The Arclight Saga

by C. M. Hayden

  “No,” Kurian said quickly, and rolled his hand as if he were thinking of his next question. “You’re not human?”

  “Correct. I am a construct. My avatar is in the image of the goddess Sarona. Will this complete your inquiries?”

  “No,” Kurian said, a bit more sharply. “Please stop asking that.”

  “What is this place?” I asked, taking a few steps forward.

  The Warden didn’t look in my direction. “Syseril is one of four facilities on Arkos designed and built by Craetos the All-Seer. Its purpose is to contain cosmic entities.”

  “Like Sith-Narosa,” I said.

  “Correct.”

  “Why is the prison failing?” I asked.

  For the first time, the Warden moved her head. She looked directly at me. “I do not understand the query. Please rephrase.”

  “The creature you’re holding, it’s corrupting the marshes around Syseril. It killed our friends; it’s infecting villagers,” I said.

  The Warden’s eyes changed, an almost imperceptible amount, as if she were deep in though. “I’m afraid you are mistaken. All systems are operating at peak efficiency. No threats are detected.”

  I stepped up onto the dais beside Kurian and touched my finger to the key console, like I was reprimanding a small child. “Listen here, lady.” I pointed to the cut on my shoulder where the creature had started to impale me. “This didn’t appear out of nowhere. And my friends didn’t just drop dead. Check again.”

  The Warden’s image flickered, and her eyes turned solid white. For a long moment, she said nothing. When her eyes returned to normal, she spoke again. “There is a marginal misalignment in one field generator, less than one degree. It could not cause the issue which you have described. All systems are nominal.”

  “Where exactly is this generator?” I asked.

  The Warden pointed upward. “On the top level.”

  “Out of curiosity,” Kurian began. “I don’t suppose my grandfather put any fail-safes in place, in case of a breach?”

  “He did,” the Warden said. “In the event of a containment breach, the ancillary reactors are detonated. Killing Sith-Narosa is not possible, however, an explosion of sufficient size could render the creature impotent and prevent it from acquiring a nearby host.”

  “By incinerating everything in a hundred-mile radius?” Kurian asked, a bit unsure.

  “Precisely,” the Warden said.

  “My people aren’t exactly subtle,” Kurian said flippantly. He thought for a moment. “We need to find a way to a get a message to the dragonkin, to Sivion. Maybe they can do something about it.”

  “Would you like me to dispatch a courier?” the Warden asked.

  Kurian fumbled for a moment. “Yes! Yes. Please do. To Sivion, tell her what I’ve said. She’s in Castiana, she lives in the—”

  “I am aware of Lady Sivion’s location. I will include a full audio and visual record of our encounter with your message. Will this conclude your inquiries?”

  “One more thing,” I said, pointing to the top level. “How do we get up there?”

  - 15 -

  The Climb

  Fortunately for us, we didn’t have to climb a hundred stories. Unfortunately, the lift the Warden directed us to didn’t take us the whole way up. The gear-chain clinked and clanked as it raised us upward toward the starlight chains holding Sith-Narosa. It stopped at a ladder jetting out from the stone walls.

  Kurian cracked his knuckles. “You should stay here,” he said, as he prepared to climb. “I don’t want you to fall.”

  I shook my head. “You’re a better climber than me, no doubt about that, but you don’t know the first thing about artificing, or Old God machinery. If there’s something busted up there, I need to see it in order to fix it.” I looked down at the several hundred-foot drop and gulped. “I can do this.”

  “It’s times like these I wish I had my wings. It would make this whole thing far easier.” He shrugged. “The life of a half-breed, eh?”

  I put one foot on the first rung of the ladder, took a hard breath, and began to climb. The higher I went, the more my mind lingered on the sudden drop below me. I tried to take my mind off it with idle chatter.

  “I have to admit,” I said, feeling the sweat trickle down my cheeks and onto my neck. “This is not how I expected my last trial to go.”

