Chapter 14

PART Two

Chapter 14

For some of them, it had always been dark. Angel had lived here in the pens his entire 16 years. He’d been herded like cattle, naked and afraid from pen to pen. He’d been crushed into spaces that were too tight with strangers for long weeks, scrabbling for whatever food was left for them by the horrible guards. The Mes’t’rith. The hungers, the young ones called them. And there were always new young ones.

Sometimes, with no schedule they could discern, the guards would put them in the larger pens, the hunting pens, and they would sort them out, men and women, and they would take them away in pairs, and bring them back, and 9 months later there were always children. The mothers with children got taken to a different pen, and held there until the littles could walk on their own. Then they would come back to the holding pen, screaming and wailing. Knowing that it was time for them and their children to be hunted again. To either bear more children for their horrible captors or to die as their meals knowing that the children they created were just another snack, too.

Angel had been to the breeding pen 4 times. He wondered if one of the littles tucked in the corner learning nursery rhymes and old stories was his. There was no way to be sure. They didn’t breed them to just one woman. They were shoved into the tiny stalls one after another after another until they couldn’t perform anymore, and the women lay in the stalls until all the men were done.

The first time Angel had gone he’d been sickened, horrified, even though he had been warned. Even though they all knew. He couldn’t perform. They’d sent him to a  different pen then. And he’d learned that there were worse things than the breeding stalls. There were far worse things they could do to him than force him down a row of crying women grunting for a brief moment and crying. So much worse.

He didn’t know how long he’d been here, not exactly. The old man they called the timekeeper had died a long time ago, and the thing he wore on his wrist, the...watch was still on his him when they dragged him off into the dark and fed.  Now they kept time by the feedings. Each time the Mes’t’rith fed, the carved a new number into the wall of whichever pen they were currently in, and they all said the number together. The current number when the gate opened was one thousand and forty-nine.

From the sounds, there were only three that entered the pens. A feeding, then. Angel looked out across the pen and shrieked, fake panic in his voice.  All five of the voices he expected shrieked back. Choruses of screams swept across the room as the Mes’t’rith scraped their way across the stone floors. Groups of humans darted madly across their path, making them lash out and swipe, to grab their meals until they encountered slower prey. The screams as they dug in their terrible claws were real, and the tears that ran down Angel’s face were real and hot. He waited until the gate closed and prayed to the My’kl that they would wait until they were farther away to feed. He got his wish. He waited almost three thousand heartbeats before he wailed, a terrible lost noise. 5 echoes came back to him, and he began to move across the pens purposefully.

He was the best at getting across the pens. He’d always been able to find his way in the dark. He could hear better than the rest of them, they said. He thought he just listened better. Or maybe it was his age. He’d never tried to use his eyes. He was one of the darkborn. The oldest of them by almost 2 years. He’d been one of the first born, and of those he’d been born with, the other three were dead. Only one was eaten. Jase. He’d been brave and stood in front of a smaller child. Tenny had died of a broken leg. Something had gone wrong in his body from it and he died in pain they didn’t know how to fix. Jill had died on the way to the breeding stalls. She’d panicked and fought and the Mes’t’rith holding her snapped her neck when he slammed her against the wall.

Angel shook his head. He didn’t have time or energy to reminisce. He made his way across the center of the pen heading directly for the last of the wails. Only he and the 5 captains ever crossed the center when the pen was closed. Everyone else took the wall path. If he could see, he knew that he would see a ring of people, a leg’s length from the wall, all the way around the edges of the pen. The wall was reserved for running and emergencies, and the center...well, the center was where they came.

He got to the group quickly and quietly, homing in on the small wheeze of Jared’s breath. The rest of the pen had moved a side to make room, and Angel pulled them out from the ring toward the center a single long pace. “Who did we lose? Any non-volunteers? Any injuries?”  The long wait hadn’t been random. It had given them all time to get reports from the ring in whispers as each of the captains ran along the inside of the ring, taking roll, listening for reports from the people there.

“They took old Tom, Marta, and...they got Amy.”

“How in hell did they get Amy? She wasn’t supposed to be out there?”

“One of the littles panicked and ran. She caught them, but they caught her.”

Angel took a deep breath. “Well, we’ll need another teacher. Find out who’s best at maths and make sure they know how to find the classes.”

He heard John take a breath to object and cut him off. “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t care. Everyone does school. One day, when My’kl comes, we’ll need to know things again. We’ll need to be ready. Who’s got the training today?”

Robby coughed. “I do.”

“Good. Work the running drills and the stopdroproll.”

There was a long pause before Robby answered. “Ok, Angel.”

“Everyone else, check the scavenge. After their last feeding  we had enough for a week. Make sure it’s all there. Then go sleep. Only 3 of them fed. They’ll be back soon.”

He waited until he heard 4 of them leave, and then turned his back on the remaining captain and walked to the gate. He knew Summer followed him, but he didn’t stop her. She could easily make it to the wall from here, and back to her section from there. She was almost the best of them. She waited until he got to the gate, where everyone would be farthest from them before she spoke. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, the gesture meaningless in the dark.

“I can hear when you do that, you know.”

He shrugged again.

“She did what she was supposed to do. She saved the little. It wasn’t her fault.”

He didn’t answer. She knew what he would say anyway. “Angel. Accidents happen. You can’t expect the littles-”

His hissed cutoff was harsh. “I can. I do. I *have to.*  We can’t afford to lose primes. Right now, there’s an elder in there who’s eating another meal that should have been hers. You know how it works. You know.”

She sighed. “I know. Where are you going now?”

