21 Under the Rubble

TRAPPED BENEATH THE rubble, Threadfin had time to gather his senses, to think without panicking. Well, maybe he panicked a little, but even viral mages were human, if of the desiccated rotting variety. It was a good thing, however, that he didn’t need to breathe; an advantage he’d always appreciated at times like these.

He let a trickle of his magic loose through the rubble around him, testing for gaps and signs of life. It flowed through the tiniest of holes and cracks, a black breath all his own. The aura had prevented him from fully appreciating, let alone mastering, his innate powers, but now he delighted in them. Even while buried beneath a collapsed building.

It allowed him, in a manner of speaking, to see with his magic. At first, it was mucky and unintelligible, but his skill was growing, partly from desperation. Images formed in his mind, tastes, smells, and sounds. None of it was like actual senses, but when buried in the darkness beneath a fallen building, it was a decent substitute.

Once satisfied with where the others were located, and that they lived, not to mention how deep they were, he knew where to direct his focus. He was about to free himself along with everyone else, when he heard a voice.

‘What’s you doin’ down here?’

‘Cat?’ he whispered in the darkness. Perhaps he was hearing things. He’d heard of breathers being buried alive, and had often wondered what it might be like for them. For a viral it was somewhat of a comforting experience, so it couldn’t be insanity. Unless, I’m insane and don’t know it?

Something tickled his nose, and he realised it was her, but how was she doing it? Then he remembered her dissolving into a gaseous black cloud whenever she travelled. It was how she got through walls; a peculiar talent not shared by most virals. He supposed she just held that form instead of materializing again.

‘Uh, now is not the time,’ he managed, wondering if this was in some way worse than when she visited him in the bath. ‘You know, I’m a little occupied, as you can no doubt tell.’

‘Nots to worry,’ she replied. ‘Sarsch’ sent me to warns you. Paladin Creed’s been using the Book o’ Chains and attacking Icarthya. We now believes the Book, the Aura and the Stone all combines to make a trinity o’ terrible power. If Astra gets hold o’ all three, then we’re ... well, you knows.’

‘Great. Thanks, Cat. I’m feeling better already.’

‘You wants some help?’

‘No, no, I’m perfectly fine thank you. Just figured I’d lie here for a bit and have a good think first. I’ve got this.’

When she didn’t say anything more, he wondered if she was gone. ‘Cat?’

There was no answer.

As before, he let the energy of his magic build, and then let it loose. The blast sent rubble skyward. Two similar expulsions of rock and debris freed his friends. He clambered up, dusting himself off, while scanning for signs of revenants. Screeches, growls, and screams told him nothing much had changed, but at least none seemed close enough to be an immediate threat.

He leapt up, his ethereal draconian wings fanning briefly to land him safely on his feet. He spotted Oracle rising from the rubble somehow managing to float.

His feet on solid ground, or semi-solid at least, he rushed to the spot where he’d sensed Zane. When he found her though, he realised he was too late. Her body lay broken. Several bones protruded from where they weren’t supposed to, and though she was conscious, he knew the loss of blood would kill her. Zane was dying.

He leapt into the gaping pit and knelt beside her. He took her hand in his and held it, wishing he had the warmth of the living to offer. At least, that might have been something. ‘I am sorry,’ he whispered.

Zane stirred, turning her head slightly. One side of her dark-skinned face was masked with blood. ‘I am the one ... who led us ... here,’ she managed.

Oracle floated down beside them. ‘There is movement out there,’ she said, staring at them both. ‘We need to get going.’

Threadfin glanced up at her. ‘I know we’re undead, but have some feeling, eh? She’s my friend.’

Oracle cocked her head at him, as though considering his words. For a long moment, he thought she was going to just leave, but then she cracked a smile. ‘Oh, I think you misunderstand me. I meant all three of us need to get moving.’

Before he could form a reply, she knelt on both knees and grabbed hold of Zane’s head. A dark flow of magic enveloped the breather from head to toe. Some of the rocks around them crumbled to dust from the energy released, and as Threadfin stared, he saw the bones enter back into Zane’s flesh, which in turn began to heal.

When the viral woman let go of Zane, Threadfin stared in disbelief. ‘I didn’t know you ... I didn’t think that was ... that a viral could ... I mean, how did you do that?’ He recalled Lorn being able to heal, but he didn’t think she could have managed anything this advanced.

‘There isn’t time,’ the female viral said, helping a bewildered Zane to her feet. ‘The city is overrun with those revenants. We’ve outstayed our welcome.’

Threadfin knew she was right, but still found himself patting Zane up and down before she slapped him away with a glare. Yep, she’s fine.