  “You’re telling me.” Kurian was following close behind. “Antherion warned me, too. He said, ‘nephew, this isn’t going to be easy.’ Of course, like a jackass, I told him I could handle it. If he were here, I’m sure he’d have this sorted out already.” His voice grew distant. “That’s the worst part about it. Not being a half-breed. No, it’s being around all these titans. My grandfather. My father. Antherion. Sivion. They’re legends. And what am I? How could I ever measure up to them?”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” I said, briefly glancing down before regaining my composure.

  Kurian laughed. “I think you might be one of the only people in the world who does. It’s funny how fate works. Think about it, centuries ago Craetos and Sun King Aldor were fighting Nuruthil. Now, here we are, picking up their scraps.”

  The more I thought about it, the funnier it was, and I found myself wearing a goofy smile despite the dire circumstances. We were so close to the organic mass of Sith-Narosa that I could actually hear its veins pulsing like a heartbeat. It had no specific form, and it moved like a tangle of sticky flesh. It was sickening, but I tried to keep my eyes on the rungs in front of me.

  We neared the top of the ladder, and when I spotted the ledge we needed to climb to, my heart sank. The ladder stopped just short of the ledge itself.

  “Well, that’s it,” Kurian said. “There’s no way you can make that. We’ll climb back down, and I’ll go alone.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going back,” I said, breathlessly. I felt my heart beating wildly, and my limbs shook. “I can make it. I just need to stand on the last rung and pull myself up.”

  “Kyra, you’ll fall. We’ll head back down and find another way.”

  “We don’t have time for that.” I steeled myself, and pulled my body up to the last rung in the ladder. It was only a few inches of metal jetting out from the stone wall. The sides of my feet hung over it as I stepped on. There was nothing to hold on to, and I felt as though even a slight breeze would knock me over. I raised my hands up and tried to grab onto the ledge, only to find that my fingers couldn’t quite reach.

  I’d have to jump.

  My hands were shaking and soaked in sweat. My heart thumped in my chest, and the fall below me was tugging at my mind. I felt anxiety like I’d never felt.

  As I’ve said before, I’m not a fearful person. Fear doesn’t suit a magister. But to tell you the truth, I was afraid. I’d never been more afraid in my life.

  Maybe I really wasn’t my father’s daughter. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be a Termane. A Sun Queen. Here I was, afraid of a little jump, while others in my family had fought with gods.

  Against all my better judgement, against every instinct I had, I took a deep breath and leapt up to the ledge. My fingers grazed it, but they couldn’t find a grip. Suddenly, I felt weightless as I fell backward, grasping at the air, trying to keep from falling.

  It was in vain. I felt myself falling. The whole world seemed to slow down, and I saw Kurian reach out and try to grab me. He failed, and my body fell toward the ground floor.

  My life was over.

  - 16 -

  The Fall

  When my mom died, I began thinking about my own death a lot. I was so young then, it alarmed my dad to no end. He said it wasn’t healthy to dwell on such things. For the longest time it terrified me. I wasn’t afraid of the afterlife, no, rather what would happen to my body afterward.

  I remember the warders carrying my mother to the crypts. I remember her beautiful rose-colored hair. I remember the lilies scattered in her coffin, her bright cheeks. But as I stared, I realized that her ha
ir would turn to ash. The flowers would die and wither. And the makeup on her cheeks would fade, soon to rot with the rest of her.

  I would wonder if that was all we humans were. Just wet bags of flesh, slowly dying from the moment we’re born. And in a thousand years, who would remember her? She’d be a footnote on our family tree at best, one day utterly forgotten. For the first couple of months, I’d wake up in the middle of the night screaming, with the image of her decaying corpse haunting my dreams.

  It wasn’t until I joined the Magisterium that I found some peace. I found it in the high stone walls of the tower. I found it in the steam and gears in the corridors. I found it in the burning oily smell of the Artificium. I found it in the machines built by the Old Gods, all still working thousands of years later.

  Flesh fades. Names fade. But the works of our hands can last an eternity. That’s why I wanted to be a magister.