“Pen Seven.  If they keep this pattern, they should be going there next. I’ll be back before Second Whisper”

She didn’t say ‘be careful’. She laid a hand on his shoulder for a second, then walked her way along the gate to the wall.  Angel waited a minute til there was silence, then laid on his back, and pulled himself painfully along the floor below the hinge. He made a note to workout his shoulders less. Any wider and they’d start to catch and bleed. And the Mes’t’rth could ALWAYS smell blood.  As he loped his way down the corridor, he prayed again, although not all of his pens would have known it for a prayer. It was a simple silent plea. MY’KL, WHERE ARE YOU?”

**********************************************************************************************************************

At the academy, Master Leinin looked up sharply from his work at the knock on the door. “What?” he snapped. The door opened slightly and a small blonde head poked through. “There’s a message from The House, Master.”

Leinin collapsed his work in a vicious discharge of energy that made the boy’s hair stand on end. In the SimLight, Leinin could “see” it flare. “Sorry boy. Let’s go.” SimLight was the miracle of the fall. A combination of tactile, infrared, and electric senses passed directly to the brain via the now useless optic nerve. It was the pinnacle of magecraft. It was low-cost, it was easy to conceal, it was a miracle. It was, of course, something Michael’s father had done. leinin silently corrected himself. My’kl. If one of the children heard him, there’d be whispers. If the adults heard him, there’d be outrage. They’d built a society on a hope. And even if it was a false hope, it was keeping them alive.

They made their way down the corridor to the ridiculously shielded workroom at the end, where so many years ago, leinin had showed the boys the secret of atoms. He braced himself for a minute and placed his good hand against the door. Instantly, he was sucked into the room. He had to blink his eyes clear of tears several times before he could make sense of the room. It was glowing again. The damned machine was emitting light enough to bind someone who COULD see. leinin’s eyes, unused daily for months, were in agony.

“Turn it down, dammit. I’m here.”

The light dimmed to a barely tolerable dimness.

Brent’s voice echoed from the center of the bizarre machine MIchael had sent here from the tower. It had been years before leinin even had a chance to look at the damn thing, and it had taken another year of constantly interrupted study before he understood. It was a radio of sorts. It could communicate to anywhere as long as you know where “anywhere” was.

“Sorry, Master. It’s...It’s Gryth. I think you’d better come.”

leinin cringed. Last time Gryth had sent for him they’d had a terrible fight, ending with Gryth leaving bloody bite marks on his throat. “What did I do this time?”

“It’s not you. It’s him. He’s...he’s hurt. I think he’s dying.”

Leinin ripped open a portal with a speed he could never have imagined before the fall. For all his competence then, he was a scholar. There were no pure scholars anymore. Mages were healers and warriors now. And he was one of the best. Even with one arm, he could out-cast and out-fight every other warlock on the planet. He’d faced down as many Mes’t’rth as any...except Gryth.

When he stepped through into The House, he was surprised to see Brent alone in the portal room. “Is Paul OK?” The men were never alone anymore. Something had happened during a raid, years ago, and Paul had nearly been taken. The scars that it left on his body were terrible, but his mind... he couldn’t bear to be alone, ever.

“He’s with Gryth. We found some old healer texts last month in the study, and he’s trying something complicated. Gryth is awake with him.” He wasn’t looking at Leinin. He was almost jogging for the stairs, eager to get back to Paul before something could go wrong and panic might set in. Leinin walked as quickly as he could, jogging in fact, to keep up with Brent’s longer legs.

When they got to the room, Leinin swore. The old Hrysthaal was grey from head to toe. All the color in his fur was gone, and his claws were dull. Huge jagged rents marred the flesh on his sides, tearing through hundreds of older, smaller scars. The smell of ruptured bowel filled the room. Gryth was snarling at Paul through a tangled blaze of spell constructs. Finally the ancient creature reached out and grabbed Paul’s hand through the constructs, bringing the whole mess to a halt, dissipating on the air with a painful crack of sound.

“Stop, cub. It’s time. I’m older than you can imagine. I know what death is. I’m not afraid.”

“We need you, master.”

Gryth managed a grimace that could have been mistaken for a sad smile.

“You need Michael. And the child. They’re coming. My wife and Randall and the child. They’re coming. So soon.” Brent turned away. He’d heard it so many times before. For years after they lost the ship, nearly a decade, Gryth had promised they would come back. None of them believed it anymore. There were facts to face. Michael was dead. Randall and Ra’Cha, and if there even was a baby, all of them were gone. Lost somewhere in the cosmos without a navigator or a pilot. My’Kl was a myth they’d started together, to help the people keep hope. But it was a lie.

Leinin sighed. “Archmage. Please.”

Gryth snarled louder. “Shut up. Listen. 17 years. It’s been 17 years. And we’re still here. She hasn’t killed us all yet. She hasn’t even chased all of us into her damn pens. A hundred thousand humans are free because of my hope. You can treat it like a myth if you want, but they will come. And the world will change. And maybe, just maybe, Leinin, there’s a chance you’ll smile before you die.”

Leinin shook his head.

Gryth waved a hand at him frustrated. “But I’m not here for that. Come here. Give me your hand”

Leinin approached the bed warily. “If you’re going to do something terrible to it, I’d prefer you didn’t. I’ve only the one that works these days.” But he held out his hand.

Gryth seized it in his own, and there was a blaze of spellcraft as a medallion dropped onto Leinin’s palm. “There. You’re the archmage now. Responsibilities, privileges, etc. Blah Blah. Oath.”

Spellcraft swung out from the medallion and snared Lenin blinding him momentarily as the spells overtook the gentler frame of the SymLight. He swore. He recast SymLight instinctively, irritated, then shook himself as he realized what had occurred. He bowed to Gryth. “Master.”

“When...when it’s time. Make the cub take it. He won’t want to. But do it anyway. Promise.”

Leinin struggled to spit out words. “Master...”

“Promise!”

He closed his eyes. In the end, he made the promise to an old dying man to comfort him, knowing he would never have to try.

