Sneak Preview

of the final instalment

of the Plagueborn Series

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PROLOGUE

NANEL STOOD WITHIN the circle of light consisting of two dozen Horites holding dripping torches. In her hands was the brightest light of all, blazing with colour, possibility, and hope.

The Shathra Stone.

Nanel replaced it in its niche, which was cut from the granite. Its light shone like a star stolen from the night sky, the chanting of the Horites around her low and ominous.

The plinth of solid rock before her was carved in angelic runes. It was a language she’d studied for months, one kept secret by the Horites from other clans. Becoming a priestess hadn’t given her an instant wealth of knowledge; she’d had to acquire it through hard work. She’d also learned a secret about her new clan.

It turned out that all Horites were cast-offs from other clans, albeit sometimes chosen or rescued. If this truth were to become known, a clan war could result. Nephilim identity was a complex political quagmire after all.

A change would come upon new acolytes, one wrought by the Shathra Stone’s power. It rid them of all ties to their former clan. This included distinguishing facial or body features, in some cases height or wings. There were few from Rephaim who joined the Horites, but she knew of one at least; if Desool saw her now, he wouldn’t recognise her.

The ceremony over, Rizel caught Nanel’s arm as the others left the ancient cavern, which lay deep within the mountainous stronghold.

‘How do you feel, sister?’ she asked with a smile. Rize always smiled. Once an Avim, or so Nanel had been informed, she had been a warrior’s daughter, and had possessed a vicious temper. Avim weren’t the friendliest of Nephilim and rarely mixed with the other clans. They had even started several clan wars.

Will my personality change too?’ Nanel wondered. Has it already? She couldn’t decide whether she was excited or terrified at the prospect.

‘I guess I feel amazing,’ she answered after a long moment, returning her friend’s smile. ‘It’s like it knows me. When I touch it, I feel like I could trace my entire life from start to finish and if I concentrate, I could go further back or forward, jump around, and there on the horizon, I can see the lives of billions, and if I just reach out ...’

‘You would have died,’ said a male voice. Nanel couldn’t help giving a start. She’d believed herself and Rizel alone as the others filed out of the cavern to return to their mundane duties.

‘This is Belial,’ muttered her friend with a frown. ‘Um, he’s ... new.’

‘Like me then,’ said Nanel, eyeing the tall newcomer.

He possessed certain features of height and the last vestiges of wings. A Rephaim. He’d already begun his change, but it took several months to complete, which meant he had only joined a matter of weeks ago. She had not known there would be another of her clan, and felt unnerved for some reason.

‘No,’ muttered Rizel in a strange tone. ‘Much newer.’ She then turned and left, leaving Nanel feeling perplexed.

‘She doesn’t like me, that one,’ Belial noted while staring after her. ‘I’m not certain I like her either.’

‘Where are you from?’ Nanel asked, feeling the first tinge of worry since arriving in the mountains. The Horites were her clan now, and they were like family in a way her old clan had never been. ‘I’ve never heard of someone with that name.’

He smiled, and she felt immediately disarmed. He had a confident presence, a way of looking at her, which put her at ease. A niggling doubt was shouting something in the back of her mind. However, she couldn’t find the will to pay it attention. His eyes were inviting, and he held himself with such confidence and strength. If Rizel didn’t like him, then she was a fool.

‘She is right about one thing,’ he said, ignoring her question. ‘I am the newest. I arrived only days ago.’

Nanel’s worry grew; the apparent changes to his appearance should not have been possible after just a few days. Who was this person?

‘You are the High Priestess, I understand. I guess that makes you, my superior. Everyone’s superior I imagine though you don’t act like it. Interesting.’

What a strange thing to say. ‘We are all family here, Belial. The old ways don’t bother us anymore. You’ll get used to it.’ Then she giggled, and wondered what was wrong. Pull yourself together, you fool, but she found she couldn’t and giggled again. She felt drawn to him in a way she’d never experienced. ‘We are all equals within the priesthood.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve heard but you are Nanel, the sole daughter of Gog.’

Her giggling ceased as she felt an icy chill. The mountain fortress was cold, but it wasn’t that type of chill. Something was wrong here.

‘No one knows who I...’ she managed to whisper, wondering how an acolyte could know something just the king and the Keeper were privy to. After all, her appearance had changed since her arrival months earlier. Even Rizel, her closest friend, didn’t know about Nanel’s past.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say no one knows.’ A dark swirl eradicated pupils and irises and then the whites of his eyes.

She stared into those dark pools, and saw oblivion as though she were peering through a set of windows into nothingness. Every instinct told her to flee, but she couldn’t.

‘You are the High Priestess, meaning just your hands can safely touch the Shathra Stone. I had considered this an inconvenience, but I must admit I think I will enjoy every moment.’

