30 Living Chains

THREADFIN AWOKE TO a thick murk, which his keen sight struggled to pierce. Attempting to move, he discovered his legs shackled. Black iron chains clanked against the wooden floor. They tightened, and then he felt the barbs. They reacted to his movements as though living, penetrating further into his withered flesh.

Shifting his weight, he tried not to rattle them as each movement proved torturous. The unearthly barbs also pierced his soul. He felt their cold touch, his half-soul chained as much as his body. Designed to prevent him using his magic no doubt, not that he could’ve done anything worth spit right then. Without a reflection to work with he was useless.

He sensed them close, or rather smelled them since one person stank of pungent sweat. Months old, it had seeped into the bones along with a strong tang of salt. Breathers thought themselves above virals, somehow superior, but a few stank worse than any undeader possibly could.

‘Ugly’s awake,’ said a man’s voice. ‘What happen face? Like Nephlum stood down on him.’

‘Leave him be, Gurg,’ answered a woman’s voice. ‘Haven’t you seen a viral before?’

‘Hah,’ another voice laughed, ‘isn’t like they were all exterminated or something. Always knew that one for a lie.’

Footsteps thudded towards Threadfin, a shape in the darkness. Closer, it smelled of oil, leather, and fish. ‘You know what is,’ said Gurg in his clipped Raddhonar accent. ‘No way I leave wake. Don’t care what iron made. This one dangerous.’

‘Pen Luthus ordered him to be kept unharmed,’ snapped the woman. ‘Anything more than a bit of roughing up and you’ll answer for it.’

‘He also said this one dangerous. Not take chances.’

‘And where is he, eh?’ asked someone. ‘How long do we have to wait for him? It’ll already be a full day and night.’

‘How I know?’ said Gurg. ‘I follow order, not else.’ He stepped closer to Threadfin, who felt pain before all went blank.

‡

LYING FACE TO THE WALL, Threadfin stared at the flaking plaster. The hideous barbs deepened, reaching inside, probing. It had grown light enough for him to see. He heard the faint clomping feet of soldiers, shouted commands.

The march of feet and rattle of armour faded to the sound of artillery chipping away at the metropolis. The barrage had begun, followed by the cries and screams. As it relented for a time, silence flooded into the void. Wind whistled through gaps in his prison.

Threadfin lay still.

‘Dung sack wake,’ announced Gurg.

How did he always know? Threadfin thought his skull would detach from the rest of him if the Raddhonar hit him again.

‘Leave him,’ ordered a man’s voice. ‘We don’t want to kill him.’

‘Altus is right,’ said the woman. ‘Our instructions are for us to bring him back alive. You hit him too hard last time.’

‘Who you to order?’

‘You knocked him unconscious didn’t you,’ Altus growled, ‘well, dung brain? Perhaps you could kill him with another blow like that.’

‘Undead no easy kill.’

‘All the same, we’re to keep him in one piece. Do you not understand? He is useless otherwise. We’re not risking it.’

‘Already dead, and I don’t like bastard. He gives dark death, a black aura.’

‘You were hired for your services,’ said Niyala’s voice in a cold tone. ‘Nothing else should concern you. We can find other strong arms.’

‘Pay extra, bitch. If world end, you must pay.’

They knew he was awake. He turned from the wall to watch, ignoring the barbs sinking deeper. He could make them out in the dim light. Niyala had stepped closer to the Raddhonar, and though shorter by a hand, she was intimidating. She maintained a grip on her sword hilt. After all, she was of the elite, an exemplar guardian.

‘The world isn’t just going to end, Raddhonar.’ She smiled. ‘It’s going to burn, and if you’re not careful you’ll burn with it.’

The big man backed away.

‘You have issue with your payment,’ she spat, ‘you know who to take it up with. Until then, do as I say. I’m here on the authority of Canaan Pen Luthus, and you know who he is.’

‘Not care what any of you, but get paid extra for Ugly.’

‘You’ll get what you deserve.’ She stalked away, leaving him to sulk.

Threadfin could see better as the dawn light grew. Gurg was tall, well built, in a leather sleeveless vest. His hair was a reddish splotch on a balding head over a broad face. He also had a bulging forehead. There were patches of reddish growth on his bare arms.

Yes, he thought, definitely a Raddhonar, and the blood of a giant if he didn’t miss his guess, maybe sixth generation or thereabouts, and he has the stones to call me ugly?

The building they occupied was at least seven storeys. Roof tiles littered the floor like shattered clay pots, but enough of it remained intact.

The white-haired man he’d first met tossed him a scrap of bread. Threadfin ignored it, knowing it for an insult. Always, he thought of escape, but knew it pointless. Although not secured to the floor or walls, the shackles meant all movement was agony.

