the statue of Oraniquitis Loren, the Scarlet Queen. She was our first Queen. Aipocinus’ mother.”
“I thought statues were corpses.”
“Usually they are. I can’t provide any insight as to how it happened, but…” He trailed off, thinking of a way to explain. “The proxies didn’t expire. They were killed by their children.”
“You?”
“No, not me. I am third generation. Aipocinus and his generation rebelled against their predecessors. It was a slaughter, one that cost us many, but it was necessary. The proxies were dangerous, unstable, destructive. They sought to destroy everything— every world they reached. They were called God Killers.”
Ah, God Killers.
“Their children called for a more civilized life. That aspiration was paid with blood. Their statues were placed in tribute at the Sanctuary. It was our first practice of that custom.”
“How does Leid come into play?”
“She never followed the rules. Aipocinus forbid anyone to see the proxies, but Leid’s curiosity is like a storm, unyielding. She went there and saw Oraniquitis, became mesmerized by its likeness of her.”
The Scarlet Queen had resembled Leid, it was true. Even I had thought it was her.
“That had been a large part of Aipocinus’ obsession with her. He’d found a woman on a distant planet that resembled his mother in nearly every way. He stole her and forced her assimilation.”
“Sounds like he had a few issues.”
> “As his guardian, Leid was powerless to free herself. She sought power elsewhere, and that journey took her to the proxies. She must have touched Oraniquitis, and whatever had been dormant inside that statue moved to her.
“It had been good timing, as Aipocinus expired shortly after and without her, we wouldn’t have stopped the slaughter. It was the first time any of us had witnessed expiration, and no one was prepared for it.
“But slowly her powers took a different form. They manifested in ways we couldn’t explain. Before she’d left on your contract, she had suffered brief episodes of personality disorder, the kind that made me believe it wasn’t only Oran’s powers that had entered her.”
Oraniquitis, herself. That was who I’d spoken to.
“You should have told me.”
“I couldn’t. You were a lesser.”
“A world was at stake.”
“Worlds are always at stake, Qaira. You wouldn’t have cared either way. Back then nothing could have torn you from your precious wife.”
I lowered my eyes, saying nothing.
“Oraniquitis’ statue. What happened to it?”
“Destroyed. The Scarlet Queen manifested fully just a little while after Sanctum’s collapse, and we fought her. There were a lot of deaths, a lot of…. Leid was nearly gone by the time I ripped Oran from her and shoved her back inside that statue. In hindsight I should have killed her, but Leid was not at fault. Not wholly.”
“That was how all your nobles died off?”
Calenus didn’t even bother asking how I knew that, only nodded. “Leid ascended to Queen, but she shirked her duties and left Exo’daius with her guardians. We haven’t seen each other since.”
“Sounds like she really fucked this place over.”
“I’ve made my peace with it. Aipocinus made the mistake of choosing a reluctant guardian, and we all paid the price.”
I nodded, having nothing else to say. I’d just received everything I had come here for, and it had cost me five days and a lot of pain.
After a moment of silence, Calenus unsealed the library. “I need to draw up a contract for Senestyre. Euxodia is at your disposal.”
He left.
My mask of pity bled dry. Calenus was mistaken. That statue had not been destroyed; Leid had taken it to Atlas Arcantia.
Memories of Caym’s attack returned, vivid as a screenplay. Leid’s dismemberment, her fingertips brushing the statue, those black eyes.
She had laughed when she’d seen me, so surprised that I was still alive; and one of them to boot.
Leid was infected again, and no one knew but her and me.
All I had to do was say the words and Calenus and his group would be off to The Atrium, seeking her execution. I’d have my revenge without even lifting a finger.
In my hand was another killswitch.
All I had to do was press it.
VI
INTERIM
Lucifer Raith—;
“OUR RANKS AREN’T NEARLY AS STUNNING AS the projections said they’d be,” Samnaea muttered, reading over the report. “One hundred and ten thousand; the enlistment volunteers are at an all-time low. Twenty-five percent across the layers.”
“That’s still a lot more than Heaven can gather,” offered Lilith, smiling weakly. She’d averted my eyes our entire conference. No one had spoken of that night in Avernai since Verin’s assassination. I was just as eager to put it behind me.
“We need a unified Hell for this war,” said Samnaea. “Avernai and Lohr’s soldier-civilian ratio is ten percent, and only five hundred more volunteered for enlistment.”
The Archdemons across the table were silent, reflective. Samnaea was right that Hell needed unity, however recent events made that task a challenge. Half of Hell was ready to fight, while the other half was frightened by yet another factor threatening their lives. Poverty was enough. Malphas was campaigning to rally more troops to our cause, but all that’d done so far was make his people flock to Tehlor.
“They want freedom but won’t fight for it,” muttered Azazel, leaning into a hand. “Surprise, surprise.”
“Should the angels invade, Avernai, Lochai and Lohr are the closest layers to Heaven’s border. That’s why they’re running,” said Naberius. “They’ve endured centuries of suppression. No campaign will make them unterrified of the Argent Court. We all remember the Ring War.”
