8 The Tower of Aurealis

THE IMPERATRIX STOOD alone by a narrow window, staring across the city towards a glistening ocean. She looked different with her silver-blue hair so short. It wasn’t just her hair, though. It was her manner, a heavy disquiet which had befallen her. The Adalcis Ocean was quiet today, a rare tranquillity, though there was a heaviness in the air. Dark smudges on the horizon portended a vicious late autumn storm.

Threadfin stood beside her, picking at a maggot lodged somewhere in the back of his neck. He had been neglecting his natron salt baths of late. I got a dark smudge lodged inside of me too, he thought with a pang of fear, and I can feel a tempest brewing, and he was not thinking of the storm in the distance. His fingernails snagged the larva but it slipped away, burrowing deep. Wasn’t it just always the way?

Though he was alone with his estranged sister, he could sense a dozen undead mages in the corridors and rooms throughout the tower. All of them, waiting for the first sign of trouble from the one who was supposed to be leading them. Beezer was taking no chances, no matter what wards Lyrin had woven. What were once simple eccentricities of Threadfin’s nature were now seen as threats, signs of his impending madness and transformation into the unholy Grim.

The Aurealis Tower was the highest of the nine White Towers, which, if one included the Tower of Wept, formed a pentagram; a fact few of Icarthya’s citizens were aware of. Aiyana had been a fount of such knowledge, her nose buried in books.

He glanced sidelong at his remaining sister. They both looked down on the lives of Icarthya’s denizens, the majority oblivious to the threats beyond their little worlds. The last of the Todralans, side by side without any harsh words, and yet the gulf between them couldn’t have been greater. At least she hasn’t mentioned my latest screw up. The day was young, though.

He was about to turn and leave her be, until the meeting began at least, when she spoke. ‘How did she do it, Fin?’

‘Eh?’ He wished she hadn’t spoken. Conversations weren’t his strongest point, and with her they were awkward at the best of times. Not like they’d been close or anything. For a long time, she’d seemed to hate him and Aiyana simply for who they were.

‘Ruling, being imperatrix; it’s not anything like I’d expected, and I thought I knew what to expect. Arrogance.’ She snorted. ‘I’m a fool.’

‘Runs in our family.’ She glanced at him, her gaze sharp. ‘Um, the arrogance is what I meant.’ Just wait for it. Any moment now, she’s going to rip into me over what happened. ‘No one knows everything.’

‘Isn’t the imperatrix meant to?’

‘I guess,’ said Threadfin, wondering if she wanted his opinion, or was just thinking aloud. ‘In the eyes of ordinary folk, but it’s an illusion. I suppose it must be different when you’re sitting on the damn thing. The throne, I mean. Uncomfortable?’

‘Aiyana found the strength to do it,’ Sarscha muttered, ‘and she found time to save the world. She gave her life for thousands of souls she never knew. Just like I never knew my own sister.’

Well, he thought, you don’t know your brother much better, but let’s not get side-tracked. Lots of dark water under that proverbial bridge. ‘She knew each one of them, believe me. They were a part of her and she of them. And she’s still with us. I feel her, every time I look at one of them.’ Well, except for Beezer. When I look at him, I feel a nasty chill.

‘Then, I envy you. I wish I had your sight.’ A ragged sigh escaped her lips. ‘I’ve been wishing for a lot of impossibilities of late.’

‘Well, it’s what wishes are for. They wouldn’t be much use otherwise.’ Threadfin felt an urge to hold her, although he thankfully got over it. ‘I imagine Aiy found it as hard as you do. I doubt anyone, not even father, found it easy. Guess that’s why he was always in a foul mood, eh?’

Sarscha turned and looked at him. ‘How have you been, brother?’

Caught off guard by her sudden interest, concern, or whatever was going on, he had no idea what to say. ‘I, uh ... I mean, I guess I’ve been doing okay. Considering.’

‘Yes, considering. Dire reports from south and east have been arriving, one after another. Our imperium is in great peril, Threadfin. Can I rely on you in the dark times ahead?’

‘Of course. Always.’

‘Can I trust you?’

‘You know you can.’ Ah, I suppose she doesn’t trust me, then, or she wouldn’t have asked. Not sure I can blame her. Considering.

Sarscha turned back to the window. ‘I must find a way to protect our people, and I can’t do it alone. We haven’t been close, you and I, but we are still family. We must put the people first, brother.’

‘We will, uh, sister. I promise.’ It was then a voice spoke in his mind, ‘Crush the foul ingrates beneath your heel. Nothing could be easier. We’ll kill them, together, Todder. You and I. United, we shall kill them all. Give in, Todder, and it can all be ours. Together we can defeat the Sorceress. We can rule the Darkness.

‘Just give in.’

‡

TWISTING AND KICKING in her bed, the sheets soiled with dried blood and entangled with her legs, Astra retched and screamed. She was aware of herself in the chamber high in the tower, of her body thrashing, sheathed in sweat. She was also aware of that other place.

Thunder rumbled outside the mountain fortress, the clouds gathered above its highest tower, as her mind soared into the night. Lightning reached for her, and she felt her body in the bed arch as it struck home, her skin blackening where the bolt exited from her right foot, burning a reddish tree-like welt along her skin.

Her spirit, however, was on a beach, staring at a strange woman. The woman was some sort of witch. Astra could sense her power. She could also feel her fear and pride, the evil lurking in her heart.

You belonged to the Grim, but he abandoned you. The thought came unbidden, and she wasn’t certain it was hers. Now, you will serve me. Angrboda. Go forth, and prepare the way for the Sword of the Faith. I am your master now. Obey, and let no one stand in your way.

Astra realised she was not alone with the witch. Stood about her were the dead. A strange sensation filled her as though she’d eaten too much. Nausea, pain, and the urge to vomit. Her mouth yawned impossibly wide. Darkness flowed out and entered the hapless witch.

There was nothing Astra could do, but weep.

She awoke in bed sometime later. She had no idea of how much time had passed. She didn’t know if the vision had occurred now, in the past or was yet to happen. It had felt so real. The pain of her body elicited a scream from her lips. She was wounded, her skin crisscrossed from the pattern left by the lightning. Tartaros had marked her, damaged her, abused her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

There was no escape.