Yahweh paused, taking a moment to let that sink in. “Where are we on the ship repairs?”
“I don’t know. I’m not the maintenance crew.”
“Fetch Seyestin. I need a briefing. And some coffee.”
“I’m not bringing you coffee.”
“Seyestin will, if you ask him. We should be en route through Tehlor by midday. Central Command recalibrations and system checks take three hours alone.”
I lifted a brow. Seyestin was half general, half personal butler. Poor asshole. “Fine. Where are you going to be?”
“Around here somewhere, helping the navigators restart the database. That speech will have to wait.”
When I unlocked the navigation room door (Yahweh and I had wanted privacy), I found a group of guards huddling on the threshold, trying to hear us through half a foot of steel. Obviously it hadn’t worked or they’d have heard me coming. I couldn’t blame them; it must have been pretty exciting, Vel’Haru fighting and all.
“Get back to your posts,” I snarled, and they inched away like frightened mice. “One of you send for the analysts. The Commander needs a troubleshooter.”
*
General Trede was nearly impossible to track down.
Exhausting every logical place a general might be, I found him in the executive dining room, completely shitfaced.
I had no idea how long he’d been in here, but it had to have been before that scuffle on the watchtower. That meant he’d sat here through the ship exploding. Fucking hell.
I pulled out a chair and sat across from him. A group of nervous-looking servers watched from the kitchen door. Their expressions begged me to get rid of him.
He didn’t look at me, but once I sat down he sighed heavily.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Having a drink. What does it look like?”
“Didn’t see you around when there was trouble at central command. Were you here?”
“Yes.” He finished his drink, waving for another one. There were about nineteen empty liquor glasses on the table already.
“No,” I called to the approaching server. “He’s done, you can go.”
Seyestin studied me with tired, glassy eyes. “I don’t recall inviting you to join me.”
“Yahweh wants you. He’s back in the game. He also wants some coffee.”
He laughed dryly. “Yes, right away.”
I waited; he didn’t budge.
This was irritating, but I could empathize for once. “Losing my sister drove me mad. Literally. She was half the reason Sanctum fell.”
Seyestin’s expression changed. He stared, saying nothing.
“I can see you’re at a crossroads, too. But believe me, Cereli wouldn’t want to see you here.”
“I’m not going mad,” he murmured, looking away. “I’m just trying to process everything.”
“There’s no time. We’re sitting ducks if we don’t get a move on. You need to oversee the ship repairs, speed them up.”
“Yeah,” he said, faraway. “I’ll be there in a moment, with coffee.”
*
Oraniquitis was seated on the narrow ridge of the halo charger. It loomed over Ezekiel’s nose and deck, so that her legs dangled thousands of feet over a cold, cloudy abyss. She didn’t seem to mind.
Leid’s white coat flapped soundlessly in the wind. Her hair was pulled into a complicated braid that wrapped around the right side of her neck and trailed down her chest, disappearing into the linings of her coat. Even with my approach, she continued to watch the sky.
“Welcome to the club, Qaira. I haven’t been able to formally congratulate you,” said Oraniquitis. She peeked over her shoulder, flashing me a smile. “Is your membership everything that you thought it’d be?”
I said nothing, still trying to get a reading on her.
“Are you surprised I’m speaking coherent sentences? Had you assumed I’d just start foaming at the mouth?”
The novelty had worn off. I’d had a memory of Sanctum on fire and my anger was back, fresh. “No need to assume. I’ve already seen you do it.”
Oraniquitis shook her head. Reading her was difficult. Those black, pupil-less eyes made everything she said so disingenuous. “Come and sit with me, the scenery is beautiful.”
I gazed at the back of her head, snubbing her invitation.
Oraniquitis continued to stare out into the murky fog, silent. This went on for over a minute, until she asked, “What are you waiting for?”
“What?”
“You want to say something to me.”
“Why are you here?” I demanded, finding the courage to take a step closer. “What do you want?”
“What does any being want?”
“That all depends on the being.”
“To live. I’m sure you can agree that every being wants to live.”
“No, actually I can’t.”
Oraniquitis laughed. “Leid wasn’t suicidal, love. She only wanted you to think that.”
I flinched, and she noticed.
“You want to know the truth about Leid? I can tell you, you know. I’ve lived inside her thoughts—her soul—for years and years.” She patted the ground next to her. “Come, sit. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
No, don’t.
“Not interested. What do you intend to do here?”
Oraniquitis’s smile drooped into what I could only describe as a pout. “Right to business, are we? Fine. Your wife is gone, Qaira. It won’t be long until her expiration begins. Weeks, maybe.”
I had to consciously relax my jaw or else I risked cracking a molar.
Oraniquitis found my anger funny. It was like she fed off of it. “And since no one will be using this body for the meantime, I have some unfinished business to settle.”
“You have to stay,” I said, and my words shook with fury. It took everything inside me not to attack her. “Leid has to see this war to its end. She played a crucial part, as I’m sure you know.”
Intrigued, Oraniquitis thumbed the right side of her chin. Another reminder that she wasn’t my wife. “Why would you care about this war?”