They were about to leave, Threadfin’s wings fanning with the intention of lifting Zane out of the pit when he paused. He turned to the former Aidari, who looked healthier than when he’d met her on the coast. ‘I think we have another problem. A much bigger one.’

Zane must have read it in his face because that new healthy look of hers turned paler. ‘It’s gone isn’t it.’

Threadfin felt a lurch in his gut, which wasn’t parasites this time although it still made him feel ill. ‘It was in my hand, and the building just collapsed beneath us.’

Oracle looked from one to the other, and then she touched her forehead with both hands. She collapsed to her knees, the effort after healing Zane apparently too great. ‘I think I know where it is.’

Threadfin’s hopes rose, as he asked, ‘Is it somewhere in the rubble?’ He was already turning and scanning the area, as though it might just pop into sight. But when he stopped and thought about it, he knew it wasn’t there. He would’ve sensed it when he’d searched with his power earlier.

Oracle confirmed his fears. ‘One revenant Avim survived the collapse. It is on its way back to the sorceress. And it has the Shathra Stone.’

‘We need to get after it,’ said Zane. ‘Which direction is it headed in?’

Threadfin rubbed at his forehead feeling like a fool. Tezcat’s warning had come a little too late. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s as good as in her hands now. Let’s face it: I’ve just gone and handed Astra Dar the bloody Shathra Stone.’

‡

Heaving, Asher Tone knelt on the hot sand, clutching his stomach. He’d swallowed a lot of seawater, and was now in agony. The remnants of his shattered little raft lay on the beach a dozen feet away.

Every muscle in his body was in a cramp, and he still hadn’t got feeling back into his right hand, fingers formed into a claw. When the blood started to return to them, he screamed, or tried to; his throat was too dry and painful. It came out as more of a weeping wet gurgle.

The Crystal Sword lay on the wet sand beside him, and he vowed to leave it there. What use was it anyway? Some sort of magical sword, but it hadn’t saved those mages, let alone Threadfin Todder, and it wasn’t going to save him either.

He continued clutching his stomach, bending until his head touched the sand. If he died there and then, what had it all been for? A prince of Atlantis once, but nothing more than a dying man on a beach now. It was like some poor joke being played on him.

A shadow mercifully gave him some relief, until he realised there was nothing to cast a shadow on that beach, the sky bright and blue above.

A sharp pain erupted in his head, and then all went mercifully dark.

‡

‘Drink!’ growled a voice, as water gushed down Asher’s throat. He began to choke, coughing and spluttering. The bladder was pulled away, and then a sharp blow to his head landed him on his side.

‘I said drink, you piece of filth, not spill it!’

Asher rolled onto his back and stared up at the silhouette looming over him. He spotted the hilt of the Crystal Sword over the shoulder of the giant. A Nephilim, large enough to crush his head with one hand, if he was in the mood. Instead, it appeared he just wanted to torture him.

‘A waste,’ snapped the giant, replacing the wooden stopper in the bladder’s neck. He did not elaborate on whether the waste was the water spilled, or what had made it down Asher’s throat.

His captor grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to his feet. They had been walking for two days across the desert, sheltering when the heat became overpowering. More for his sake no doubt, than for the Nephilim. An Anakim, if Asher remembered his education correctly. Nephilim had visited Atlantis in the past, and he had met with them.

They had longer necks giving them an unusual appearance, and apparently six fingers on each hand, something he hadn’t known unless his captor was unique in this respect.

Asher stumbled onwards, grateful for the water, for the fact he was still alive. The Anakim, though rough in his handling of his prisoner, showed no sign he wanted to kill him. Let’s just hope it stays that way, he thought.

He also remembered from his lessons back in his father’s palace, that Nephilim kept slaves. I’ll be the perfect slave. He almost fell flat on his face in the dying light, before the Anakim steadied him, and then kicked him hard to get him moving again. I’ll serve and do whatever they want, and I’ll wait for my chance. He had to think that way, if he was going to survive. If he believed for one moment, he would be a slave forever, he would find a way to end it.

After another hour as the light failed, the Anakim dragged him towards an overhang. The desert here wasn’t much on sand, but more a patchwork of cracked clay, with massive rocky outcrops. Like the previous night, it was getting cold and his captor lit a fire with flint and dung as fuel. What animal it came from Asher had no clue, but the giant kept a supply of it in large leather bag he wore strapped to his back.

He tossed Asher a few dried strips of meat, which the Atlantian fumbled and dropped in the dirt. The Anakim growled, looking violent as always. It seemed it was the only look it had, but then he had never known a Nephilim to look kindly.

