​42 A Fitting Tomb

THREADFIN LIFTED HER head onto his lap. Lorn’s eyes were open, staring. He’d spotted her after the explosion. ‘No, no,’ he whispered, stroking her face. She was perfect with not a mark or wound. It hadn’t been her body the Fetch had destroyed. It hadn’t even been her body Threadfin had seen stood before the Darklight. Rather, it had been her soul, her body out of sight behind the slab that whole time.

No, he thought, she did not give up in the end. She hadn’t quit, but had done exactly as she’d planned. Astra was free to grow, to become whatever she was supposed to be.

He leaned in to whisper in Lorn’s ear. ‘I’ll take care of her. I promise. Your undeader will watch over her.’ Stroking her forehead with his fingertips he vowed to keep his promise.

I didn’t deserve you, he thought, but you did deserve better. She had undertaken this journey, knowing the whole time that her death lay at its end. She’d known he would follow, known the Fetch would mirror him, leading them both away from Astra. She hadn’t lied when she’d said she didn’t know where it was. She hadn’t known where Astra was. None of it mattered, now.

Lowering her head to the floor, he combed her dark hair, arranging it about her pale face. How was he supposed to deal with a little girl? She was in a way, partly Lorn, but in many ways a whole other person. Full circle, yes, but what did it mean?

Surrounding them was a field of debris, hundreds of obsidian fragments of various sizes, from flakes to chunks. He stared at one piece, which held the rough shape of a blade. On impulse, he grabbed it and stood, unmindful of it cutting into his bloodless palm.

Something had entered the cavern. He’d felt it. Somebody unwelcome, and this viral was in no mood for visitors.

The obsidian shard grew hot and cold all at once. It began to cut him deeper, as though seeking to get free. He tightened his grip and whirled. The fragments of the shattered Darklight were pulling together into small clumps. The molten obsidian grew and a shapely figure with arms and legs formed. Eyes appeared, golden in colour.

The piece in his hands turned molten, dripping between his scaled fingers. The heat didn’t damage him. Not long ago, such a discovery would’ve interested him. Another change he had not been aware of, something else for him to not care about.

‘You’ve wasted your time,’ he said, eyes locked onto what he guessed was a Torment. A female in form. In her hands were long black chains connected to the necks of twin ghouls. The mindless virals slithered and whined at their confinement, or perhaps their proximity to her.

‘I do not think so,’ said the Torment. ‘I am Striga, and you must be the infamous Threadfin Todder. I have no quarrel with you, undead one. You have done your part. The Grim seeks you, but what the Grim seeks is not my concern. I seek another. She was here.’

‘Oh,’ said Threadfin, in no mood for whatever this was, ‘I know exactly who you seek. Looks like I’m not the only one who arrives late. She’s dead.’

‘No!’ snapped the Torment taking a step forward. She moved with a dangerous grace, full of power.

Threadfin shrugged. He knew he should’ve been terrified. An earlier version of him likely would’ve fled. The angels above knew he was in no condition to fight.

The Torment spotted Lorn’s body. She did not bother to investigate, perhaps sensing no life from the corpse. Who knew what powers Torments had? Who cared?

‘A delay,’ she said, ‘an inconvenience and nothing more. Many forms has she taken, many lives has she lived, but always new fragments emerge. Where are the new fragments? Who are they? This knowledge, yes, it is in your head. I see the knowledge there in your eyes. I will have it, one way or another. Do not make an enemy of me.’

Threadfin smiled, knowing it was as cold and heartless as his half-soul, for that was how he felt. ‘She’s been reborn, true, but I think this final fragment won’t be to your liking.’

Striga’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean, final fragment?’

Threadfin remained silent.

She cocked her head. ‘You are powerless. I am aware of this so do not bother to deny it. I believe the Fetch ensured your helplessness.’

‘I think the words you’re looking for are, had ensured.’

Striga studied him. A knot of anger and surprise contorted her face. She then glanced at the shattered Darklight. ‘I see.’