  At the moment, however, all of my dreams were quickly falling to pieces. I was weightless in the air; as I tumbled, I briefly saw Kurian out the corner of my eye. My body turned, involuntarily, and I saw the fast-approaching stone floor.

  Then, I heard it. A sound like a hurricane. It set the vines and foliage inside the chamber rattling, it kicked up vast plumes of dust into the air, and even as my arms felt like they’d be ripped from their sockets in my rapid tumble, I could feel the flap of wings coming from above me.

  A dragon-shaped silhouette loomed, racing down with thunderous speed. Mere inches from the floor, I stopped falling. The sudden stop jostled me so hard that, for a moment, it felt like my brain was rattling around in my skull. Whatever had saved me set me gently to the floor in a ragged heap.

  When I cracked my eyes, I saw Kurian standing nearby. I knew it was him despite the changed appearance. I’d seen Antherion shift between his human and dragon forms before, but never so quickly. Kurian’s dragon form was an impressive sight. He was two stories tall, with wings as long as his entire body from tip to tail. His eyes were two burning amber diamonds set against his dark scales. His gaze had an intensity to it that I can’t quite explain, like two burning diamonds. I could actually feel him looking at me, and there was concern thick in his voice as he nudged me with his snout.

  “Kyra?” he said. Hearing his voice coming out of this creature was jarring. I was so used to the thin, black-haired artificer I’d come to know that, at first, I found myself at a loss for words.

  He swung his tail around, and I used it to help get to my feet. I wobbled a bit, still shell-shocked; but I was surprised to find that, with the exception of a few bruises and a slightly twisted arm, I was perfectly fine.

  My eyes met Kurian’s, and I smiled the widest, broadest smile I can ever remember having. We laughed together. We laughed so hard that I felt like I’d have a heart attack. I wiped the tears from my eyes and hugged him.

  “You son of a bitch,” I said, with a huge grin on my face. “You really like to let a girl sweat, don’t you? I really thought I was dead.”

  “I thought so, too.” Kurian was examining his new body. “I have to apologize to Antherion. He said this was always possible, but...” His eyes swelled for a moment, like he was on the brink of crying.

  “I’m happy for you,” I said. “But we’ll have to marvel over this later. We have a job to do and less than fifteen minutes to do it.”

  Kurian nodded, and knelt his head down close to me. “Climb on.”

  I grabbed onto one of the horns, protruding from his thick scales, and pulled myself onto his back. Without much warning, his wings flapped, sending up a gust of wind so intense that I felt like I’d be thrown off. He pushed off from the ground with his hind legs, and we shot upward like a cannonball. In seconds, we were back on the top floor, and when I dismounted Kurian, his body was consumed by light. He shrank, and his dragonkin features receded. Soon, he was his old self again.

  He stood stunned for a moment, looking at the backs of his hands intently. “I can’t believe I did it,” he said, seeming a bit akward in his human body. “I can finally go back to Castiana. I can finally—”

  “Kurian,” I said, grabbing him by the sides of his head. “Focus.”

  Kurian nodded and wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “Sorry.”

  Now that we were on the ledge, the setup of the starlight chains holding Sith-Narosa’s form in place were easier to see. The chains came up over the ledge and into four field generators that projected them. I’d seen similar generators in the Magisterium, but these were much larger.

  I inspected the first three, all of which seemed to be working fine. However, when I got to the last node I saw the problem. In-between the stone frame and the glass exterior was some sort of thick red ichor. It smelled like ammonia, and when I touched it I could feel it pulsing as if it had a heartbeat. I followed the ichor up the chain and back to the mass, hovering in the center of the chamber.

  Kurian had been looking over my shoulder and summed up my thoughts rather succinctly. “It’s eating away at the chains.”

  I nodded. “Who knows for how long. Years? Centuries?”

  “We should tell the Warden.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “She’ll blow this place up, us with it.”

  “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” Kurian said. “I can fly us out of here now.”

