27 Treena and Mop

79BI, Before the Imperium, 1003 years in the past

THE WORLD CAME into focus, as though an artist was filling in the blank areas of a canvas. Raindrops spattered the cobbles at Aiyana’s feet. She found herself standing in Icarthya, but it wasn’t the city she knew. The smell of scorched skin and leather reached her though from somewhere else; it seemed like a dream, or a memory.

The scents faded and she began to wonder why she felt strange.

There were no people in the streets, no hawkers and merchants, or stalls. A handful of shops, which had little or nothing on display, drab fronts uninviting and unfamiliar.

She began to walk ignoring the downpour which caused the gutters to froth and vomit dead rodents and waste. It took her a moment to realise her legs didn’t feel right as though they didn’t belong. She halted and glanced down at herself.

Her body wasn’t hers at all, but of another woman, a living woman.

This other woman was shorter, which explained why her legs felt weird. This is a living, breathing body, she thought in wonder, feeling the blood flow in her veins. It wasn’t a construct of her viralic power, or a deceit. This was actual ... life. No, but it was a conceit of another kind, wasn’t it? This body, this life was somebody else’s, and she had stolen it.

Her memory was reasserting itself, filling in the blanks. Somebody I used to be a thousand years ago. She wanted to giggle. The whole thing felt absurd. What have I gone and done?

The smell of scorched leather came again and she recalled an Atlantian seated by her bed, the device white hot in his wrapped palm. She recalled Scatter holding her hand, her body vibrating into a shimmer. She thought she heard the imperial marshal’s voice from afar though it might’ve been the wind.

Presently, a shape lurched from an alley and lunged at her. Before she could react, fingernails dug into her flesh, pain lancing through her arm. A ravaged face filled her vision. ‘Don’t listen to him,’ it rasped. ‘Why won’t you heed my warnings?’

Aiyana attempted to break free, panic rising. How ironic for her to have reached so far into the past just to die in the street.

‘Leave this city,’ the man pleaded. She ceased her struggle as she realised, he was undead. His grip relented a little though he kept hold of her. ‘Get out, Cydra. Please. You must listen!’

No, not a viral at all because the first plagues wouldn’t have occurred yet. He couldn’t be undead, but he didn’t look alive either. Shadows flitted over his face like miniature storms as his flesh rippled, and reorganised itself. His eyes changed position as though they floated on water and not flesh. Disease ravaged his skin though it was no ordinary malady. It was magical.

‘Let me go,’ she commanded him, keeping her voice calm. She knew if she panicked, he might grip her tighter. She didn’t want to fight him if she didn’t need to, and besides, she was unaccustomed to this body. She was also too aware of how fragile it was.

He obeyed, taking a step back. ‘Cydra, please leave Icarthya. It’s too late for the rest of us, but you can still get out. You must know what he’s planning. Why won’t you listen? Does he have such a strong hold over you? Did I not mean anything to you?’

Some of his words were wrong though she grasped enough to fill in the bits she didn’t understand. They spoke Icarthian differently in the past, but she’d read enough of the old vellum records in the imperial libraries to compensate. Cydra must’ve known him, but Aiyana didn’t. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, feeling his terror and realising it was fear for her. This terrified her in turn. ‘Tell me, who is the imperator?’

‘What?’

‘Who sits on the imperial throne? In the Black Palace. Please, answer me.’

‘You mean, the White Palace? What is wrong with you?’ He was looking at her strangely and then she recalled reading that the palace name had changed after the plagues. A foolish mistake. She needed to be careful.

The man began stumbling backwards. ‘Just get out of this city while you have a chance.’ Within seconds, the gloom and driving rain swallowed him up.

‘No, wait, wait, I need your help.’ She tried to go after him, but couldn’t see any sign of him.

A minute later, his cries came from somewhere ahead. Several figures formed as though born of the rain itself. Aiyana recognised magic when she saw it even if what she saw was strange and new.

