44 A Horned Reflection

THREADFIN, HAVING RETURNED to the human world, withdrew into the gloom between two buildings. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten back, and didn’t care. His naked body shivered. He was in one piece again. At least, that was something. However, he felt different, and couldn’t decide if he should be worried.

Shouts arose from survivors, cries of disbelief and joy mixed with sorrow. Gog was retreating with his horde. Their heavy feet thumped past the alley in which Threadfin lay, hundreds of them. He didn’t need to kill their leader. Gog of Magog was no longer a threat, the power controlling him severed. He was an ordinary giant once again if perhaps a confused one.

Black spiralling mist shaped itself to his body. It enfolded him in a cloak of deep night as though his power sought to soothe him. It was instinctive. Must’ve been, since he couldn’t remember how he’d done it. It seemed, he no longer needed reflections to work every bit of magic, though he would still make use of them. There was much to learn now he had taken control.

With his pathetic flesh groaning and shivering, smoke-like whorls leaked from his fingers. There was no time to rest, to regain strength. Liviana was dead, Andromeda vanquished, but he had no idea if Aiyana was okay.

Focusing on the giants who thundered past, those whorls of power became complex weaves, which rose from his body. They sought out the puddles of water on the ground, the reflected worlds within. Threadfin was still learning the extent of his power, and its limits.

The weaves ripped at the fabric of time and existence. A vortex formed within the largest pool of water. Nephilim closest to the alley stumbled and fell, as he drew on their gargantuan life forces. He could draw on dozens at a time, hundreds if he wished. Most would suffer horrible ailments for weeks to come, if not longer. Several dozen would die. Well, it served them right after the mess they’d made. He was tired of feeling guilty.

The black hole sucked him into the puddle, and out of all time and reality.

‡

THREADFIN STEPPED THROUGH the shattered corridor, which was all that remained of the Blue Palace. He carried a limp form. Aiyana’s right arm was shredded, the trunk of her body torn with a large gaping hole, but she was conscious. A breather wouldn’t have survived. Being half dead did have advantages.

A dark wreath, woven with his magic, enfolded most of her. Her face was pale grey, dull patches of hair hanging from her patchy scalp. Her sunken eyes sought his. ‘Fin.’

He smiled at her. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispered. ‘I’m going to take care of you, like you once took care of me.’

She smiled. ‘My dearest little brother,’ she whispered reaching to stroke his face with damaged fingers. ‘You are changed.’

‘And you are beautiful, as always. And you are also the imperatrix now.’ Getting a vote would take time, but none of that mattered. There was no one to stand against her. If there was, Threadfin would have a nice chat with them, perhaps over a cup of tea and a fig biscuit.

‘Imperatrix of a broken imperium, you mean,’ she whispered back.

‘No, my sister,’ he said with a smile, ‘of a viral imperium.’ And all those breathers are just going to have to learn to live with it, he thought, or they would have him to deal with.

As he descended the shattered steps, the remaining corridor imploded behind them. A wave of white dust engulfed them. Howls of wargs haunted the streets as they retreated with their masters. As the dust cleared on a light breeze, it began to snow.

Laying her on the damp ground, he brushed back her greyed hair. Retracting some of his power, he unveiled more of her body. He leaned over to stare into her eyes. Both iris and pupil were missing in each. Soiling the whites was a swirling cloud, like ink stirred into water. Pulsing veins appeared along the length of her body. His attention was drawn to the ring on her left hand as she raised it to his face. Though the gold shone bright as ever, the once silver wings had blackened. He wasn’t the only one who had changed.

‡

AIYANA TOUCHED HER brother’s face. Their father had ruled in his way, but he hadn’t understood the ordinary person. Aiyana thought she did, as much as any noble could. Hah, noble, that was a joke but she could try. No, she would succeed, and she would survive. She had to. The world wasn’t safe, not yet. The Fallen Ones were the beginning, a testing of their defences. Worse was to come, much worse. She would rule, and do all in her power to protect her people, but she wasn’t their saviour, she wasn’t the important one. At least, she no longer needed to hide what she was, although her distinct talent might still prove useful.