“I promise.”

Gryth nodded, then collapsed back against the wall.  “Cubs. I’m proud of you. Be good pack for each other. Hunt well.”

Leinin had been to hundreds of deathbeds. Maybe thousands now. He’d seen the signs more times than he could count. He watched as the old Hrysthaal’s chest slowed, then stopped. He reached out to close the old man’s eyes and gasped in surprise. The Ancient’s body faded into a glimmer, a tiny sphere, shining brightly against the room’s darkness. It rocketed upward, passing through the roof of the house and disappearing into the night. Leinin swore that just for a second, as his eyes followed it, he could see a second light blaze in the night in answer. Then it was gone.

He looked around the room. “I’ll tell the council you two are on leave for a while. Take a few days to pull yourself together.” He paused. “How did it happen?”

Brent answered. “The Northwest pens. He was leading the raid and this giant mother of a Mes’t’rith, biggest I’ve ever seen, popped up right in the middle of the pen. Gutted him in a second. He hurt it, but I don’t think he killed it. We pushed everyone through the portal and ran.”

“How many did we save?”

“412. They’re getting low on supplies. They’ll start raiding soon. It’s time to push everyone back to the shelters.”  

“Any...” he choked on the words.

Paul answered, voice soft. “No San, no sign of Michael. It’s just us.”

Leinin nodded. He hadn’t expected otherwise, but somehow, every time they came back, he hoped. Hope was  a bastard.

************************************************************************************************************************

Ra’cha gasped and collapsed to the deck. Randall rushed to her, but before he could even get close, Gabriel was there. He swept her up in his arms and darted down the corridor in flight, headed for the bedbay, almost faster than Randall could see. He heard Ra’cha’s voice from the far down the corridor before he even got to the door. “No! The flight deck. Quickly!”

Randall had time to flatten himself against the wall as Gabriel flared back past him, trailing starlight and music in his wake. He bolted after them, letting his wings carry him along Gabriel’s path, drawing energy from his starlight.  He rushed onto the flight deck to see Gabriel place Ra’Cha gently in the Pilot’s chair. She turned and snarled at them. “Both of you. Strap in. Now.”

They didn’t bother to disobey. The handful of times Ra’Cha had pushed to the flight deck before had been nearly catastrophic. The last had left the old ship crippled, dangling in space, only the main nave drive and live support functions working. As Randall buckled in, he gasped in surprise. A bright light rushed toward them, blazing a trail of ethereal energy against the endless black. It took him a moment to realize it was on a collision course.

Randall looked to his left to make sure Gabriel was strapped in. He needn’t have worried. Gabriel was locked in his straps, staring raptly at the viewscreen, teeth bared in what Randall was pretty sure was a smile. His wings were glowing softly behind him, and his fists clenched and released with anticipation.

“Are you prepping for battle or a miracle?”

Gabriel turned to look at him and flashed him a huge grin that made Randall’s breath catch. It was so much like Michael’s smile it hurt. Randall realized suddenly that Gabriel’s hair was like his father’s now, too, framing his face in a familiar riot of curls. Randall’s breath caught in his chest. “It’s OK, Dad. It’s all about to change. You’ll see. We’re going to go get father now.”

Randall smiled a little sadly. Gabriel had always had faith. From the moment he could speak, he knew it would change. He knew Michael was alive. When Randall asked, he always gave the same answer. “I can hear him. He says he loves you.” Randall had floated years on that faith before he stopped hoping for himself. The smile he showed Gabriel was a lie. Gabriel knew, but it was a promise between them. Hope was never surrendered, doubt was never spoken. They trained together with one purpose. To prepare for the return of a husband Randall knew was gone, and a father Gabriel had never seen.

By the time the source of the light reached them, they were both facing forward. It was Randall who noticed that Ra’Cha was crying. It only took a second for him to understand. “Wife.”  The word echoed through the room. “I’ve found you. I’ve set the beacon. Follow it home. Go. Get our cub. It’s time.”

“Husband. I’m coming. Help me?”

There was no audible answer, but the light swirled around her, and in her until she glowed. She looked back over her shoulder once to make sure they were strapped in, then set her hand on the control sphere, and the sphere started to pulse with light. Randall gasped as the map flickered to life, and then, in a movement he couldn’t define, the map changed. The map faded, and it with it it the light faded from their eyes. In the still light that had infused the ship since the day of Gabriel’s birth, Randall, unstrapped himself and ran to Ra’Cha’s side. He knelt next to her and held her hand. Her breathing was soft and uneven.  “Ra’Cha? Captain?”

“Hush, cub. We’re here.”

‘“Is it true? Is he here?”

Ra’Cha looked at him sadly. “I can’t tell. But I know this. If he is here, you will save him. And he will save all of us. Go to the shuttle. I’ve set a course to take you to the House. You’ll get there safely. Then go get the boys and find the cub. If anyone can it’s you. Follow your heart. Follow Gabriel’s song. Go.”

“But...you have to come. I can’t fly the-”

“Hush. I’m done. My husband is gone, and it’s my time. Go make me proud. Save the pack. Save everything.”

Randall lurched forward into a hug. He let go when Gabriel laid his hand gently on his shoulder. He turned his back and headed down the corridor to the hangar. Behind him he heard the soft musical murmur of his son’s voice. Long before he got the the hangar, he felt Gabriel arrive beside him.

“Dad.”

“Don’t, Gabriel. Not right now. Just let me get there and do what we need to do.”

The light in the ship dimmed for a long moment while Gabriel took a breath. “It’s her choice. It’s been so long-”

Randall rounded on him, temper hot. “I said not now. I know you mean well. I know you love her, and I know you think you’re helping right now. But this is one of those things you just don’t seem to get yet. I’m not sad or upset because I don’t understand, or I don’t acknowledge her choice, or that she doesn’t deserve her rest. I’m sad for me, because I’ve been out here with her for 17 years, and I love her a little. She’s family and I’ll miss her. That’s all. I get to have that. I get to grieve. You don’t get to sing it away.”