When an apparition, who was hunched over the man’s body, spotted her, she fled. The alleyway looked like a dead end where they might corner her, whatever they were. She fled down the street and spotted another branching from it. She followed it, legs pumping. With those soft shoes adorning her feet she felt every cobble, and her feet and legs were soon aching, which was a new experience. She had mimicked life including all its subtleties, and yet she was still unprepared for the real thing.

The Grim piss on these short stubs, she thought. Why couldn’t Cydra have been tall and athletic? The street beneath her feet buckled, and she stumbled. The cobbles lifted a second time, as magic rippled beneath the surface. She leapt just in time and as she landed, sprinted right. The wall to her left exploded, showering her in masonry and dust.

Spitting blood, Aiyana sat up. This woman should have been a spectral mage. In fact, she knew Cydra had been exactly that. However, she failed to detect any magic inside her. Something wasn’t right. She had no time to think as winged apparitions gathered on either side.

‘Who are you?’ she managed to croak. Her mouth was full of grit and blood. She spat again in their direction, but it went right through one of them. ‘What are you?’

‘We are the will of the high mage,’ said the foremost in a childlike voice, which Aiyana found unnerving.

She noted they each possessed four ghostly wings as she tried to examine them without their noticing. ‘Oh, and who is that?’

The apparition cocked its head, a motion she found too human-like for comfort. Had these things been human at one time? ‘The High Mage, Rasnal Nalrost,’ it answered. ‘You are perhaps injured. We apologise; we did not recognise you. Something about you seems ... different.’

‘Oh him,’ said Aiyana, brushing herself off as she got to her feet, ignoring that last comment. ‘And, what does the high and mighty Nalrost want?’

‘Hurry up, Treena,’ said the second apparition. ‘We’re late and I hate being late.’

Treena glanced back at its companion, looking uncertain, ‘Why, High Mage Cydra Dyre, you are late for dinner of course. Today, they are serving goat sausage and peas.’

‘I don’t like peas, sister.’  

‘No, Mop,’ said Treena, ‘and I hate goat and sausage of any kind, but it is what it is.’

‘We could swap,’ Mop suggested. ‘Your goat for my peas.’

It was then, while stood there with two spectres discussing dinner, the ridiculousness of the situation hit her.

Aiyana burst out laughing.

‡

Present Day – Markus Cipius Legions

TAME VARA’S CORPSE was in several pieces. Sarscha’s friend hadn’t made it past the perimeter. Two sentries had suffered a similar fate, the limbs of all three trussed together in a macabre pyramid.

Officers, including Cipius, stood around the bodies gesturing and arguing, but Sarscha dared not get closer for several reasons. She pretended to pack her gear and weapons for the march, doing her best not to look at the dismembered corpses. The rebellion wouldn’t halt over a few murders.

She wanted to cry, to rage at someone, or at everyone. She couldn’t. Soldiers died. Sometimes in battle or murdered in the night. Rumours were spreading throughout the squads there was a beast out there. Didn’t everyone know the Scab Mountains were haunted? Others suggested a viral assassin, an undead mage sent by the witch. There would be more attacks.

A doubling of the perimeter guard would result and some form of hunt for a killer. They’d find one too or maybe they’d let the soldiers think it was a beast, or a viral. If it suited his cause and benefited the rebellion, Markus Cipius had no scruples. A good soldier but not a good man. At least, not anymore.

Two hours later as they marched, they came upon Pint Little’s corpse. There was less angst over his death since everyone agreed deserters got what they deserved. That night Sarscha sat in her tent, head in hands. She’d led them both to their deaths. Whoever it was, or whatever it was, it knew she was in this army and it knew her companions. She guessed it just hadn’t found her among ten thousand troops, especially since her face had changed for a third time as had her name and squad. It was clear to her that her plan to stop Cipius was nothing compared to whatever was really going on.