‘I am the viral mage,’ he said, ‘and I am not helpless anymore.’ He attempted to draw on the Torment, but her defences were strong. She hadn’t sensed his power, because until that moment, he had not drawn upon it. He had felt its return after the Fetch’s demise, but in his grief had refused its embrace.

Now, he drew on the tens of thousands of kobolds imprisoned within Balax. There were no regrets within him. No reluctance to steal life. The coldness spread throughout his being. For the first time, he knew who and what he was. Podral had tried to tell him. Denying his true nature was foolhardy. Wrapped around this knowledge was pain for the loss of those he loved. He could not relinquish who he had been, but he also couldn’t deny who he’d become.

He felt the life energies flowing into him. His magic enveloped him in a black swath of power. Vaporous wings erupted from his shoulders, fanning wide before hardening into solid black scales.

‘You will regret this,’ Striga snapped. ‘I offer you a final warning.’

‘Yes,’ said Threadfin, ‘I regret a lot of things, but you see, I made a promise.’ He drew further on the kobolds. Some of the weakest had perished from his touch. Most would survive, he hoped, but there was nothing for it. He was what he was. Cracks appeared in the granite walls and in the floor. Dust trickled in a dark rain from the ceiling.

The Torment attacked. A wave of her magic rolled towards him. Using the vast expanse of reflective surfaces, he sent his own through those mirrors. A concussive black wall rose to counter her attack. It ended with her hurtling backwards. The mage then directed his attention to the floor. As she picked herself up, it erupted in a shower of fragments and dust beneath her. Grasping hands reached out and grabbed Striga. Dozens and then hundreds of kobolds scrambled free. Thousands, and they began pulling her down.

They had given him life, and he now gave the rest their freedom.

But the Torment wasn’t to be denied. The kobolds scrambled free and died as her power slammed into them like a miniature storm, magic crackling. She rose from the pit, surrounded by blackened bodies. Rage masked her face, the horns on her body lengthening as she grew taller.

Sorcerous black fire enveloped the mage, who sheltered beneath his wings. He felt the sorcery peeling away the layers of his power. The assault was continuous, and he could not re-emerge to counterattack.

Instead, he let his ethereal wings transform into a funnel of black wind. He rose to stand within its heart as it kept her magic at bay. Striga advanced, hurling all her fury at him, but the funnel deflected all attacks. Two more Torments appeared, forming from the shattered Darklight, one to either side of her, both male. They added their power to hers, and the inner walls and floors began to melt.

I’ve had enough of this. His undead magic swirled, gathering shadows, drawing more on the lives of the hapless kobold. More might die to feed his power, though he tried to be selective, to spread it out. If he failed to stop these Torments, all would perish anyway.

He lashed out with several feints and while they were distracted, he pierced their defences. He relinquished his dire hold on the kobolds, and instead drew on the lives of the Torments. They were living and breathing. Focusing so much on attacking him, they’d left their defences weakened.

He drank deep.

The barrage ceased as the trio struggled to comprehend what was happening. Their skin cracked and split as sores covered them head to toe. Their hair fell out and their blood began to boil, eyes bulging. ‘Think you know pain? Think you know agony?’ Threadfin drank even deeper, knowing it would take a lot to kill this trio. They resisted. All their efforts had turned to defence. He fought to keep his hold on them.

‘I ... am ... the ... viral mage!’ he roared, and released twin tornadoes of magic towards them. The funnels barrelled into the trio, hurling each high and far. They smacked with bone-shattering force against the ceiling, before falling.

As Threadfin released his power, staggering and exhausted, a newcomer in black robes appeared. It stood over the three Torments. Striga, now bald as an egg, bleeding and covered in weeping sores was on her knees, vomiting. Her face bruised and swollen, she still appeared ready to fight.

‘You dare attack me?’ she screeched after a moment, wiping her mouth with the back of a bloodied hand. ‘I will flay the scales from your rotting flesh you boorish wretch! I will boil your shrivelled heart, and feast on your dead brains!’