“I don’t,” I said. “She did.”
Oraniquitis studied me, musing. “What if I said we could strike a deal; would you come sit with me then?”
I approached the rail and leaned against it, remaining standing. My one small act of rebellion. “Name your price.”
She looked away, solemn. “I’ll win you this war, only if you’re at my side for the next one.”
Predictable. “Done.”
She lifted a brow, impressed. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a minute to think it over? I’d understand.”
“I said done. That all?”
She smiled. “Yes, that’s all.”
“Good, I’ll find you when I need you.”
I could feel Oraniquitis’s eyes on my back as I left. I hardly cared, since I was still trying to wrap my head around why she thought she needed me on her quest for revenge against the Court of Enigmus. I wasn’t even a big deal. Next to Yahweh, I was the weakest one.
This was all too much; I needed everything to stop for a second. I needed to think.
I passed the clusterfuck on deck—soldiers, aviators, engineers, all trying to put the ship back together again—and headed straight to my room. I lingered in the doorway, realizing I was now its only tenant, and then slid open the closet. I rummaged in the dark for a bit, throwing aside clothes, bags and other objects. My hands hit cool metal, and I closed my eyes in relief.
Of course Leid would have taken them; there’d been a chance she might never return to Cerasaraelia.
I pulled out my violin case, laying it across my knees, popping the latches. A thousand memories swarmed my head all at once. With my heart pounding in my ears, I reached inside.
VII
DAMAGE PLANS
Yahweh Telei—;
IT WAS DIFFICULT TO CONCENTRATE. My eyes couldn’t focus on
any single object; not when there were waves of colors, sounds and tastes invading my senses all at once. I wasn’t even eating anything.
My perceivable reality had been turned into abstract art.
Still I’d dragged myself to central command and joined the War Council (what was left of it, anyhow). The good news was that everyone was far too traumatized and/or inebriated to notice my eyes rolling around in my head.
A steaming cup of coffee sat next to my seat at the table. A digital map of Hell lit the table surface, blinking landmarks and borders, illuminating us in hues of red and green. “General Trede, have you an update on repairs?”
“Sir,” he said, eyes cast to the map. “The halo charger will be fully functional within the next hour or two. The IS engineers will contact me once central command is up and running.”
There was a slur to his speech, and everyone could tell he was very drunk. I wasn’t particularly upset by his slip—more impressed that anyone could still do their job so efficiently.
Belial, however, was regarding him with a raised brow and lofty grin. He said nothing, though; even a demon wouldn’t dare tread on Seyestin’s loss. He was here, that was all that mattered.
Leid was not, and I felt less confident without her.
“Golheim is lost,” I said, clearing my throat. Naberius gave me a razor-edged stare. “Our recovery operation has failed, but we’ve still managed to claim the city.”
“What’s left of it,” muttered Belial. “There aren’t any war machinery, rations or other supplies in that smoking casket. What good is Golheim to the Argentia Army?”
“Spin,” said Adrial.
We all looked at him.
“This war shouldn’t solely be of the physical kind. We’ve got the layer’s Archdemon at the table and even if the capital has fallen, there are several other smaller townships that still live here. They’ll suffer without the support of the capital. We can broadcast Archdemon Uhnem; have him make a speech to the citizens of Lohr.”
“And what will I say?” asked Naberius, horrified.
“That their poverty is the Obsidian Court’s doing; the Argentia Army is trying to reform Hell and you’re onboard.”
Naberius’s face darkened. “But it wasn’t the Obsidian Court’s doing. It was Argentia.”
At my defense, Seyestin opened his mouth, but I quickly intervened, “You’re right; it was our doing.”
“Sir,” warned Seyestin.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll admit Heaven hasn’t done all it could to help your realm, Archdemon Uhnem. But you’re playing on our side of the board now and you’re going to have to lie.”
“Very well,” he said after a moment of thought.
“I’ll write your speech,” grinned Belial. “I’ve been having some creativity withdrawals.”
“Oh, no,” groaned Naberius.
“Where are Leid and Qaira?” asked Seyestin, glancing at their empty seats. Overall there were four empty seats, but two would never be filled again.
I cast my eyes to the digital map. “Things have happened. I’ll brief you once I have all the information. Right now, neither of them can attend the war council.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with what happened earlier tonight,” pried Naberius.
“Leid is infirm,” Adrial said sternly. “Qaira is tasked with looking after her for the time being. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
“Sir,” said a guard from the door, placing a fist over his Argentia Crest. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Go ahead,” I said.
“Navigators have just received word that reinforcements are two hours out. Crylle has immobilized ten thousand soldiers into Avernai, allowing us ten thousand more at the front line.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Dien.”
When Dien left, I looked back at the map. “General Trede, once this briefing is over I need you to contact Theosyne and have our militia send us more machinery. We don’t have enough weapons or jets for reinforcements.”
“Yes, Commander.”
I activated the legend function on the map, the layer of Tehlor illuminating in brilliant green light. “Archdemon Vakkar, tell us everything you know about routes through your domain.”
Belial gave me devilish smile. “With pleasure, Young Commander.”
