11 An Unexpected Meeting

SKELETAL FINGERS GRIPPED the harbour wall, finding scant purchase as cold rain swept across its smooth face. Several times the figure fell back into the water, but slowly, from the depths he resurfaced, persisting until he reached the top. Waves smashed against stone, threatening to dislodge him.

Afterwards, Threadfin Todder stood atop the wall like a weathered statue shaped by the elements. He turned his head left to right, scanning for sign of danger. A week at least in the deep below the heaving waves had been enough; he was surprised he was still in one piece and hadn’t rotted away, his desiccated body becoming fish bait.

It had been an eerie and unusual experience, walking along the bottom, holding a large rock to keep himself from rising back to the surface so as to avoid the storms and the enemy above.

Presently, he clenched his fists, water dripping onto the cold stone beneath his feet, searching within his body for signs of permanent damage. The vanth had done its work, and his magic remained weak, but he had survived. I didn’t come all this way to fail, he thought. I’ve failed at a lot of things, but not this time. The time had come for Threadfin Todder to live up to his reputation. Or well, the one he’d always wanted.

He walked along the old stone harbour, which appeared to not have seen use for centuries, until he reached land. There was no fishing village or town to greet him, nothing but the rolling expanse of hills climbing towards the great mountain ranges of Raddhon. The home of the Nephilim, a land of giants and renowned warriors, famed for steel and hot tempers.

He slipped and fell, the ground muddy from recent rain, but picked himself up and continued on. His cloak was a sodden weight on his thin form, and he knew he must’ve looked a distracting sight, not that there was anyone to see. In fact, it was too quiet in Northern Raddhon for his liking.

That he had arrived where he’d intended, he was in no doubt. He’d seen the maps and knew those high peaks sheltered tens of thousands of Nephilim of various clans within their valleys.

Well, at least, I’m in the general area. He judged it would likely be several days of walking to reach the nearest settlement.

It was a surprise then, when after an hour of walking, he encountered someone, and an even greater surprise when it turned out to be another human, albeit a breather. Then again, they tended to be everywhere.

A woman with nut-brown skin, he found her sitting on a partially collapsed stone wall, which appeared to have once been a dwelling of some description. What looked to be a disused well was nearby. There was nothing else but dark earth and patchy grass, nothing to suggest that perhaps once there had been a thriving village.

As he got closer, he recognised her and found himself grinning despite the week he’d had. He’d never have guessed he’d be so glad to see a breather who wasn’t Podral Pole. He sure would have had something to say about all of this, he thought fondly.

‘I think we’ve met before,’ he said aloud as he approached her, ‘haven’t we?’

Her head shrouded by a pale see-through veil, she wore a flowing ochre gown more suited to the heat, cut off above the ankles. She had a golden dagger belted to her waist, and a dark blood-red cloak, and for all the world looked as though she belonged there. ‘You should remember me, Todder,’ she said, ‘since you nearly killed me the last time.’

Threadfin winced, remembering their fateful encounter with the Nephilim and Canaan Pen Luthus. He had tried to fight back, to use the very powers he was currently attempting to relearn. He hadn’t known it back then, but the presence of the Aura within him had prevented him from gaining full control of his talent. The events of that day had ended in disaster with River dead and many of the others, he had since learned, badly injured. ‘Well, you’re not dead, now are you.’

‘No, it would appear not.’

‘No harm done then. All forgiven?’ He cast her his best and cheekiest grin. The one that always worked. Fine it was a bit wet around the edges, but he had just clambered out of the bloody ocean an hour ago.

The former Aidari didn’t answer, watching him from behind her veil. For a few moments, there was no sound but the wind and the thundering waves.

‘Um, how did you know I’d be here?’ he eventually asked, not liking that he needed to explain himself. He had not come all this way to relive the past, or make amends. He’d come to save the world of all bloody things. The same world she lived in. If anything, that should absolve him of past mistakes, that should.

You’d think they could’ve found a hero for something like this anyway, or some sort of infamous warrior with a brain the size of a pea, or some such. Instead, there’s me. Saving the world wasn’t exactly one of his deepest desires, but seeing it all destroyed beneath the heel of Lucifer wasn’t either. In the end, he’d chosen this task, for better or worse.

Zane lifted the veil revealing those dark eyes he remembered. ‘The Guardian King sent me here to meet you. It was through the Shathra Stone his Keeper saw you arrive here in this place, exactly as you are now. Arrogant, soaking wet, and with bits of seaweed in your hair.’

Threadfin picked at the seaweed, pulling a bit of it out and tossing it aside. ‘Well, I suppose that was nice of you. A red carpet, bit of a spread, some dry clothes and so on would’ve been better. I am here in an ambassadorial role so to speak.’