The other two were starting to move too. Threadfin realised they would soon recover. He was not at all certain he could thwart them a second time. What did it take to kill these things?

‘Leave, now,’ shouted the newcomer, who held a long sword. ‘I will hold them back for you, but go. Others will arrive soon. Run.’ Threadfin stared at the man, thinking there was something familiar about him, but he couldn’t put a skeletal finger on it.

Striga had by now risen to her feet. In her hands was also a long sword, no doubt wrought from magic. ‘You,’ she spat at the newcomer. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t hold to our bargain.’ She leapt at the man, and their blades clashed in a coruscating shower of flame and sparks.

Threadfin hesitated, wondering if he should help. Then he thought of Astra. He had promised. Besides, he had drawn too much life already. The abscesses on his body were swollen and heavy. No regrets, not anymore. His power fed on life, and this was something he accepted. His sister would disagree but then siblings often did.

Threadfin’s wings reformed and wrapped him in a midnight cloak. Lorn’s body remained where he’d left it. She wouldn’t have wanted a grave, and besides, that body had been gifted to her by the Grim when she’d arrived. Her real body remained lost. It was not for him to stand over her with wilting flowers in hand, a vigil of undeath for the dead. He glanced up at the fractures, which had grown. This temple, this prison, was as good as any tomb. He would hold her in his shrunken excuse for a heart, and in his memory.

He glanced to where she lay one last time, before turning and walking to the nearest wall. Reaching the splintering obsidian face, he phased his body. Becoming a reflection, he passed right through. He didn’t become stuck this time. His power worked as he meant it to.

I am what I am. I am undead, and the world will have to learn to live with it.

‡

THREADFIN AWOKE TO find himself on his back. He was outside the walls of Balax beneath the twilight of the Grimstyx. Spheres hung in the sky, the largest in the orange-red glow of a dying sun. He had no idea how long he’d lain there, or why he’d lost consciousness. Perhaps from the effort of using his talent after so long without. Maybe it had been something within the walls of Balax, a ward of some kind. He didn’t know, didn’t care. In his peripheral vision, he saw prisoners fleeing the shattering walls. He moved his head a fraction, to find two figures stood over him.

‘Incompetent,’ pronounced Manic with a deep frown.

‘In pain,’ said his sister, with a comforting smile.

Threadfin groaned, rubbing at his neck. The throbbing had increased. ‘Did you know your little cousin bit me?’ He felt bad for Karun who he had been getting used to.

‘Our hopes crushed underfoot, ground into dust.’

‘Hope never dies,’ whispered Mania, ‘just the will to believe in it.’

Her brother offered a snort in reply.

Threadfin groaned a second time. ‘What do you two popinjays want? This is no time to be bothering me.’

‘You know what lies within,’ Manic snapped pointing a long finger at the fortress wall. ‘You lie here, snoozing, when you should be fleeing. Adal, can only hold them so long.’

‘Oh, so that’s his name.’

‘He will not defeat six,’ Manic snapped.

‘There were three,’ said Threadfin.

‘Now there are six.’

Threadfin sighed. ‘Look, I succeeded in destroying the Fetch didn’t I? The Grim has no power over me now.’

‘Fool,’ said Manic. ‘Much of its form came from another, a living, breathing relati—’

‘Enough, dearest,’ interrupted Mania with a stern look for her brother.

‘You know,’ said Threadfin squinting, ‘I thought you two used be a lot taller.’

‘Thinks much of himself this one,’ said Manic, looking chastened, but determined to hold his ground.

‘A tragic tale,’ whispered his sister who stared at the mage, a rapturous look on her face, as though in ecstasy. ‘I never thought such pain existed, much purer than the others. It emanates from him in waves. Oh, so nourishing.’

‘Irrelevant!’ the brother shouted. ‘A fragment remains, and it is the last and as forbidding and cold as ever. All may yet be undone. Guidance is necessary.’