Nanel felt a strange sensation as Belial stooped to kiss her on the lips, parting them with his tongue, which proved dry and rough.

A cold filled her from her toes to the top of her head. Belial then collapsed at her feet, his body blackening until it became unrecognisable. The corpse shrivelled up and erupted into black flame; it was burnt in an instant, leaving ash.

It was unfortunate that Rizel chose that moment to return, likely worried about her friend. She rushed up to Nanel, eyes widening as she spotted the scorched stone and ash. ‘What happened here? Are you alright? Nan? What’s wrong?’

Nanel turned to her friend with a smile, and then stabbed two of her fingers into Rizel’s neck, right up to the knuckles.

The woman choked, mouth opening and closing, eyes flicking from confusion to disbelief to terror, before simply staring. The high priestess let the body fall as it began to smoke and burn, and then turned back towards the plinth of rock.

Perhaps the artefact within its niche had sensed the presence of Tartaros. It might also have been the act of violence committed before it. Nanel didn’t know, but she felt a pang of irritation as the face of the granite liquefied, devouring the artefact until nothing of it could be seen. Then, it sank into the ground, vanishing from sight.

Nanel wore a dark grin. ‘I guess,’ she whispered to herself, ‘we’re just going to have to do this the hard way.’ It seemed she liked a good fight, but then she could not remember ever feeling any other way.

‡

THE KING OF THE NEPHILIM sat in the acropolis on his throne, and watched his Keeper approach. Volo of Baal-Hazor looked older, decrepit. The king felt both sadness and respect for his uncle. Few Nephilim lived to such great ages; the idea of a long, comfortable life was disgusting to most, and death in battle was always preferred.

‘It suits you,’ Volo said as he neared the throne, gesturing with his staff at the ancient seat of Nephilim kings.

‘I am glad you could join us,’ said a female voice to the king’s right. Desool turned and smiled at Zane, who sat on a much smaller throne beside him. Though officially not queen, for she wasn’t Nephilim, Desool didn’t care. A lot would change, and the masses he ruled would have to learn to accept her. He believed they would, given time.

The Keeper of the Stone glanced her way. It was clear what he thought, though he would never say it to the king. ‘You summoned me. Is there some way I can be of assistance?’

Desool felt his smile falter. He didn’t want to do this, and he didn’t like to, but he believed it necessary. There was also no point in drawing it out. ‘Volo, you have served as Keeper faithfully, but you were my father’s Keeper. The kingdom of Raddhon has a new king, and so it must have—’

‘A new Keeper,’ Volo finished for him, shaking his head. ‘If you didn’t think I saw this coming, then you must believe I am a fool. I’ve known your mind on this for some time, no matter that you’ve never spoken of it. You don’t become Keeper of the Stone and not gain some foresight.’

‘You understand why, then?’

Volo laughed. ‘I failed your father. As Keeper, I had the duty of watching over the Stone’s Guardian. I failed, and now I must pay the price and die alone in my cot without even a title to assuage my wounded pride. It is what it is.’

Desool felt Zane stiffen beside him. ‘Volo, it is not like that at all. We are both quite fond of you. You know this, don’t you?’

Volo gave her a long, hard stare. ‘You should both beware and especially the new Keeper. One I love, one I watched over for decades, has betrayed us. Darkness has descended upon Raddhon.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Desool demanded, trying not to get angry. This was never going to be pleasant, but it had taken an unexpected and grim turn. ‘Volo, in your last moments as the Keeper, please speak plainly.’

Volo raised his staff and pointed its knobbly end at them. ‘You gift me these last moments as your Keeper. In gratitude then, I’m telling you both now to flee Bashan before it's too late. The new Keeper must take the Stone, and hide it, even from the Horites.’ With a flourish of his robes, he produced a shining, colourful sphere. It was the Shathra Stone, though much reduced in size; it looked as though it didn’t want to be seen.

He held it out to Desool, who was its true guardian of course. The king took it, holding it reverently, as it appeared to shrink further in his hands.

Desool felt an unfamiliar twitch of fear at the nape of his neck. ‘The Keeper is charged with the safety of both the Stone and its Guardian. Zane, he says we are in danger, and he holds the Stone when it is supposed to be with the Horites right this minute. We must listen to him.’ To Volo, he asked, ‘What must we do?’

The former Keeper grimaced, and then looked directly at Zane. ‘Head for the coast, and there you will find the undead one, the one who can save us. Guide him as best you can. He does not know this land.’

Turning to the king, the Keeper added, ‘And you must get out of Bashan before nightfall, before she arrives.’

Desool was on his feet, staring at his uncle, admittedly somewhat afraid and much confused. ‘Who are you talking about?’ The first person who came to mind, was Astra Dar, but surely not.