He paused. “...just...go get the shuttle ready. I need to get some things from my cabin. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Gabriel looked at him with regret, then turned and soared down the corridor. As usual, the corridor, absent Gabriel, was a little dimmer.

“Was I too harsh?” He asked the question to an empty hall. “Raising him like this, he’s missed so much. And he has to understand. He can’t be an alien. ...he has to love him.”  The last words were whispered.

There was a murmur in the air, a sound almost beyond hearing. Randall answered it. “You’re sure?”

A single note chimed against his wings, flaring his stars. “You swear to me. You swear, goddammit, that he’s alive. You swear it. No more hope. No more trust. You swear it to me. Because this wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to be here.”

If Gabriel had been there, he would have been startled to see his dad’s face. Emotion raced across his face, anger and sadness warring for room on the normally calm face.

“YOU PROMISE ME, DAMMIT, JO!” He dropped to his knees, tears running wild. Gabriel would been even more surprised if he had seen the soft glow and the warm soft song that slowly enveloped Randall where he knelt. The murmur resolved into words, barely audible, but clear and certain. “We promise, child. He lives. Go find him. Bring us to him. Bring him back to us.”

Randall pulled himself to his feet with an effort. “Tribunal help us all if you’re wrong.”

He reflected sourly as he made his way to the hangar, that it was a lot more comforting to call on the Tribunal if you hadn’t met him.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

When they got to the campsite, the sun was peeking over the top of the city walls, and all the gear had been packed. Ryan, Paul, and Brent were waiting for them. Ryan was fidgeting. Brent looked up at Michael with a sly grin. “So. What part of the world would you like to rearrange next, your show-offy-ness?”  Paul elbowed him stiffly.

Michael started to speak, but Ryan beat him to it. “Next we clean the deeps. We burn the darkness out of the homes of my people. She’ll feel it. And when they’re gone, she’ll come.”

Michael looked at Gryth. Gryth nodded slowly. “It’s as good an approach as any. We never intended to leave that mess at our backs, and confronting her there or on some remote mountain won’t really make a difference. The armies won’t, either, to her. But they might to us.”

Michael nodded. “I don’t have another portal in me. Or much else, really. I think we should stop by the house and rest for the night. Then we can use the portal machine to go to the reef.”

Gryth looked at him sourly. “And I suppose you want me to portal us there?”

Michael shook his head and pointed at Brent and Paul. “They can do it.”

Brean shook his head wildly. Paul bit his lip, a little apprehensively. Michael stood straighter and started to speak in a snappish tone. “Now liste-”  He caught himself and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. You two can handle the portal. You know all the spells. You know where we’re going. I know you haven’t had to do them, but you’re both perfectly qualified. And it’s not like the Archmage here (Gryth snarled) is gonna let you do it wrong. Just put us down on the lawn. We’ll all be fine.”

Michael, as he was in so many things, was right. Mostly. Gryth, Ryan, Paul, and Brent walked out through the portal on to the lawn without so much as a stumble. And then there was a tearing sound and a scream. The portal ran jagged, the edges dark and crumbling until it crumpled and ripped away from the air itself and disappeared. Brent collapsed with a scream. They were all so busy focusing on him it took a moment for them to realize Michael wasn’t there. Jo’s voice cried loudly in a rising wind.

A dark voice slithered across their skin, biting at the edges with cold. “Your champion is mine now. Leave my world, sister or I will take him for my own, ruin him utterly, and then cast him at your feet while I kill our father. Run, sister, back to your little planet, and maybe I’ll let you live.”

The voice let go, and grew quiet, and then darkness crashed in. Gryth stared at the sky, but he could barely see his hand in front of his face. “Lady?”

A soft whisper sounded in his ear, the smallest sound Jo had ever made. “She has her, too. It’s up to him now. Or all is lost.”

“We can...”

“No, old one. It’s time. Time for him. The time for us is past. All we can do is pray.” Her voice rose til it was barely audible to all of them. “Hold yourselves here. In the end, if he fails, it won’t save you, but until he does, some protection remains. Emperor, call your people. Tell them to fall to safety if they can.. Night has taken the sea, as well, and they are not safe at large. Hold to the reefs. Builders, tell the mages. Ancient one, warn the rest. Take the Hysthaal into the night, and keep the people as safe as you may. I must retreat. But I am always, always with you. And with him. Pray, children. Pray to my father, or to the lady, or to Michael, but pray. Give up no scrap of faith that he can use. Good-bye.”

When she stopped speaking, the world became eerily still, sheathed in utter blackness. Gryth cast the spell for light, and for a second there was a tiny glow, and then it was gone. Light was gone from the world. Darkness ruled now. And it had taken their best hope. Gryth howled a loud prayer to the invisible stars that Michael was still alive. He knew that it might be better if he were dead.

Michael didn’t wake. Not really. He hadn’t been asleep. He hadn’t been allowed the sweet surcease of unconsciousness for ...he didn’t know. Days? Weeks? It could have been years, hanging there in the cold dark. His skin, so recently healed and brought to a healthy glow, was cracked and raw from cold. If he could see, he would know the necrosis for what it was, and the virulent lines of infection that crawled across his skin would have certainly told him he was close to death. Tears ran down his face, salt burning against his inflamed and cracked cheeks, threading past dry, blistered lips to fall in shards of ice on the floor.