Ghostly figures crowded the edge of her vision. She guessed they were faces of lives she’d recently stolen with her power, for there were exemplars among them. She was too tired, too broken to examine this strange phenomenon.

Cathya, I’m so sorry. She forced back the pain, saving it for later, when no one could see.

Her fingertips examined the horns protruding from Fin’s face and forehead. Short and sharp, they marked him, as did the new faint iridescent scales of his skin. A dark unnatural weave clothed him and provided him with a cloak. A glance belied its true appearance; its weave one moment hardened scales, then ethereal like black mist, and with another blink like feathered wings. There was something different about his manner, the tone of his voice. He was more forceful, assertive. No longer desiccated and fragile, Threadfin was something other than a viral, though what, she didn’t know. No matter what he said, however, he was still a Todralan, and all she had left.

She knew he didn’t trust those who breathed air, whose hearts pumped blood, but she could tell his feelings had changed. They were ignorant, weak, and vulnerable. They needed a guardian, someone to stand between them and the Darkness.

They needed a viral mage.

‡

FROM THE HAZE OF DEATH and destruction, through falling snow, Scatter stumbled into view along with Podral Pole. The latter was holding the former whose face was a mask of blood. He scowled when he spotted Threadfin. Beneath the blood, the Aidari leader’s face bore a dark look, as though something enraged her. Not something he’d seen in her before.

‘You do know, Pods,’ said Threadfin with a cheeky grin, ‘that as my Darken, it’s me you’re supposed to be helping.’

‘Oh,’ grunted the other man, ‘so you heard about that.’

‘Did you have a nice time then, while I was saving the world? You know, you look great, no, really.’

They both halted, Podral with a surprised look, though whether for Threadfin’s words or his appearance, he didn’t know.

‘Lorn is gone,’ said Scatter, standing straighter. Anger flashed in her eyes. ‘And, I do not mean she died.’

‘Are you listening, lad?’ asked Podral, before spitting to the side. ‘She’s not wandered off traipsing the countryside. She has vanished from this world, and Scatter thinks she’s taken something with her.’ He gave his charge a meaningful look.

Threadfin turned back to look at his sister. ‘The Shathra Stone, yes, I know.’ He didn’t bother to look back at them, not caring if they were shocked. The world needed Aiyana more than it did him. It needed a ruler who had the strength and power to rule, but who cared for them too, who loved them. He didn’t think it was something he could do. ‘I guess that just means I’m going to have to hunt her down, but not today.’

He couldn’t explain it, but the fact it was Lorn who had betrayed them, betrayed him, well it hurt. He forced those feelings aside to examine later, just as he shoved back those apparitions of River, Wither and Raze among others. No more guilt. No time for self-indulgence. Life was the price of his power, and he’d found himself willing to pay it.

Aiyana’s fingers probed his face, as though she’d never seen him before and she smiled. Then she closed her eyes, exhaustion overcoming her.

From a dark mist, a girl of seventeen or thereabouts appeared. She knelt beside his sister’s sleeping form. Behind her came Nipper, stomping through a slush-rimmed puddle with a bandaged head. He thought of Sprog, of his loyalty and bravery. Perhaps he’d misjudged the creatures. Nipper growled and spat at Threadfin before trying to bite him. Perhaps it was how mongrels said hello, or maybe they just didn’t like him. He didn’t care. He’d never been as glad to see one.

‘We used do stuff together, ’member?’ whispered Tezcat with a mischievous grin. ‘You ’member Fin, don’t you?’

He stared into the water, rippling in the mongrel’s wake. All was the way it should be, and whatever was to come, well, he’d worry about it later. For now, he was content. ‘I remember, and we will again, Cat, I promise.’

The viral mage smiled, and the horned reflection smiled back.

This Ends

A PLAGUEBORN NOVEL BOOK 1

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