Volo gave a mirthless laugh. ‘She is the last one I would ever have expected actually.’ He paused, his expression grave, and then said, ‘Nanel comes, my boy. Your sister brings darkness and destruction with her. The kingdom of Raddhon has fallen.’

Desool stared back at the old Keeper, half wondering if the man had lost his wits. Zane seemed to have gathered hers, but she was like that. She grabbed his arm and tried to shove him, to get him moving, but she might have been trying to push a boulder for all it did. ‘You heard him, you oversized dolt. She’s coming, and she’s not visiting for a chat. We can worry over the how and why later. Get going.’

‘I don’t understand.’ When he thought of Nanel, he pictured her as he’d last seen her, fists on hips while giving him a lecture. His uncle’s words didn’t make sense, and yet, he knew they were true. The Keeper never lied, and the Shathra Stone’s presence was all the confirmation he should have needed. Yet ... Nanel?

Volo shrugged. ‘Tartaros is the enemy of us all, and it has its ways. You know that. We have been infiltrated, my boy. The Shathra Stone knew and it escaped, coming to me. It was when I touched it, I knew everything I needed to. Now, go!’

‘You must come with us,’ said Desool, still not moving, with a wife glaring up at him looking fit to kick him, but he didn’t care. His sister, no, it just didn’t seem plausible.

Volo looked resigned. ‘My time is done, nephew, and if you don’t leave so will yours be.’ The former Keeper turned away and began the long hobbling walk back the way he’d come, out into a dark world.

Desool stared after him for a long moment, an impatient human female at his side, and somehow, he knew he’d never see the man again.

‡

STOOD ON A PRECIPICE high above the world, Astra Dar stared out from her prison of flesh. The mountain fortress was massive, spanning several square miles. The legacy of an ancient time, one she remembered; a time when Atlantian inventions spanned continents, their ships in every port, when spectralic magic filled the world, and her life had been one of power and prestige. Spectral mages in every kingdom, and angels walking among humans.

Until one contrary mage decided none of it was enough, until the man she’d loved spurned the world and attempted to rise above the angels themselves.

I will never forgive you, Ras, she thought, bitterness burning in her throat like bile. You tore our world apart, and now look where I am. Hell’s Teeth, I’m not even me. No, I will never forgive you.

Lucifer was preoccupied of late, and he paid her little mind most of the time. After all, he had what he wanted. Her flesh was nothing other than a doorway, allowing an entity of Darkness, him, to pass through. Her lucid moments, like this one now, were precious, but the voices within had gotten louder. I don’t think I have much longer left.

A fragmented soul meant numerous disparate personalities all vying for control, but one stood out. A piece of her soul plotted and planned, fought with every fibre of what remained of her to hang on.

‘You give me hope,’ she whispered to it, to her, and it was almost an accusation.

Then, above the din of voices in her mind, she heard a reply. ‘Fight, Astra. Fight for all of us. Fight!’

Astra wished she had her strength, for though they all made up the whole that was her, she was not any one of them. They had all lived their separate lives, all reborn as fragments of the original.

Still, this Lorn Larthuz emboldened her. Likely, Astra would meet her end soon, but why not go down fighting if she could?

She whirled as she felt a presence behind her, but there was no one there. Then she felt him rising within her, like a black tide drowning her. ‘Good morning, my dear,’ said Lucifer, his voice issuing from her lips.

‘Is it?’ she demanded, not caring if he got angry. He still needed her after all, for Lucifer had no form without her.

‘Oh, but it is. Today is the day we win this war. My ships are sailing the waters of this world, invading every land, spreading darkness, sickness, and death. The Shathra Stone is almost within our grasp, and the undead ones will soon be destroyed. It is a day to celebrate, my queen.’

‘I am no queen.’

An excruciating pain doubled her up, and she collapsed to the ground, writhing. Then, as quickly, she got to her feet, smoothed her gown, and looked about with a pleased smile.

‘Ah,’ said Lucifer with her mouth, ‘this is so much better. I am sorry, my dear, but I’ve grown tired of your bitterness and self-pity.’ A dark aura enveloped her body, and Lucifer raised her right hand to stare at her fingers. A thick weave of dark light encapsulated her hand, then her forearm, until it spread all over her body before dissipating.

The transformation was complete. Astra was nothing other than one of several dozen soul fragments. Lucifer had finally taken control of her, though he had yet to enter this world fully. That would come later. Runes formed on Astra’s face, bright and otherworldly, as tears leaked from her burning eyes.

Her spectralic power was in his grasp, and the Prince of Darkness wove both spectralic and viralic magics as one. Discs of light spun about him, a burning power formed of both light and darkness, a contradiction threatening to tear her body and the world apart.

Within her prison, Astra Dar screamed along with all the other fragments. All but one.

Lorn Larthuz stared out into the world beyond, as Astra had done, biding her time, knowing he would come for her soon.

As she had always known he would.

My undeader.