‘I didn’t come here to be nice.’

‘Obviously. You will take me to see the king then? There is an urgent matter I need to discuss with him. One involving the aforementioned artefact.’

For a long moment, she stared at him, breather and undead locked in silent argument. ‘I can’t,’ she said at last, glancing away. ‘It’s become too dangerous. There have been dire developments here.’

‘A rebellion. Yes, word reached us. Why do you think I’m here?’

‘The king was betrayed and the Shathra Stone is at risk.’

‘His sister, right?’

Zane sighed, clearly upset. ‘You are well informed. Yes, his own sister, Nanel. Something happened to her, something we don’t understand.’

‘I would imagine if she has turned on him, then the king’s court and anyone close to him are all considered a threat. Tartaros has infiltrated the heart of Raddhon.’

Zane snorted. ‘You don’t say? Please, tell me something I didn’t already know, undeader.’

‘Okay, how about this then? We’re going to secure the Stone, and then I’m going to find Astra Dar and kill her. Oh yes, and you’re going to help me do it.’ Likely he’d find Astra with the Stone in her possession, but he’d worry about that when the time came. He had no idea how to defeat her, considering he no longer had the Crystal Sword. I should never have insisted Droop carry the bloody thing. I’ll improvise, I suppose, or maybe Droop will wash up with it somewhere. I can’t turn back now. Besides, he’d never have been able to carry it while in draconic form anyway.

Zane’s eyes widened before a deep resignation settled into her features. ‘I’m afraid it may prove harder than you think. You will need to go through the king to get to the Stone. He is the only one with access to it. Unbelievably, the Horite priests stand with Nanel. However, we cannot reach the Acropolis in Bashan.’

Threadfin gritted his teeth. ‘I will go through whomever I have to. Astra Dar is coming, if she’s not already in Raddhon, and she will take the Stone. I’m assuming by the way you’ve been talking that she doesn’t have it yet?’ He realised that if she had, he’d have known. They all would.

Zane offered him a forlorn look and a helpless shrug, which sent a chill up his spine. ‘No, she doesn’t have it, but I’m afraid you are too late nonetheless.’

‘If that’s true, then why bother to wait for me?’

She sighed, rising to her feet. ‘I believe the sorceress has taken possession of the king’s sister somehow, but maybe there’s still a chance to turn things around. You must come with me.’

Threadfin moved closer, and something in his face must have frightened her because she took a quick step backwards. ‘Are you sure Astra possesses her? Are you certain?’ Of course, he knew if there was any possession, then it was Lucifer behind it, but there was little difference anymore. They were one and the same in his eyes.

‘All I know is Nanel is no longer herself. From the reports survivors have given, a shadow inhabits her, and I believe it could be the sorceress.’

Threadfin rubbed his clammy hands together offering Zane a cold smile. ‘Well, it just so happens shadows are one of my areas of expertise. Now, where do I find her?’

‡

Myral walked the streets of Laziz, the capital of Rize. It was an ancient metropolis of bulbous blue domes and white-washed walls, narrow winding streets and alleyways, oddly compact narrow churches that looked more like bakeries, and bakeries that looked like palaces. It seemed they worshiped food in this place.

She walked the streets as her vampires rampaged every house, shop, and church. Screams filled the dawn hours as Rizen folk awoke to breakfast, one where they themselves were on the menu.

She heard them in her head, over the tinkling of broken glass, the shattering of wood and bones and the constant wailing and screaming. The voices of her children were always with her, talking to her, to one another. It was all she could do not to scream herself.

As several people spilled out into the street around her, vampires clinging to them or dragging them by a limb, she wondered why she didn’t just let loose. And so, she screamed. A long-winded high-pitched shriek to welcome the morning sun, and it felt wonderful.

The vampires’ killing frenzy increased at the sound of her voice. She must have looked a sight to those Rizen folk in their last few moments, stood there wading in blood, screaming like some nightmarish witch.

And that is what I’ve become, she thought. How had it come to this? She ceased her cries and looked left and right, as her vampires fed on first the souls and then the flesh of their victims. Her children did need to eat after all. Wasn’t that the way of nature, of the Spectrum? Darkness devouring light, predator and prey, and she had become the mother of the greatest predators this world had ever known.

She should have felt pride, the warmth of new motherhood in her breast, but all she felt after releasing her pain was a hollowness, a hole where her heart had once been. The strange thing was, it felt right. Everything was as it should be.

It was then she spotted him, standing in the street ahead of her, blocking her path. The nerve of that winged bastard. Look at him, smirking at her. How dare he? Did he not know to bow before his queen? She rushed at him, her speed catching even her by surprise, claws raised to scratch out those sad smiling eyes, teeth bared to rip out his throat, and taste the sweetest blood of all.