His head throbbed. I’ll pay you back, Gurg. He’d wrap the chains around that fat neck. They’d said they wouldn’t kill him. Sounded like they wouldn’t miss the bastard either. He glanced up through the ragged ceiling at the rafters; beyond the torn edge of a roof, the sky spat hail. He couldn’t see the downpour in the gloom but heard its drumming above, and on the wooden floors beneath. His captors stood close to a narrow window. Nailed to the wooden frame was an oiled sheepskin.

He stood with difficulty, and yelled with the pain. Their chatter ceased. They stared at him. He knew they’d stop him, but he wanted to confront them, Gurg in particular. If that was all he achieved, fine. How would he like barbs in his flesh and several kicks to the head?

He turned and hobbled towards an open stairwell. The pain drove him to the floor. He rose, hobbled another two feet. He knew he’d never make it, but something inside him had changed. Being trussed up had brought a rage to boil.

‘See, better crack skull. Nobody listens Gurg.’

‘Shut your hairy gob and grab him.’

Hands tried to pin his arms to his sides. He felt each barb multiply, spreading throughout his insides. His vision swam.

Struggling, he freed an arm. He managed to elbow someone in the face, hoping it was the Raddhonar. He used the back of his bony head to break a nose. He hoped that was the bastard too.

‘Hold him.’

‘Da brick broke dose! He broke by bucking dose, look, is bud!’

‘Back off from him, you fat lummox. Let me handle it.’

‘I cut ’roat, hear? You broke dose!’

‘Enough!’ roared a voice.

The hands released Threadfin. He made a waddling dash for the doorway, but fell three feet short. A man barred his way, dressed as a soldier in leather greaves, black swals, boiled leather breastplate and a red tunic and cloak. Raising his gaze to that dark visage, Threadfin groaned.

Canaan Pen Luthus’ eyes were tired, his face worn. He stepped closer. ‘You cannot escape,’ he said. ‘Enough of this.’ He shoved past and spoke to the others. They scattered, gathering cloaks and weapons.

‘Oblivion Chains do not just bind you,’ he said turning back to Threadfin. ‘They ensnare your soul as I am sure you have figured out. You cannot break free. Save your energy.’ He turned to the others. ‘They are here. Buy me time to perform the ritual.’

Gurg, holding his bloodied nose, and with a glare for Threadfin, left by the stairs. The others he didn’t see leave, except for one. Niyala was crouched on the low sill of the window, her hair flowing in the breeze. She’d ripped away the sheepskin and now stuck her head out, looking in all directions.

Drawing twin long knives from sheathes strapped to her lower legs, she sliced one of her wrists. Flaming wisps erupted with her blood enveloping her, and she leapt.

‘The Aidari have come for me,’ said Threadfin, with a wild grin as he tried to rise, ‘haven’t they.’ They weren’t all dead. He’d seen Lorn alive and maybe Scatter had made it too. He felt a wave of relief. ‘Not going to have it all your own way, Pen Luthus.’

A blow struck him and he reeled back. Another blow and he was flat on his back, nausea engulfing him. A foot connected with his neck. He felt bones fracture. A breather would’ve died from the blow. The high exemplar then grabbed him, hauling him up into a sitting position against the wall. Blinking, Threadfin watched him remove the shackles with no key or clasp. They just obeyed his touch.

He cried out as the barbs dislodged, retracting. Grabbing his arms before he could react, Pen Luthus shackled Threadfin’s wrists instead. The barbs stabbed into his flesh again, hungry. From a sheath on his hip, the chimera drew a strange looking weapon, the surface of the blade appearing like swirls of flame beneath glass. Threadfin wanted to yell, recognising the same blade from Lame.

Shouts rose outside, and the unmistakeable sound of clashing weapons. Feet thumped on the roof, several sets. The exemplar whirled at the sound, barking a curse. He forced Threadfin to his feet. There came a series of sickening thuds and shouting from outside.

Pen Luthus shoved him down the stairs, Threadfin stumbling. He found it difficult to maintain proper balance with bound hands, and the delving barbs sent shocks of pain along his arms. They reached the bottom floor and waited. His captor glanced outside, the strange dagger glowing in his hand. Niyala was there waiting, black weaves of power licking her from head to toe. Several bodies lay unmoving in the alley. She turned and headed towards the sound of fighting.

The high exemplar shoved him outside, as freezing rain drenched them both in seconds. They kept close to the buildings as Luthus forced him onward. No doubt, the exemplar sought a quiet place to complete his ritual.

It was a matter of biding time. Threadfin’s captors had gone from five to one. He could use the chains to throttle him, if he could withstand the pain. He wouldn’t get a better chance, but he now knew this man to be lethal, and the chains had weakened Threadfin.

They emerged from the alleyway into an empty street, then another alley, all the while moving further from the building. The rain fell in sheets, and within the shimmering curtain, Threadfin saw hope. He felt the shadows gathering as he reached through that fragmented reflection within the raindrops. The barbs dug deeper and he doubled over.