*
Our session ended as reinforcements broke the skyline, the hum of aircraft carriers growing louder with their approach.
I walked across the busy deck, guardless, hands shoved into my pockets and my head down as icy wind lashed against my face. Seyestin would greet the reinforcements on my behalf. I was too distracted. Too hungry.
Back at my room I asked a guard to bring me a slice of leriza pie and chilled tea, which had been on the dinner menu earlier this evening. My plan was to eat in private, giving myself some time to reflect, all the while eyeing my port-aeon for word of our central command system repairs. In truth, the idea of speaking to anyone right now made me nauseous. But I was Commander, so I would chew the gristle.
It was early morning, daybreak just a few hours away, but you couldn’t tell from Ezekiel’s activity. The pitch-black of the sky was fading to navy, streaked with powder-blue. There was no sun anymore. Day and Dusk coalesced.
The food was dry and tasteless. I wasn’t sure if it was an effect of my transformation or from anxiety. Maybe both, but I had to admit I felt much better. Sharper.
I hadn’t received any word from central command by the time my plate was clean, so I decided to head over there.
Justice Trisyien was on the highest tier exo-bridge, just outside of the central command upper-deck. He smoked a malay cigarette with eyes cast toward the sky, aloof as ever. At my appearance he shot me a sidelong glance, and then I realized his loitering here was no coincidence.
“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” he asked, foregoing a formal greeting.
“I slept days straight,” I replied. “There’s too much to do to sleep right now.”
Adrial took a drag of his cigarette. “Have you eaten?”
I nodded.
He nodded too, and there was an awkward silence.
I bowed my head, about to press on, but then he said, “I’m sorry that this happened to you, Yahweh. I really am.”
“I’m sorry as well,” I murmured. “I know how close you and Zhevraine were.”
He laughed sadly, shaking his head. “You’ll come to feel the bond, too. Well, perhaps not.” Adrial glanced away, exhaling smoke. “Guardian’s gravity weakens when our nobles are gone.”
“Leid is not gone yet.”
He stared at me, hesitant. “I’ve heard that you’re trying to cure her expiration.”
The incredulity in Adrial’s eyes made my heart sink. “We’ve made a lot of progress. I can show you my work if you’d like, once we have the time.”
“And tell me,” he said, an angry smirk forming on his lips, “have you formulated a plan to cure her infection?”
“You don’t approve of my research.”
“It’s not that I don’t approve; I just don’t think it’ll ever work. Especially now.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
“Now you sound like Qaira.”
“He’s right. Leid is still here—well, somewhere. We shouldn’t give up on her.”
“Give up on her,” he repeated, stung. “I’ve never given up on her. Years and years of repentance, and I’ll stay by her until the bloody end; whether that thing inside of her kills me or her body is turned to stone. You and Qaira look at me like I’m the enemy, but neither of you know a fucking thing.”
Adrial turned away. I wanted to apologize, but my mouth was too dry, my words too tangled. Instead I leaned on the rail beside him, sighing into the brisk morning wind. I couldn’t walk away now.
And then he shook his head. “I couldn’t end her life if I tried to anyway. Not anymore. She made me promise, too.”
“Promise?”
“Qaira doesn’t know.
A few days ago, right over there,” he nodded several paces from where we stood, “she made me promise her that when she slipped into that coma…”
Adrial didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to.
“And how can I fulfill that promise now?” He clenched his jaw. “Leid has never been honest with me. After hundreds of years, still. How can I protect her when I never know what’s really happening? You have absolutely no idea what it feels like, knowing your noble can’t confide in you.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
Adrial’s malay cigarette was almost finished; he tossed the still-smoking filter over the rail, oblivious to my frown of disapproval. “I shouldn’t unload on you like this. You have enough to think about.”
All I could offer was a sympathetic smile. “When things have settled down, please come to the lab. I’ll show you my research.”
“I don’t have time for false hope.”
“Hope can’t be true or false; it’s always uncertain. Hope is hope.”
“Well,” Adrial muttered, pulling out another malay cigarette from his pack, “I can tell you what’s true: any moment now Oraniquitis will get bored with whatever she’s doing here and start killing everyone.”
I glanced behind me, half expecting her to be right there. “Why do you think she hasn’t yet?”
A look of trepidation crossed Adrial’s face, shadows bolding out creases of his forehead and mouth. For a second I couldn’t even see his eyes. “Not sure, but she’s probably plotting something. Oraniquitis straddles the border between ingenuity and madness.”
“Don’t we all?” I whispered.
Strings music echoed across the bridge, carried by the wind.
Adrial and I looked up, and then across the deck.
There was Qaira, sitting on the outer-pointe of the southern watch-tower, his arms and fingers skittering across his pearlescent violin. It was a sight that brought me back to the Adoria Era, where Sanctum stood strong; their Regent even stronger.
Sadness clawed at my chest, and I had to look away.
I missed that Qaira. He wasn’t the same—with good reason. But his spirit was a memento of time on The Atrium when things had been good, albeit brief. A time before genocide, war and hatred had torn my father and I apart.
The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy Page 87