He tried to sob, but his voice could make no sound, his throat beyond dry. He tugged weakly at his hands and feet, but there was no give. The cruel, awful shards of stone that pinned him to the wall ran through them viciously, anchored to the frigid stone. Shreds of skin, frozen to the stone pulled off his back and clung bloodily to the stone instead. He gasped a little. Every breath was agony, a little worse than the one before. A horrible scraping filled the room, and although he couldn’t see he closed his eyes against the darkness.

He tried not to shudder. And then, as the creature started again to eat what was left of his remaining wing, he tried not to scream. He failed and his horse piteous wail filled the room for the briefest of seconds before a harsh whisper crawled across his ruined skin, and brought all sound to a halt.

“Ah-Ah, child. There’ll be no sound. No calling to my pitiful sister. There’s no song where there’s no sound, and you’ll never control a sound again.” It crawled across him. The words were less than a sound, but the certainty of them etched itself into him.

Deep in his mind, he said a desperate prayer. For a moment, he thought he saw a small glimmer of light, a faint piece of hope in the darkness. Something not even the empress could suppress. “Clever child. Yes. I keep the light. But you can’t have her. Never again.”  He knew, afterward, that for the rest of his life, he would wake screaming to the awfulness that followed, as the thing that took his wings stopped and ripped out his eyes.

Blood froze as it cascaded down him and if Michael could think at all beneath the pain, beneath the horror, and all the guilt of his own defeat, he would know that death was near. But all Michael could do was howl soundlessly into the eternal night.

Sanity crept back slowly, at odd intervals. Sometimes scraping slowly into his brain with the horrible creature that ate him, piece by piece. Sometimes crashing back with harsh silent words from his awful captor. Once, twice, it came back to him in a soft moment of calm and he imagined for a second that he could hear something other than the gnawing of bone and flesh. It never lasted long. He was spent ages ago. Crushed and beaten, his energy sapped and dripping on the floor, ripped from the marrow of his wings. Twice now, his sanity had lasted longer. Long enough for him to despair, and twice,impossible voices in the screaming echoes of his mind chased the horrid sanity away from him. Twice he slept and there was no horror. He knew he was insane now. There was no sound to hear. The mad dreams of soothing voices were just lies in his mind. Terrible phantasms of what couldn’t be.

So he hung there dying. And he waited for the universe to end. If he could weep anymore, if this shattered husk that was left of his promise still had the power, he would cry. He would cry for his failure. For the loss of billions of lives. For his arrogance and his weakness. For his friends and pack. And for his husband and his child.

*********************************************************************************************************************

On the other side of the galaxy, Randall huddled against Ra’Cha, who had pulled him into a corner in the darkness, and he, too cried. His heart echoed slowly in his chest as he cried hot tears. He clung to her weakly. She murmured nonsense songs as she held him to her chest. Periodically she would ask if it was done yet, if Michael was dead. Randall shook his head, time after time, in mute refusal. So far, it had been 7 months.7 months without light, without song, without stars. Just the horrible echo of Michael’s pain and madness screaming in Randall soul.

Hundreds of thousands of people had died. Mages struggled to find their way through the world by sound, by heat, by pushing against the shapes around them. Because call as they would, light would not come. Thousands of mages exhausted themselves daily to create heat and every day, more of them collapsed, more of them died. And with them, thousands more of the people they tried to protect died with them.

A new pain wracked Randall’s body. Heat seared his wings, and screamed. He tried not to imagine what new torture this was. He almost believed for a moment that there was light. But they’d fallen for that before. Cruel illusions cast against Michael’s mind to keep his mind, once so keen and bright, locked in the terrible broken mosaiq it had become. There had been heat once, too. A brief withdrawal of the darkness, and the light pressed hot against the stubs of his wings until they flared with the lady’s light and bloomed into feathers once more, only to be crushed again by the darkness. Only to be stalked again by the slow scrape of their devourer as he once again set his teeth against Michael’s wings, against his soul.

Randall cursed the illusion of the light, and clenched his eyes tightly shut so he could not see the terrible things that somehow she forced Michael, blinded and torn, to see. Ra’Cha gasped. “Boy. BOY. It’s light. There’s Light!”

Randall’s eyes snapped open. Yes. there, at the corner of his vision, there was a soft glow. Just as he identified it as the star within his wing, it flared into incandescence, and his body cramped with pain. Randall screamed, caught by surprise. “What the hell?”

Ra’Cha looked at him closely. “I think we better get you to the med bay.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Because child. I think you’re about to give birth.”

“But...” He looked at he helplessly. They’d talked about it of course. How he wasn’t carrying a child of his flesh. How even if he was, he had no way to push it forth. He started to panic. Ra’Cha held him tightly.

“Don’t panic yet, child. Come. You’ve a child coming now. Time to let him out.”

“Him? You think it’s a him?”

“Of course.”

“How do you know?”

“It showed up at the wrong time. Just like all men.”

Randall snorted. “I think you mean he’s coming early.”

Ra’cha looked at him strangely, taking a moment to realize how beautiful it was that she could see him at all. “Isn’t that what I said?”

He probably would have laughed all the way to sick bay if a fresh hot pain hadn’t ripped through his wings as the bright star began to burn hotter and brighter against the firmament of his wing. In the end, Ra’Cha carried him, setting him down on the padded table with ease. She looked around and then shoved furniture quickly around the bay, until now there were 5 couches, side by side, just broad enough to hold both Randall and his half folded wings.

Ra’cha prayed, as she worked at an ancient communication console, prayed fervently to the Tribunal, to the lady, and to the song that they would both not die, that her ship would survive, as the medbay seemed to catch fire with fresh light and Randall screamed again.

**********************************************************************************************************************

Gryth lifted his muzzle to the obsidian sky and howled as the ancient box in the bag at his waist finished speaking. He howled a prayer. Then he lowered his face to the task at hand, the thousands of dead that had to be destroyed before they turned again. The night was full of monsters. And they were eating them all.