Just wish I knew what it was? A part of her wanted to quit, to remain the anonymous soldier, and give into the rebellion. Die with a sword in her hand like she was meant to. Who do I think I am? To think I can change the world and bet the lives of my soldiers, my friends, on it? You’re a fool, Sarscha Todralan. A Grim-blinded arrogant fool.

A figure passed the entrance to her tent. She reached down to the stony earth at her feet. They had camped once again in the foothills bordering the marsh, further north than before. She gripped her sword’s hilt, lifting it slowly.

As the person entered, she lunged, striking without thought or care. It took her a few moments to realise she was on her back. Her sword remained in her right hand, but her skull was buzzing. Then, she noticed the figure sitting on a wooden crate looking down at her.

‘Apologies,’ said a male voice. ‘I am not here to harm you, but I couldn’t let you cut my head off. I like it where it is, you see. Do you mind if we talk?’

‘Raziel?’

Shadows swirled around him making him hard to see. He nodded and the distortion revealed his face. ‘You can get up, now. I promise, I am here to speak with you, not to harm you.’

The former marshal got to her feet, setting the sword aside. It was no use to her anyway. The front half of the blade looked melted. She’d have to find another. ‘You know about Tame and Pint, my friends?’

He nodded. ‘Your disguise has saved you, until now. Tame Vara had made many friends in the camp, several who have died this night. It will find you. Which is why I am here.’

‘Why should I believe you. I don’t even know if I trust you. So far, following your instructions has led to the deaths of two of my people and nothing to show for it.’

‘Four. I’m sorry, but two others had returned with Pint Little from Tystria. I took care of those bodies as I will his. Respectfully, of course. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Who did it. Dragan Rove?’

Raziel paused. ‘I made the discovery a few hours ago though I’m afraid you may not like this.’

‘Tell me.’

‘The killer is one of your own. He has been at your side for months.’

Sarscha had by now seated herself on a crate and was staring at the shadows, trying to make sense of his words. They didn’t fit. It wasn’t possible. Then she remembered Cipius entering a particular tent. But, how could it be? ‘Why should I believe you? For all I know, you are the killer. Magic might explain the state of those bodies after all. No normal person could have done that sort of damage.’

‘You are right, but a vanth could.’

‘A what?’

Raziel sighed, with sadness and some impatience. ‘The Grim possessed an army of once-living people, stolen from countless worlds. They are known as revenants and this ghastly army numbers into the millions by now. There are ranks among them though larger groups are led by a Fallen One, a once-angelic being since corrupted. It is known to us as a vanth. Revenants are lost souls, capable of entering the flesh of others, consuming them. A vanth has similar traits. They just do it better. One by the name of Azrael has taken one of your people. Some time ago, in fact.’

She stiffened, glancing at the entrance to her tent. ‘The sickness. The vanth is causing it.’

‘For tonight you are safe, but you must not remain within this army much longer. Dragan Rove knows you are here. However, it is not him you must worry about.’

‘Krasta,’ she whispered.

‘Azrael. Remember, Krasta Remus is just the one Azrael chose to possess. The vanth can change hosts if it needs to and you will not know who it has taken until too late. They will behave normally for the vanth will possess all their memories. Like I said, they do it better.

‘If not for the extra precaution of changing your face, Azrael would have discovered you. And yes, it has infected this army. The vanth is preparing these soldiers for possession. This is the real reason for the illness as revenants do not have the same skill set. They need easy hosts who won’t resist. The revenants will rise and invade the bodies of these soldiers, clothed in flesh and with weapons in their hands. Any the illness didn’t touch will be slaughtered.’

‘This isn’t a rebellion at all, is it?’

Raziel grimaced. ‘Markus Cipius still believes it is, but you are correct. It is a feint for something much worse. There are greater forces at work, greater even than the Grim.’

‘Why didn’t you warn me? What am I doing in the middle of, whatever you call this? I’m no mage. I can’t fight something like a vanth, not if I commanded an army twice this size. Tame, Pint, none of them stood a chance. If I had known ...’