The angel Adal blocked her attack with a swipe of one wing and sent her hurtling to land in the dust before rolling to a stop. Her vampires didn’t notice; their bloodlust was too strong, the screams of their prey intoxicating. Adal was no fool, choosing his moment well.

‘Myral Azarm,’ he said in a soft voice, approaching her where she lay, his wings fanning in a dark display of angelic might. ‘You have become a little lost, child. You didn’t think I would abandon you, did you? You were to take control of them, not become one of them.’

‘Where were you?’ she demanded as she spat out blood, ‘when I needed you? Where were you when the Darkness came for me?’

He looked saddened, and she realised she was the cause, but it only made her angrier. She didn’t know where the anger was coming from, but it was deep-rotted and vicious. She wanted nothing to do with this angelic creature. All she wanted was to rip him apart.

‘Let your rage out at me if you must, but this,’ he added with a sweep of one arm to take in the vampires and their feeding, ‘cannot continue. You will stop them Myral, or I will. You will not like it if I must take a firm hand in matters.’

‘Leave my children alone!’ She rose to her feet, and felt a menace and power within her she’d never known before.

Adal shook his head. ‘Those are not your words, but Lucifer’s.’ The name struck a chord of fear in her. She didn’t like hearing it.

‘Besides, my dear child,’ Adal continued, ‘they are not your children, just your legacy. Remember who you are.’

Myral found she was snarling, but a part of her was listening. ‘Where. Were. You!’ This came out as more of a shriek.

‘Occupied, and by the time I realised Lucifer had set his sights on you, I was too late ... but it’s not too late for you to step back from this. You have it within you. You can choose not to be this.’

She wanted him to help her and felt a need to escape, but the Darkness had ensnared her and she couldn’t break free. She felt it in her breast, in the blood pumping through her veins. She was the Darkness. Spreading her arms wide, she called to them.

All around her, the vampires quit feeding. They rose as one and stepped out into the street, visible and formidable, their vicious strength palpable. She felt their focus mirror hers, as that focus settled upon the angel. Perhaps Adal had chosen his moment to intervene well, but he had overstayed his welcome.

They attacked as one, obeying her silent command, leaping through the air, or racing over the short distance between them.

A whirlwind erupted where Adal had stood, flinging vampires through windows and walls. A blow sent Myral through an open door to smash into someone’s furniture in splintering of wood.

When she reemerged stumbling and bloodied, the street was empty, and Adal was gone.

‡

A few miles from the fortress of Torrent, Ralan and Striga hid on the edge of a dead forest. The trees moaned and cried, their overlong branches snapping at the earth, trying to snare them.

Denizens hid within those trees, equally as vicious, but Ralan knew they rarely left their lofty abodes. There were things far more deadly within the Grimstyx than carnivorous tree sprites.

‘I hate the bloody Styx,’ he muttered, feeling ill. The longer he spent in his father’s former world, the sicker he became. It began with an unfortunate lengthening of his horns and a racing of his heart. He’d begun to sweat, and he felt nauseous.

‘You haven’t acclimatised,’ noted Striga in an oddly calm tone for her. ‘You spent so little time here over the past few years. You’ve become too human.’

‘What is that stink?’

Striga turned and glared at him, her eyes promising murder.

‘No, not you,’ he added hastily, ‘but something stinks.’ He turned and eyed the forest; he felt glad they didn’t need to venture in there.

‘I imagine something or someone died recently,’ she suggested with a nod towards the trees. ‘You know what messy eaters sprites can be.’

Not all forests in the Styx were the same, but this had to be among the worst of the lot, and this was as close as he wanted to get to it. ‘Striga, are you certain about all this?’

Another long hard stare, but this one had a whole other meaning, less violent, but still promising pain.

‘Fine,’ he muttered, trying to get a grip on himself. ‘It’s just I didn’t think she was still around after ... you know.’

‘Most of her soul is gone, but something remains and it has grown, stealing power from within the Styx. I’ll warn you, Ral, you won’t recognise much of your mother if anything at all.’

‘She’s not my mother. I mean, not really.’ He sighed. ‘She was just a soul fragment of my real mother, and just happened to be involved in my rebirth.’ His original birth had been to the sorceress a thousand years ago, but after Nalrost’s spell her soul had been fragmented and cast through time, along with his own. Reborn as Taver Wyn he had not known the truth, his memories not yet returned, but he’d felt it somehow. On some level, he’d known.

‘That sounds like a mother to me,’ Striga said.