  I shook my head. “The explosion could reach the village, and it might take the Eventide by surprise.” I bit my lip. “There has to be a way to fix this.”

  “To fix it, we’ll need the diagrams, right?”

  “That schematic book is with Kadia,” I said.

  “The Warden can show them to us. She’s designed to obey me. I think if I order her not to destroy this place, she won’t.”

  “You think,” I said pointedly.

  “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

  Obviously, I didn’t. Even though I wasn’t completely sold on Kurian’s logic, for Kadia’s sake, we didn’t have time to mull it over. There was another pedestal nearby, and when Kurian stepped near it, the Warden appeared once again.

  “Greetings,” she said blankly. “Please state your query, or enter it manually on the key console before you.”

  “I am the grandson of Craetos the All-Seer. You are required to follow my orders, are you not?” Kurian asked.

  The Warden blinked. “I am.”

  “Even if they conflict with your directives?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Then listen. Regardless of what I’m about to tell you, you will not destroy this place. Confirm.”

  “Confirmed.”

  Kurian moved aside, exposing the corrupted generator. The Warden’s eyes widened in a way that made her seem almost human. For a moment, her eyes turned white and her pupils disappeared as she seemed to be processing the information.

  Finally, she spoke. “This must be corrected.”

  “Tell us how,” Kurian said.

  “First, the operational nodes must be strengthened. Proceed to each generator and place your hand on the center groove. Turn clockwise and the field will strengthen.”

  Kurian and I hurried to the first node. When Kurian placed his hand on it, a stone circle protruded out. When he turned it, there was a hard click and the starlight chain flickered.

  I looked back at the Warden. “Is it supposed to do that?”

  “There is no cause for concern. Please continue,” she said.

  We moved on to the next one and did the same thing. There was a burst of sparks at the ends of the chain, and the mass hovering in the center of the chamber shook and changed shapes.

  “I think we’re making things worse,” I said, as I followed Kurian to the last working generator.

  “We have to do what she says.” Kurian held his hand over the node, but I grabbed him by the wrist before he could continue.

  “Kurian,” I said, trying to get him to really listen to me. “Think about this for a moment.” I looked back at the image of the Warden, her face unreadable
. “Why didn’t she tell us about the broken generator? It’s the most important part of this prison, isn’t it?”

  Kurian lowered his hand, and his voice fell several octaves. “Why would she lie?” he whispered, glancing back.

  The Warden spoke for the first time without being called upon. “You must move with haste. There isn’t much time.”

  “I’m trying,” Kurian said. “It’s stuck.”

  “Then try again,” the Warden said, the barest sliver of annoyance in her voice.

  “It’s jammed,” I said. “We’ll have to find another way.”

  “I assure you,” the Warden said, “without strengthening the fields, Sith-Narosa may escape.”

  Kurian stood and crossed his arms. “Then I see no other choice. Warden, please implement the self-destruct, immediately.”

  My heart jumped in my chest, and I looked up at him. No doubt the fear was plain on my face.

  The Warden hesitated a moment. “I can explore alternate options, if you wish.”

  “No,” Kurian said, almost casually. “Blow it up. Now.”

  There was a long bout of silence. Nothing happened.

  “What’s wrong,” I said, finally understanding. I stood and approached the Warden. “Aren’t you supposed to obey every word he says?”

  “Apologies,” the Warden said. “The corruption has somehow made its way to the self-destruct mechanism. I can no longer implement that directive.”

  “Oh, I bet,” Kurian said. “Okay, how about this one: delete yourself.”

  The Warden seemed increasingly irritated. She stepped off her glass podium and smiled. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you figured it out.”

  It was the Sith-Narosa, there was no doubt about it. There was something about the eyes that carried over between hosts. Something unsettling.

  “I’ve been spreading my influence through this place for years now,” the creature said. “I soon realized that without a blood-relative of Craetos, I was powerless to act.”

  “I thought you couldn’t enter the chamber,” I said.