‘I am sorry, but you must understand the vanth is protected against magic. I cannot get near enough to destroy it, and neither can Dragan. You can. You possess no magical talent for it to ward against. Although, it will prove a challenge nonetheless.’

She ignored that last, not certain she wanted any part of his plan. ‘Who is Dragan Rove then?’

‘I would hesitate to call him an ally although he is not your enemy. At least, not in this matter. However, I advise you to stay out of his way. He is not always a pleasant individual, but he is here to stop the revenants.’

‘And killing Krasta won’t do that?’

Raziel paused before answering. ‘The vanth could still change bodies and if it was destroyed, then without a leader the revenants would still ravage the world. They just wouldn’t have a guiding hand. In some ways it might prove worse. With a vanth in command, this army will strike directly for Icarthya. It chose the marshlands because it is here the revenants will rise.’

Sarscha relented, realising there was no easy way out of this mess. Running was not an option. ‘What must I do?’

‘You need to find a way to kill Krasta Remus, but not until after the vanth has revealed itself. Only you can get to it, though you won’t get a chance until events have already turned unpleasant.’ He held out a long iron knife with a slender blade, hilt first. ‘You will need this.’

‘And the revenants?’

‘There are others like myself, who are working on the problem. You have your bit to do and we have ours.’

Sarscha sat in silence, staring at the angel. ‘This plan of yours doesn’t sound like much. A lot left up to fate and I don’t like that.’ She took the knife, examining it. ‘I assume there is something special about this?’

‘It is a soul shard. I believe you may have heard of them by now. The vanth is angelic in nature, although twisted by Darkness. You can wound or even destroy it with this. It is vital you achieve the latter.’

‘What about the vanth’s wards? This blade is magical, right?’

He smiled. ‘A soldier’s mind. The blade is empty, but you will soon change that. For now, it is just iron albeit angelic-wrought. A shard does not possess magic of its own. It is simply the unique qualities of the iron and its creation.’

‘I see.’

‘You don’t believe me.’

‘What gave me away?’

‘Remember, you are not alone in this fight. You wanted to stop this rebellion? You still can. It’s just the rebellion isn’t what you thought it was. Perspective changes everything.’

‘What of Cipius?’

‘I ask that you try not to harm him. He is misguided and in terrible pain and is under the sway of the vanth. It murdered his sister, which was the beginning of its influence over him.’

Sarscha nodded. ‘You know, back in Byrsa, I hadn’t seen Krasta for some ten days at one point. I spent a lot of time with an ale jug in my hand. I just thought he was off whoring or he’d had enough. Then he just turned up, all smiles.’

‘Markus Cipius believes he is in the right, but once he is free of Azrael’s control, you can persuade him. Despite what you may think, he respects you.’

She glanced down at her hands in her lap. ‘I just wanted to give my sister a chance to prove herself. To make up for my past mistakes. Now, it looks like I’m about to save the world.’

‘I must tell you now, your sister will never be imperatrix.’

Sarscha felt enraged for the first time since his arrival. ‘Icarthian law says different.’

The angel gave a low laugh making her angrier, but also giving her pause. ‘I could argue the merits of right, law, or morality, all night long,’ Raziel said. ‘It would avail both of us nothing except wasted breath. I don’t care about imperial law. It is as irrelevant as angelic law. I just happen to know things you don’t.

‘She will not be imperatrix. But since you bring it up there will be another Todralan on the throne. This is also part of the reason, you are here. You, Sarscha Todralan, will rule the imperium. This is the real reason for my intervention. You must kill Azrael, but you must also survive and take these legions as your own.’

‘This conversation is over,’ she snapped.

Raziel nodded, and rose with a sigh. ‘One day, I think you will understand. Farewell, Sarscha Todralan, and good luck.’

When he was gone, there was nothing save the fluttering of the wind against canvas, the patter of raindrops and the hammering of thoughts in her skull.