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Brent gripped Paul close against him in their bed, deep inside Michael’s house, and hoped. Hoped for just a second that maybe, this time, they would be saved.

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Ryan leaned wearily against outer shell of the reef, listening to the mad scrabbling outside. It wouldn’t be much longer. Another few weeks at best, and the last of the great reefs would be breached. And the last of the keepers of the oaths would die at the hands of horrors made of night. He heard a faint echo, deep within his heart, of a howl, of an anguished scream. And at long last, hours later, of a newborn’s indignant cry against a new world. And for a brief second, a flash of light seemed to roll across the reef, and the dead terrible things cried out in pain. If they could have seen Ryan’s face in that instant, they would have fled. A bright smile, if there were light, stretched to the corners of his face, and a fierce glee overtook him. With a word, he opened the shell of the reef, gripped his trident tightly, and began, once more, to defend his home.

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Michael crashed back to a new moment of lucidity. Insanity clawed at him and for the briefest of moments, he thought he heard a child’s cry, indignant and strong, and full of melody. He almost imagined that he could feel the soft warmth of light against his skin for the barest tiny shred of a second. And then sanity returned. His head lolled forward on wasted twists of lean sinew, and he crashed into unconsciousness once more.

***********************************************************************************************************************

Randall held his baby against his chest, eyes full of wonders, and somehow, once again, stars. The child was perfect and tiny. His soft wings were full fledged with real feathers, patterned so like Michael’s but with a spattering of constellations, soft markings of white against the feather’s raven hues. On his chest, unmistakeable, was a birthmark, a perfect inch across, the imprint of a glowing start. As he screamed, hungry, for a brief second it glowed.

***********************************************************************************************************************

A father and daughter stood in the vast coldness of space, close to the center of the beginning, and watched. Soon it would be time. Anyone watching them would have had the same question: To whom do the gods of the universe pray for help?

***********************************************************************************************************************

In a cave, deep below the bottom of the ocean where no light could be found a broken man tried to cry in pain. And in his madness, he answered a prayer. And from a ship, galaxies away, light and song began to cheat their way into the world. And although the broken man didn’t know, all around him, despite everything the empress could do, the world slowly began to glow.

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Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Michael and Gryth stared at each other over the campfire. “You’re sure it’s smart to tackle the tower now, master?”

“Not at all. It’ll probably set off whatever the hell alarm bells weren’t already rung to hell and back by today’s antics. But I’m sure as hell not leaving it behind us. For all we know, it’s set to blow the hell up on a timer after the old fool’s death. And Tribunal only knows what he’s got in there that could kill us all if no one monitors it. Or what state he left the spaces in, or...”

“I get it. I get it. But he said he locked me out til the day of his death,then beware. Do you think he trapped it?”

“I think if it wants you in, it won’t matter.”

“Oh.”   Michael looked around. “Maybe...maybe I can give it away.”

Gryth looked at him oddly.

“I ...have the house. And I don’t need another thing. I mean, the tower, it’s huge. I don’t need...”

“Michael. You don’t have to claim it. We just need to make it safe.”

Michael shook his head. “You’ll see.”  He got up from where he sat, dusted his hands off on his palms, and held his hand out to his master. “Come on.”  

Gryth looked at him suspiciously then took the proffered hand. He didn’t quite suppress a startled yelp as they rose effortlessly into the sky. He glared at Michael. “You could warn a body.  And how are you doing this. I thought flying like this was all tied to...the rest of it.”

“This isn’t that. Any San mage could do this. Well, I think they could. The potential is there.”

“Cub. Trust me. If San Mages can do this. They aren’t telling people. Can we land soon?”

Michael laughed. “Open your eyes. We’re almost there.”

His definition of “there” was a bit different than Gryth’s. They were hovering almost a 100 feet above the ground when Michael brought them to a stop, barely a foot from the smooth stone of the tower. Michael reached out and gently placed a hand on it. “My room is more or less here.”

“More or less?”

“It’s here when it exists. You know how he was.”

Where Michael’s hand lay on the tower, large blocks of stone glowed softly for a moment, then disappeared entirely. There was a perfect bay window, open to the sky looking in on Michael’s room, so recently updated with twin beds. Michael drifted forward and set Gryth on the ground. He lowered himself to the floor, too. “Be careful. It let us in, but...it’s angry. It’s confused because it can’t find him, and it’s shuffling things around, looking.”

“Rooms and halls, I assume?”

“For now.”

“What do you mean, for now?”

“I mean, it’s a tower that’s been invested with millennia of focus and belief. If it doesn’t calm down, moving cities looking for him probably isn’t out of the question.”

“I hate your grandfather more than you can really imagine.”

Michael nodded. He walked through the room and opened the door which faced a seamless wall. He sighed gently and looked upward. “I do need a hall, if you wouldn’t mind.” He closed the door and reopened it on a long hallway that seemed to stretch hundreds of yards directly ahead of them. He closed the door again. “One that goes somewhere useful. Look I know. But you’re going to have to let me through at some point, so why not just put the spaces back like they were last time I was here, and we’ll work it out that way, ok?”  He closed the door again, waited almost a full minute, then reopened it. It didn’t really come as any surprise to Gryth that the halls were exactly as Michael had specified. Michael took a step out into the hall, then looked at the floor suspiciously.

“Be careful. It’s not being really consistent about what it’s using for material right now.”

Gryth raised an eyebrow.

“This section of floor appears to be glass. It’s slick as hell.”

He turned down the corridor and headed for the large room where they had eaten and the Lady had spoken to them. When he got there he looked around for a moment.

“I don’t suppose you could put the cabinets back?” The responding silence was *almost* an answer.

“Cub, if this thing starts talking, I’m going to skin you.”