Chewing the gritty meat, again from what animal he had no clue, Asher weighed his options as he had a hundred times already. He made the decision to speak, for since his capture he’d not said one word to the Nephilim.

‘How is it you speak my language?’ Asher asked. This Anakim spoke a dialect of Atlantian that was obscure and not taught beyond the Atlantian noble houses. Trade had always been done in the common Atlantian tongue.

The Anakim lowered his own meal and stared at his captive for a long moment. ‘So, it does speak,’ was all he said.

‘Yes, I speak. Where did you learn my language?’

‘It is not your language, Atlantian.’

After all that had happened over the past week, Asher had not thought much more could surprise him, but he was wrong.

‘You think us brutes,’ the giant added, ‘dumb, lazy and violent.’

Asher wisely said nothing, wondering if he’d gone and made a terrible mistake saying anything.

‘You humans think us backward; fools you can trick. I learned High Atlantian long ago. This dialect was not as secret as your people believed, prince of Atlantis.’

Of course, surprise was nothing when compared to shock. ‘How do you...?’

‘Know who you are? The son of Haven Tone, king of Atlantis?’ The Anakim barked a laugh. ‘Oh, what a mighty fall he had and look at you! I’ve seen a warg’s month-old leavings looking healthier.’

Asher felt more worried now than when he’d first awoken to find his captor stood over him. He’d believed he would be sold as a slave, but now he was sure the giant had a worse fate in store. He swallowed, and then decided it was better to know. ‘What are you going to do with me?’

The giant shook his great head, and then stretched out his long odd-looking hide-wrapped legs, giving a massive grunt of satisfaction. ‘I haven’t decided yet, human. What do you think I should do with you?’

Asher had no answer to that one. An obvious trap, and so he decided to side-step it. ‘You know my name. Might I know yours?’

Once more the Anakim stared at him long and hard, those intelligent eyes pinning him to the rock he sat against, as well as any spear. ‘I am called, Volar. Second to Anak of the Anakim.’ A long pause, and the Anakim scratched at his neck before adding, ‘Or at least, I used to be. Anak is dead. He was never meant to be our king, no more than that fool, Gog.’

Asher began to realise there was more to this Nephilim than he had thought. Not just intelligence, but some sense of honour maybe. It was a feeling, but he decided to press a little. ‘What’s happening in Raddhon? What’s wrong?’

Volar grunted and then said, ‘I knew that little bitch couldn’t be trusted. I warned Anak, but he was too lazy to hunt her down. He didn’t believe she could possibly threaten us. When he did, it was too late.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Chaos reigns in Raddhon, human. Chaos! The king’s half-sister betrayed us to dark forces. Kin I once knew are ... changed. Darker.’

‘Then what do you want with me?’

‘Who did you arrive to Raddhon with?’

‘Oh, uh, no one. You saw me, washed up on the beach, alone.’

Volar shook his head. ‘Do not take me for some dumb brute, human. I know the wreckage of a ship when I see one, even if it’s only a small piece remaining, and a ship never carries one passenger.’

Asher realised lying to Volar might prove costly, and besides, there was no sign of the others. What harm if he told him? ‘I travelled with viral mages on a ship. We were attacked by strange vessels.’

Volar stared into the flickering flames. ‘Ships like creatures from the deep. Yes, I’ve seen them. They landed here in Raddhon some time ago, and disgorged all manner of beasts. We fought them, and lost.’

‘So, that’s why you’re all the way out here, alone.’

Volar pulled the sword from his back, and placed it across his knees. ‘What is this?’

Once again, Asher weighed the threat from Volar against the potential consequences of telling him the truth. ‘It is not my place to tell you.’

To his surprise, Volar barked a laugh. ‘It doesn’t matter. I already suspect what it is, but why is it with you? Should not this artefact be with the infamous Threadfin Todder?’

Asher cursed quietly. The big bastard already seemed to know everything. He’d risked a beating or worse for nothing. ‘Like I said, we were attacked.’

‘And the mages didn’t survive, but you a mere human, did? I find this difficult to believe.’

‘I never said they didn’t survive.’

‘Good.’ The Nephilim grunted something in his own tongue, before resuming in High Atlantian. ‘This weapon and your viral mage may be our only hope.’

‘You mean you will help me?’

‘Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?’

Asher could only imagine what it would be like if Volar had decided not to help. ‘I thought I was a prisoner.’

The Anakim was silent for some time before he said, ‘My people are prisoners. I don’t just mean the Anakim, but all Nephilim. A new power has arisen in this land, and it is spreading fast. We must return this to your mage. We must do it soon, or the world will burn.’

Staring into the dung fire, the flames wavering in a slight breeze, Asher wondered if his dire warning would come to pass.