‘I warned you,’ Pen Luthus hissed in his ear, ‘Plagueborn. They bind the soul as well as the body. Your friends are dying, and they can’t help you now.’

Forcing him on, Pen Luthus gave him no respite, confident his prisoner couldn’t escape, but Threadfin didn’t quit. He stomached the pain as he stared through the rain into other worlds. He would not quit.

The shadows of life oozed through walls and cracks in the paving stones. He tried not to think about who or what such life forces belonged to. The grey light of dawn spread across the city. Gloom deepened where the light didn’t reach, and Threadfin began to fight back. He forced the barbs out through sheer will. Pen Luthus didn’t understand something about him. Half of Threadfin’s soul was dead and didn’t reside in this world, which meant the chains bound just the living half.

He smiled. Scatter would be proud of her student.

In the distance, came the concussive sound of artillery thudding into walls, buildings, and streets.

Threadfin attacked.

‡

THE VEINS IN HIS FOREARMS swelled as if with a thick liquid. It was his dead half, his viralic power. Black tendrils erupted from Threadfin’s fingers, and the shackles binding his wrists buckled. The barbs had just a short time to re-infect his flesh and hadn’t sunk as deep.

The iron links cracked, then shattered.

Pen Luthus tried to stab him, but Threadfin was too quick. He slid past the fiery blade, and gripped the other man’s skull. The Valtari’s black hair smoked, catching alight, and he screeched. Blood trickled from his ears and nostrils. His face bulged. The body convulsed as blood and yellow-green ichor seeped from damaged eyes. Growths appeared from his shoulders as wings emerged. The Valtari’s body twisted and transformed as a beast tried to take over, but it burned too.

Plaster flaked to the ground as surrounding buildings vibrated. Paving stones beneath their feet stuttered and lifted, splitting. Pen Luthus heaved as spasms took him, green-tinged blood spurting from his animal jaws. The alley grew darker as the new day grew bright. Threadfin’s power loomed above them, his shadow enveloping both men.

Sometime later, he stumbled out of that alley and on through another, and another. The streets had begun to swell with soldiers, iron tipped spears pointed skyward, bronze coated shields strapped to the left arm. Columns of sydarags followed along with many flat nosed, square footed skunks with broad backs. These last were slow and had artillery pieces and other weapons lashed to their backs and flanks. The leather straps sliced into their shorthaired flesh, oozing yellow blisters. These were the supply lines bringing up the rear, disembarked off ships from the capital.

Markus Olen had put a ban on skunks in the capital for many years now. The beasts stood five feet to the shoulder and delivered a regular foul fart that clung to hair and clothing. Grass fed, they could carry immense loads. Kept to the rear, their handlers wore facemasks and were as shunned as their charges. Despite this, the Actaeon Guard kept skunk farms less than an hour from Icarthya within the foothills.

Threadfin hid within a doorway as the skunk lines passed. He was oblivious to the stench. At each collective stomp and wail of horns, he shuddered. He crouched into a ball, small and inconspicuous, conscious of the red-brown staining of his clothing. He’d never killed in such a manner before, and it did not sit right with him.

As the last skunk and handler passed, he stood and crossed the fouled street. It was daylight now, and there was a chance of being recognised. Finding a building, partially demolished, he crawled under fallen beams. Withdrawing into the gloom, he ignored the smell of rotting bodies. Sitting with knees to chest and smeared in dirt, he would stay there unseen for a while. He watched morning turn to midday, listened to soldiers’ shouts and people crying out.

He found scraps of food within the rubble. It was days old at best. Virals didn’t get hungry as breathers understood it, but they did feel ... a lack was the only way he could describe it. Unfortunately, the food had him clutching his stomach afterwards. He brought it all up minutes later. His body was showing signs. Maggots burrowed into numerous parts, though that wasn’t new. He also felt his flesh rotting. It was always a slow process, but now patches of his hair had fallen out. He didn’t think it was just a lack of sustenance. His body didn’t take the use of such power well, but he was too weak to care.

The bombardment resumed, missiles pounding the ashlar-faced walls. How long before the giants took the city, and how long before Gog found him? It seemed Liviana’s trap had worked. Crouched into a ball, he shook with each rock that landed. He felt lost. When he’d killed Pen Luthus, he’d been a spectator. Someone else, hidden within himself, had committed the act, his other self from another world. He remembered it now, that someone else. He’d seen it before, in the water of a pond, many years ago.

The apparitions interrupted his thoughts. There were several, and they no longer held to the edges of his vision. A sense of familiarity grew as their voices erupted in his head. He clutched his ears, groaning in pain. A personal cost, Scatter had told him. He now understood what she had meant.

It was enough to drive a viral insane.