“I’m sure it could if it wanted, or if it could focus down that much. But it looks like this is where we do the hard part. It’s done cooperating. Stay near me, and be ready to portal us both if things get out of hand.”

Gryth gathered his energy carefully, and snatched together the beginnings of a portal, hooked on the tip of a single shining claw. Michael knelt, and began to inscribe spells into the floor of the tower. A bare second after he finished his first circle and activated the spell, the stone around them rushed forward and crashed against the circle with a boom of in-rushed air that made Gryth’s ears pop painfully. Michael cringed. “Sorry. I thought I had the air pressure accounted for.But the physics here...well, you know.”

Gryth nodded. “Just do it.”

“Can you hold the matrices as I find them?”

“Are we talking about the same level of tangled crap he had latched onto the lady?”

“No. This is all simpler, or I think it is. But it’s strong and it’s old. I can hold it all, but it’ll take days.”

“I can hold them, then. Let’s finish here.”

Michael nodded.  He stood, and began tracing his fingers through the forms on the seamless wall surrounding them. A kaleidoscope of wild fractal light blazed into being where he traced.  As he worked his way around the room, Gryth could see that it was all overlaid patterns of dozens of spells. After almost an hour of picking through the patterns, dimming some, brightening others, Michael hooked a finger into one bright amber thread of spellcraft and pulled gently. It didn’t dislodge from the wall, but it stood out slightly. Michael walked around the circle twice, studying it, then began to cast. Anyone else, stuck in that room with Michael, surrounded by all that spellcraft, would have been mystified. But Gryth was the oldest made in existence, Grandmaster several times over, by right, and archmage for a reason. There was no creature in existence with more knowledge of formal spellcraft. And even he was impressed. He told himself (quietly) that this was nothing he couldn’t do himself. Which was more or less true. For one, maybe 2 of these spells. But for the dozens here? He wasn’t sure himself. Michael had started with one of the simplest, and most of the mages at the academy would have resigned before they even tried to figure it out. Michael never even hesitated. He just worked.

It was only minutes later that Michael tugged the spell free of the wall and looked at Gryth expectantly. “I think they’ll all need solid enclosures for now. We can pick them apart later. There’s far too much ambient energy here. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Gryth let go of the portal snagged on his claw, and cast the beginnings of a containment. It wasn’t terribly unlike the one he’d used on the nightbinder in Ryan’s room, just tuned to a different spectrum of existence. He paused. “Is that a secondary etheric on the left?”

Michael looked closely and nodded. “It’s a third form structure he’s woven in for some reason.”

“It’s a trap. Hang on. I need to change the field here.”  Gryth fiddled with the containment several times, running through sections of the forms he hadn’t used in years, relying on formal spellcraft where imprecision could kill them both. Finally he nodded and Michael clasped his hands together and pushed.  The ring snapped up over their heads and collapsed inward in a rush. Michael brought his hand down and the spell came down with it until it settled neatly into Gryth’s waiting enclosure with a nasty snap of released energy. A malachite pebble no more than a half inch around lay in Gryth’s palm. He tucked it into his pocket and loosened his robe at the collar. One spell and he was already hot and tired. He looked at Michael, whose hair was already damp with sweat.

“How many more?”

“12 more little ones, and about 25 majors.”

Gryth groaned. “Then you’ll want to watch that waste heat. And speed it up. I don’t have 20 some hours to waste today.”

Michael narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t worry. I think I’ve got the hang of it now.”

When Michael turned back to the wall this time, he didn’t pick one thread of spell craft. He picked six. Gryth’s eyes got wide. “Boy...”

“You said hurry. You want these one at a time?” He looked a challenge at Gryth.

“Sure.”

Gryth barely managed to enclose the first chain before the 2nd was dropping toward him, with the third and fourth drifting lazily on their heels. He started to say something sharp to Michael, then noticed he had pulled 5 more from the wall. Gryth sped up his casting...a lot. By the time the 6th enclosure was done, his fur was layered in sweat, his lip was pulled back in a snarl and his hands were on the edge of shaking. “Enough. I get it. You can slow down a little.”  

Michael gave him a nasty grin. “Yes, master.”

“Remind me to gut you when we’re done here.”

“Mmmmm-hmmm.”

All told, It took them 4 hours to clear the spells, and Gryth had had to sacrifice part of his robe to make a sling to hold them, each wrapped in scraps of the robe as well. 37 stones ranging from the size of a softball to a pebble smaller than Michael’s pinky nail.

“We’ll, that’s done.” He squared his shoulders.

Michael shook his head. “That’s the basic restraints and controls. The major binding is upstairs and there’s about 15 spaces that are static that we need to look through. If I can get to them.”

“Oh.”  He looked at Michael expectantly.”So...you gonna get us there?”

Michael glared at him. “Sure. No problem.” Gryth noticed Michael took a deeeeeep breath before he began to cast again. Even Michael couldn’t keep this up all night.

“Cub, if you need a break...”

Michael paused. “Not yet. Maybe after we get through some of the rooms. Hold on. This isn’t going to be smooth. It’s fighting me a little.”

Gryth nodded. When Michael started casting, the whole tower shook. Sparks flew off the ward around them, and the stone seemed to shift rapidly, like they were caught in a tide.

“It’s not moving. We are. I’m taking the ward with us where we need to go. Except for those rooms, everything in here is solid right now. The ward is creating a bubble space, and it’s easier to push it than create new spaces.”

“If you say so.”

Michael stopped for a moment, and highlighted some sections of the spell holding back the stone.

“See, it’s a control like he used for steering the portals. Same basic interface. Actually, some of the phasing is the same, too, see?”

Gryth studied it for a minute, then nodded. He gestured for Michael to get on with it. A few minutes later the ward opened on a small room full of a nasty tangle of spellcraft hovering of a shining metal disc in the floor. Gryth sighed. “What the hell is that?”