Threadfin sat up and began to rise. ‘You mean, Astra. I know you do. Stay away from her, both of you.’

‘You do not seem to know your place,’ said Mania with a frown.

Manic sneered. ‘He does not know anything.’

‘Fine, I don’t know what you two are planning. Stay away from her. She is mine to watch over.’

‘What an ungracious, arrogant, ignorant and disillusioned wretch!’

‘A broken heart breeds a vile tongue.’

‘It has no heart.’

‘It has no understanding.’

‘Damnable creature is a walking corpse with maggots for a tongue and boiled mush for brains. Best feed it to the Torments and be done with it, sister.’

‘Hey now,’ said Threadfin, ‘and here I thought we were starting to get along. Aren’t we friends?’

Mania folded her arms and gave Threadfin a long hard stare. ‘The Torments will not cease their hunt, Threadfin Todder. They will not forget, and they are not your only concern. You claim you are a guardian, as much hers as your world’s. You cannot hope to protect her by yourself.’

‘I don’t think I’m alone but I’ll do what needs doing. I will let no one get in my way. Are we understood?’

‘Ominous words,’ said Mania with another frown. ‘Either you are careless, or you are as dangerous as you believe.’ A ghoul appeared beside the shraeds, shimmering into existence. Mania gestured to it. ‘A final gift for services rendered.’

‘So long as this one doesn’t bite.’

‘Perhaps, one day we will meet as enemies, but there is much between this day and then. Anything can be, can it not? Most preferable and profitable if we remain allies, I should imagine.’

‘I did not agree to such a stipulation,’ her brother griped. ‘Sister, you promised me. You will now listen to—’

Both brother and sister shimmered and vanished, though not before Manic shot him a parting glare; it promised an agonising end when his sister wasn’t looking.

Threadfin felt confused as to whether they were allies, or something else. They were shraeds, but not as he’d expected. Even Karun had surprised him, for Threadfin had felt empathy for the creature. It had bit him, sacrificing itself to give him strength, and he was grateful. Just as I was starting to grow fond of him.

He sighed and glanced at the ghoul, a battered creature, grey skin scored with bloodless wounds. This one, unlike others he’d seen, was covered in matted hair, its human-like head a misshapen lump with white bulbous eyes. A thing of breathers’ nightmares. Aren’t we all these days? he thought.

He felt weakened from his efforts against the Torments. Gripping its head, he found the points along the side of the skull. Depressions, which felt made for his fingers. The viral creature didn’t resist, though it dug its claws into the black mud. He pressed his index fingers into the points, picturing his destination, willing it.

Before darkness consumed them, Threadfin saw the walls of Balax collapse. The last of the prisoners had emerged, fleeing as it fell. The prison imploded in an explosion of black fragments and dust, entombing a woman who had been named Lorn Larthuz.

‡

RALAN’S EYES, ENCRUSTED with sweat and blood, opened with difficulty. From out of the gloom, he watched a dark figure approach. He ignored it, no longer wishing to speak to his father. He had no feeling in his hands or arms. The pain in his shoulders had grown to tremendous proportions. Pain was something he knew and understood. The existence of a Torment was agony, after all. A coruscating fire flowing through the veins of his soul. Each of his siblings but one, blamed Astra for their plight, and sought revenge. Hah, siblings, what a joke.

A face appeared before him, hovering like a spectre from his nightmares. ‘Get away from me,’ he whispered, ‘and leave me to die. It is the least you owe me.’

The face didn’t leave. Instead, it spoke in a woman’s voice, ‘I am sorry I did not come sooner brother, but I didn’t know where you were. I had to be careful in my search lest the others catch on. At first, I tried to free you from it, but it proved impossible.’

‘Striga?’

The head before him nodded. Something about it seemed wrong. He could see her a little better. She should’ve had hair, but he was certain the woman in front of him was bald. He blinked and felt something soft dabbing his eyes.