‘Oh, and you would know? Tell me, do you remember yours?’

She didn’t reply.

‘Will she recognise me at least?’

The silver-haired Torment turned back to their hours-long vigil, or what passed for hours in the Styx. ‘I have no idea, but I wouldn’t be expecting much. Something strange happened inside Torrent, and no one has gone there to investigate.’

‘Until now, you mean.’

‘You’ll do fine.’

‘How did you find out that Rade Wyn was here in the first place?’ Of course, when he thought of Rade, those memories of Yalta Island where he’d lived with her proved strongest of all. His recollections of his actual mother, the original Astra Dar, were vague at best.

‘I didn’t know it was her at first,’ Striga said, ‘but a new power had taken hold in the Styx. The shraeds who occupied Torrent previously were either devoured or fled. I believe the hoard of soul shards is hidden somewhere within.’

‘I sure hope so.’ Funny how his father had ruled the Styx for a millennium, and now a fragment of his mother’s soul had taken over.

After his rebirth, he’d felt estranged from the soul fragment who’d raised him a second time, and when he’d gone to retrieve the Shathra Stone from her with his friend Desool, he’d barely recognised what remained. In fact, he’d feared for his life and that of his friend.

If he hadn’t felt so sick, he’d now be a walking sack of nerves, gibbering like a fool. Astra Dar had been a harsh mother, and Rade Wyn in some ways harsher.

‘You sure this is a good idea?’ he asked again. ‘You know she never liked visitors, especially the unannounced sort.’

Striga didn’t answer, but pointed down into the wide gorge. There was the glint of metal, and then Ralan’s keen eyes picked out distant movement. Figures, thousands of them. No, hundreds of thousands, all on the move. The gorge was at least several miles wide and hundreds long as humans considered distance. Not that there was any measure of distance or time in the Styx.

Ralan squinted, trying to make them out. ‘Not shraeds or revenants from what I can tell. Wait, those are wights!’ The angel dead moved in ranks, but their forms were strange. They didn’t march so much as glide over the ground, and their bodies were slightly transparent. They had no facial features he could see, but they had arms and carried weapons, and ethereal wings.

‘These particular wights,’ said Striga, ‘are a bit different. They are partly infected with the essence of Rade Wyn’s soul.’

Ralan glanced at her. ‘There are hundreds of thousands of them. How could she be so powerful? There’s something you’re not telling me.’

Striga sighed. ‘What remained of Rade Wyn has been usurped by Tartaros. She is an agent of the Darkness. A tool it uses, nothing else. Her fragment was absorbed by Astra Dar, so I guess you could call what remains of her here in the Styx, a powerful echo at best.’

Ralan moved back from the ridge, far enough to be out of sight and then rose. ‘You told me we were here for the soul shards. Striga, why are we here?’

‘Your friend, the king of the Nephilim,’ she said joining him, ‘was tasked with destroying her, but he didn’t. Preventing Astra Dar from absorbing that final fragment would have been useful.’

‘I guess that was because of me.’ Ralan hadn’t known Desool had been sent to kill his mother. He didn’t know how he felt about that.

‘It doesn’t matter, because now it falls to us to destroy what remains. As you know, I don’t have much use for sentiment.’

Ralan turned round about, as though he’d find some explanation for what he was hearing.

‘You know this is how it must be, Ral. It has to be done and done now.’

He screwed his eyes shut, seeing Rade’s face. A woman he’d never exactly gotten along with, but a woman who had loved him, far more than the one who’d given birth to him the first time. She’d done terrible things, but all to protect him from what she’d seen as a threat. Did it matter that she’d been wrong, that she had just been a fragment of his mother’s soul?

He let out a long sigh. ‘I know you’re right.’ The truth was there was almost nothing of her left anyway. What he’d found in the Necropolis on Yalta in the Aidaril Islands had been a shadow. Now, little of that remained and it was in league with the enemy. ‘We have no choice.’ He opened his eyes and turned to face Striga. ‘What do we need to do?’

Striga had a look of sadness about her, sadness for him. ‘Cadaver and the others are in position, waiting. You and I need to get inside Torrent and find her. Then we need to find a way to destroy her. I have a strong feeling it won’t be easy.’

Ralan nodded towards the ridge and the hidden valley below. ‘And that otherworldly army of wights?’

Striga looked down at her feet, before answering. ‘They cannot be stopped at this point. They are marching for the human world and the war. All we can do is avoid all contact with them. Perhaps in destroying her, we may also vanquish them, but I do not know.’

Ralan hitched the short and ragged cloak he wore, and then tightened his belt, checking the soul shard in its sheath, a recent gift from Adal.

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’m ready. Let’s go kill my mother.’