Michael studied it for a full five minutes before he answered. “It’s a preservation spell.”

“For WHAT?”

“For whom.”

“Oh. Oh god. Please tell me he doesn’t have her stored away somewhere.”

“No. It’s not finished. It never got keyed to anyone. I don’t think he finished it in time.”

“Oh. Well then. Do what you have to-”

Michael swept his hand casually through the spell and watched it shatter and crumble. Gryth hissed in a breath. “What the hell, cub?”

“It was nearly dead anyway. It was so old, and with it unfinished, and him not here to sustain it...It was easier just to let it go. I wish they would all be that easy. C’mon.” Michael grabbed their ward and began to move them through the tower again.

The contents of the tower were staggering.

In one room was a massive crystal engine, crackling with light and sound, spinning for what purpose neither of them could tell. After an hour Michael decided that one was to unsafe to take a part, and to unstable to move. They spent another hour fortifying the room with wards and traps and containments until both their eyes hurt from the glare of their own spells.

In another room, there was a creature Gryth would swear was an actual dragon. Michael shook his head sadly. “It was a horse once. He did this for vanity. He wanted to fly like a tale from legends. The poor thing can’t fly though. It’s too heavy for its wings. Best to let it sleep.” Michael placed a hand on its forehead and its eyes drooped shut. “If you can, make a portal to the lake by the house. He’ll be comfortable there, at least, and I can make sure he gets fed. He’ll live for centuries. It’s not fair to let him starve.”

One room contained a single glass of water that Michael took one look at and melted into the floor, evaporating the water to steam, then condensing the steam down to a single grain of ice so dense it dented the stone when it fell. He looped wards around it again and again, and then dropped it in the sling of containment spells without a word. Gryth took a look at Michael’s face and decided not to ask.

Another room contained a shadow that cried, and another strange machine that spoke, but not in a language either of them knew. Michael set the shadow free, and moved the strange machine to the hidden lab at the academy with a note for Master Lenin.

3 rooms were empty, and 5 held only books. Most of the books Michael sent his house to be put in the library. 2 he tucked into a fold of space inside his kilt, 4 he sent to the library itself, and 1 he burned in a conflagration of flame so sudden it singed Gryth’s fur.

“Cub!  Dammit!”

“That was how he trapped her.”

“Oh. Well done, then.”

“Only 1 space left to go, then we go upstairs.”

“I’m not gonna like this, am I?”

Michael shook his head. When the spell moved this time, it didn’t slide gracefully through the stone. It sizzled across space with an abrupt jerk and landed in the center of a space Gryth would spend decades wishing he could unsee.

On cold stone biers lining the room were dozens of bodies, and next to each a shelf with a journal. Some had been partially dissected, some sewn back together. Some appeared to be untouched, and some were connected to bizarre and awful devices. One body was covered entirely head to toe in tiny sparkling jewels. They were all children.

“Did you know...” Gryth couldn’t even finish speaking.

Michael shook his head. “Tower’s been telling me things. As we clear the spaces it’s learning to trust me. It wants all this gone. I...I don’t know know what to do here, Master.” Tears ran down his face freely.  

Gryth’s reply was gentle. “Gather the books. Put them in the library. Then we’ll make a portal to my people. They’ll...take care of them. If they have any family, they’ll see to it they’re told and cared for. They’ll be buried properly, I promise.”

“He was truly mad, then.”

“Yes. He was.”

“I wish we could kill him again.”

Gryth didn’t answer him. He just laid a hand on his shoulder and waited for Michael’s grief to pass. As with so many things Michael did, when it passed, it passed in a blaze of spellcraft. The books disappeared with a flash and a whisper, the portal opened with a crack of thunder into a shimmering arc. Michael turned his back on the portal and Gryth howled through until one of his people came. An old woman, grey muzzled and lean strode through the portal, looked around and understood. Gryth relayed what he had told Michael. “Yes, Ancient one. We will keep the young from the dark, and hold them to the light in their rest.”

“Thank you, child.”

Her eyes flashed with humor. “Only you, Ancient One. Only you.” She ran through the portal and came back with dozens of other older Hysthaal, and some young ones too. She bared her teeth. “The fighters are at the sea. But we answer.”

Gryth nodded. When the last body was clear, the portal snapped shut, twisting in the air, seeming to hold the space in tension against itself. He stepped back into the circle of spellcraft around Michael and as the left the room he heard a terrifyingly loud boom. He looked at Michael questioningly. “The room is gone. Like it never existed. It never should have.” Gryth nodded.

When they reached the top of the tower Gryth was surprised to see just a plain room. The stone was dirty with age, and against one wall leaned an old plaque, so tarnished with age it could no longer be read. Michael stood in the middle of the room and listened for a moment, then lifted the plaque with a spell and fused it to the surface of one wall. He laid a hand gently on the wall.

“Once you were a tribute to a great man, then a symbol to a people, and then you became the slave to a great man. I return you to the people. As a symbol of their enduring freedom. Freedom from nations, from tyranny, and from terrible men. Return to your purpose, and let none ever possess you again. As you symbolize freedom, so be free. Serve your purpose as you were built, and let none have you above another again.”

As he spoke, the patina of ages slipped away from the wall, now burnished to a gleaming white. The stone around them shone and strengthened in place, becoming strong and firm and new. The plaque though, was unchanged.

“It’s the heart of it really. A keepsake of a troubled time, and the honors it gave to a great man.”  Michael looked around him like he was waking. He sighed. “We’ll have to portal out. It’s pretty much impregnable now. I could force my way, but...”

“But it would be wrong.”

Michael nodded. As they walked through the portal together, back to their camp, Gryth pretended not to notice Michael’s tears. The cub had, after all, just given away his boyhood home.