His sister, if only because they’d been reborn in torment, withdrew the damp cloth. ‘These are Oblivion Chains. It may take a moment to remove them.’

‘What you should do is go,’ said Ralan, his voice stronger. ‘Father will return. He won’t have forgotten I’m here, and he won’t forgive you this. His Fetch will soon be no more and he will need to refashion the spell. He’ll find another use for me. Better I than us both.’ He noticed the pain in her, and not of the physical sort. ‘You have something to tell me?’

‘She is dead,’ Striga answered in a low voice. ‘I had nothing to do with it in the end. The viral attempted to save her, but there was never a chance. The fool.’

‘You are too harsh.’

‘The master’s servant was too powerful. Interestingly, the undead one destroyed it. I would not have thought it possible.’

‘For that, he has earned my eternal gratitude.’

‘Well, he doesn’t have mine.’ She ran a hand across her shiny pate. ‘I will give him this much, he is resilient.’

‘You always wanted to repay her, sister. You wanted her dead. Do not deny it. I know your heart in this.’

‘She wanted it to end, didn’t she? I wanted to oblige.’

Ralan knew his sister would never let go of her hatred for Astra. ‘Any news on the next fragments?’ With Liviana and Lorn both dead, new fragments would be born at some time in the future. Sometimes within days, other times not for decades or more.

With a shake of her head, Striga walked away a few paces, the gloom swallowing her. ‘The final fragment was born a short time ago somewhere within the imperium. I know not her appearance or location, though I will find out. What I do know is there will be no more.’ She returned to him then, her eyes bright and shining. ‘Brother, she is returned to this world.’

‘I do not believe you.’

Striga lunged from the darkness and grabbed him, ignorant of the pain lancing through him. ‘This time it is not some mere fragment of her soul. The spell has come full circle. Do you realise what it means? I can bring it all to an end, at last. No more hunting.’

‘Sister, there will be no more fragments. Therefore, if she dies ...’

‘I do not understand your obsession with this witch. Her death will free us. You know this.’

‘She was my mother.’

‘She used you. She was in league with shraeds!’

‘You regurgitate Cadaver’s damned theories, which are based on nothing but his narrow-minded hatred. You know he lost his mind during the change.’

She barked a laugh. ‘I wouldn’t let him hear you say that, if I were you. He’s been in a foul mood of late.’

‘I do not understand your obsession with vengeance. We are what we are. The past is done. Let it go, Striga, please.’

‘You are the obsessive one. She never returned your love, and never will. Is not my affection for you enough?’

He shook his head with a wry smile. ‘You refuse to understand. You are as much a servant of Tartaros as my father.’ Something occurred to him, then. ‘Threadfin Todder? You know, he will stand in your way if you attack her. Do not harm him. He is too important.’

‘To you, perhaps.’

‘Oh, I see now, he is the reason you look ... well, as you do. It isn’t a bad look.’ He found himself grinning and the feeling was as rain to a desert.

‘Careful, dear brother. My blood has not yet cooled.’

‘He is important to our world, and to the Spectrum.’ He shook at the chains holding him up. ‘Are you going to get me out of these, or not?’ Yes, he was feeling much better with Striga’s energy and anger feeding him.

She paused in examination of his restraints. ‘The undead guardian has proven himself formidable. He has grown powerful in a short period of time.’

‘Admit it, sister, he had you beat.’

‘Adal, the insufferable fool, got in my way. The Eleventh Torment; such a pretentious title as though the number eleven holds any importance. He claims his place among us, and yet he is not of us. He stands apart as though superior.’

‘He is an angel, sister.’

‘He is an arrogant fool. Whatever he has asked of me, I’ve done, and then he dares clash blades with me?’

Ralan offered her a sad smile as she freed him from the chains. Adal was right to oppose her. Striga freed him now because she loved him, and he in turn loved her. Soon, however, they would fight one another, for he could not allow Threadfin or Astra be destroyed.

The very nature of existence depended on it.​​​