“We are ten times more powerful now as we were then,” snarled Samnaea. “Jehovah Telei is dead. Yahweh sits on that throne instead. A doctor playing dress up, nothing more.”
“I’m not arguing that,” said Naberius, hands raised. “I’m telling you what our people believe. We have to find a way to make them understand without forcing a mandatory draft.”
“First we need damage control in Tehlor,” ventured Azazel. “They’ve practically cut themselves off from the Court. Bad press if I ever saw it.”
Belial’s disappearance had caused quite a fall-out. His closest, most loyal subjects spread rumors that the Obsidian Court had tried to assassinate him and burned Durn Manor to the ground. Forensic evidence found the bodies of court guards and his wife, Persephone Tremond, which fueled even more controversy. General Soran had reported that Belial resisted arrest and burned down his own house after killing the guards, his wife, and attempting to kill Samnaea. He had hid his psionicity, which was yet another count of treason. You didn’t walk around with a gun hidden behind your back. Not here.
“Commander Raith,” called Malphas, “have you any say?”
“Keep with the campaigns, all of you. I’m going to issue an evacuation of Avernai and Lochai in the next few days. The people are right; they’re sitting ducks if Heaven advances.”
“Heaven is probably scrambling like lerizas without heads,” said Samnaea. “They’ve grown fat and happy in their tyranny. We could give them a year and they still wouldn’t be fully prepared to take us on.”
I wasn’t so sure. Yahweh had the tendency to surprise. His best chance was first strike while we tried to stabilize Hell and gather militia. If he thought with a little less chagrin and a little more clarity, he, too, would see that—;
Not that I wanted him to.
Or, maybe I did.
“How is the search for Belial faring?” I inquired, casting Samnaea a look.
“Not well, sir,” said Samnaea, solemn. “He has more allies than we thought.”
All eyes turned on Naberius.
“He hasn’t contacted me,” said the Archdemon, brows arched. “He knows better, since I would be the first suspect. Which I was.”
“I can only conclude that he’s fled Hell,” said Samnaea.
Yes, I’d gathered that already.
“He was working for the Celestial Court. Could the Jury have given him asylum?” asked Lilith.
“If that’s true, then there’s no retrieving him,” said Azazel. “Half our people’s fear has to do with the Jury. We haven’t even spoken to them since our declaration. Where does their fealty lie?”
“Nowhere, hopefully. They were sworn to preserve the Contest, nothing more. Leid and her ilk know better than to get involved in our war,” said Malphas.
I smiled, finding humor in that. None of them knew Leid Koseling at all. But how could they?
My Aeon chimed, and everyone looked at me. My secretary’s frequency flashed across the screen. She knew I was in a meeting, so the call was urgent.
“Excuse me,” I said, lifting the probe to my temple. A moment later I was on my way out of the conference room, telling everyone to continue without me. Samnaea was left in charge for the time being.
***
The communications room was dimly lit and vacant. A projection screen in the center of the room flickered with static, and I took a seat behind the panel. I activated the flashing telecom beacon and the static faded, presenting Justice Commander Koseling.
Ah, Leid.
She sat in their vacant conference room at the Celestial Court. I glanced at the time;
it was a little after lunch.
“I was beginning to worry,” I said, breaking the ice.
“I wouldn’t settle just yet,” she said, coolly. Her wide, violet eyes gleamed with contempt. Looking at her was like looking at a doll. An angry doll. Giant eyes, tiny nose, pouty red lips. Her jet colored hair was bone straight and always perfectly combed. She was beautiful, undeniably, but her beauty had long since faded from my eyes. This rose had thorns, sharp enough to draw blood and keep anyone at arm’s length. “I ask that you reconsider your decision to war against the angels.”
I reclined, leaning into a hand. “Yahweh’s seen you?”
“He has. Should you continue with your plans of war, I will serve as Commander Telei’s advisor until he perishes, or conquers Hell.”
I clenched my jaw.
“Again,” she said, “I ask that you reconsider your decision to war against the angels.”
“Are we really going to do this again, Leid? Before you try to intimidate me, you might want to remember that you lost our last match.”
She smiled. “My newest client is a little more level-headed.”
“You were contracted here to maintain the Contest. The Contest is over, and you no longer have business in our affairs.”
“The Contest is over, yes, but then so is our contract—which means I’m a free agent and your son is in desperate need of someone with my expertise.” A pearly grin. “A fair fight is what I guarantee. A challenge. Of course, you could always call off the war and think of a less fatal way to negotiate.”
Cunning, but I wouldn’t bite. “What is he giving you in return for your services?”
“That’s between me and my client.”
“He’s granting you permanent asylum in The Atrium, right?”
She raised her eyes, as if to say, Maybe.
“What if I’m willing to grant you asylum if you don’t advise the Argent Court?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’d say your fealty lies with Calenus Karim, and I don’t particularly trust you.”
The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy Page 68
