Orphans In the Black: A Space Opera Anthology Page 20

  In the end, I saw him die. No, die was not the right word. A god could not be killed. They could only be shattered, the pieces of their bodies forever seeking to reunite. I understood why the head of Xal had been severed.

  The younger gods had scattered the other pieces across the known universe, ensuring that it would be nearly impossible for Xal to resurrect. This filled me with rage, and loss, and pain. Xal's emotions, still echoing through his unconscious mind.

  I focused on the secrets of the universe, struggling to hold onto them. Briefly, I understood the illusion of time. I lingered with the knower of secrets, listening to his endless whispers.

  Something drew my attention, a speck of light that I'd only just noticed. It lay in my hand, so small that I'd missed it when compared to Xal's majesty. Dimly, I realized it was my spell blade. That spell blade was a living thing, waiting to be shaped.

  So I shaped it. I poured Xal's power into the blade, altering its shape to be more pleasing. I infused it with Void, the blade darkening even as it grew lighter. The intelligence within the blade grew more aware, capable of more complex thought. I forged a bond between us, connecting me to this new intelligence, as a child is connected to parent.

  Then, as suddenly as the experience had begun, it was over. I tumbled away from the majesty and power, secrets slipping from my mind like oxygen from a breached starship. I shivered, cold and barren in the wake of all that power. Only a tiny ember remained, smoldering coldly in my breast.

  I caught myself against a bony ridge, trembling and weak. I rose back to my feet, glancing back the way I'd come, at the purple sun, still as brilliant as ever. I no longer squinted. I no longer felt the cold. This place was home now, a part of me, just as I was a part of it.

  The blade still clutched in my right hand had changed. Instead of a cutlass, now I held an officer's saber, sleek and deadly. The weapon fit my hand as if molded to it, an extension of my body. In that blade I sensed the nascent intelligence I'd awoken within the catalyst. It wasn't capable of speech yet, but it had become aware.

  "I told you," Nara's voice said, far away. "He made it through, and he made it through first. Pay up."

  I turned toward her, blinking. She stood with a cluster of people, all wearing white. All had weapons, either spell pistols or spell daggers. They were the people I'd assumed to be debt slaves, but seeing them now I understood that had been a lie. A ruse to mask their true purpose.

  Looking around I saw no other slaves, no other survivors except me. Yet the debt slaves made no move to leave, so there was still hope others might make it through. Behind them stood another membrane, twin to the one Baldus had created in the other eye socket.

  The wedge-shaped spellship sat a few hundred paces away, large and silent. I tightened my grip on my spell blade, considering a desperate plan.

  BETRAYAL

  Rage flashed through me, but burnt out quickly, denied the oxygen it needed to burn. Anger made me vulnerable. Even easier to manipulate than I already had been. I composed myself, straightening. Nara and her compatriots were laughing and joking.

  "You used us as bait, didn't you?" I asked, as emotionlessly as I could manage. Scorn leaked into my tone anyway.

  "Of course we did. I can't believe you fell for it. 'I'm a debt slave'," Nara said, rolling her eyes. She gave me a warm friendly smile, then moved to join me. "Becoming god-marked is a dangerous business. The demons here are both powerful and territorial. If we'd tried to do this on our own, none of us would have survived."

  "So you're not here to make void mages, you're here for void magic." It made sense. Making mages to sell was no doubt lucrative, but not as lucrative as becoming a more powerful mage yourself.

  "Both, really. Usually a few slaves survive. I'm betting we'll see one or two more, any minute now." She smiled warmly, clapping me on the shoulder. "Don't be so dour. You're alive, and you're more powerful now than when we picked you up."

  "Where did you pick me up?" I asked, closing my eyes. I finally understood what must have happened.

  "There's a mining colony just a 'port away from here. Baldus used a ritual to put the entire place to sleep. We just picked you all up, dressed you, and put you in the hold. We found you in the officer's barracks, and you had a spell blade. I don't know anything more than that," she explained. Nara gave me a flirtatious half-smile. "You're in a unique position, Aran. You get to start over, and you get to do it as a void mage."

  "Aran?" I asked, coldly.

  "Sure, you need a name don't you?" she asked, laughing. Nara brushed a lock of dark hair from her face, staring up at me with those doe eyes. So deceptive. How many marks had fallen to that innocence?

  "Your name backwards?" I snorted. "Sure, why not? Aran it is."

  Behind her, I could see a group approaching from the ship. The four guards from the cargo hold escorted Baldus, walking slowly in their direction. Coming to claim his prizes, no doubt.

  "I know you blame me for this," Nara confided. She pursed her lips. "Are you sure that's fair? I'm not in charge, he is. He's the one who kidnapped your colony and tossed them into a catalyst, not me."

  She had a point. I knew she was merely deflecting blame, but I glared at Baldus anyway. Ultimately, he was the greater of two evils.

  I whirled instinctively as something moved behind me. A man plunged out of the purple sun, landing in a crouch. Familiar broad shoulders tensed as the bearded man rose to his feet. He held a spell-stave in one hand, and like my own sword that stave had been reshaped to fit the wielder. Now it was a massive spiked club.

  His chest heaved, and his lip curled upward as he glared around him. "Which of you bastards is responsible for this?"

  "He is," Nara said, pointing at Baldus.

  "Not yet," I cautioned, taking a step closer to the bearded man. "It's possible more of us survived. If you're going to make a move I'll support you, but we'll stand a better chance with more help."

  The bearded man's eyes were wild, but after a long moment of indecision he finally nodded. "I'll wait, for now. But if no one else shows up, I'm going to kill that mage."

  "Two survivors, more than I expected," Baldus said, striding arrogantly up. One of the guards was holding his helmet again, but the other three held their rifles at the ready. He turned to Nara. "You've done well. Ready my bed, and have a glass of wine waiting." Baldus waved dismissively at Nara, missing her murderous gaze.

  "Now," I whispered to the bearded man, realizing we had a sliver of opportunity.

  He roared, sprinting toward Baldus. The archmage blinked in surprise, waving at his guards. I took a step in their direction, but before I could react Nara's spell-dagger was in her hand. A cloud of green and soft pink settled over all four guards, and they slumped to the ground. Dead or asleep, it didn't matter. They were out of the fight.

  I circled wide, moving into Baldus's blind spot. The bearded man had nearly reached him, but at the last second he popped out of existence, reappearing a moment later directly behind the archmage. I recognized the magic he used, and knew it had just been gifted to him by Xal.

  The bearded man slammed his club into Baldus, crushing his shoulder and arm. Baldus staggered back with a cry, allowing me to maneuver behind him. I was vaguely aware of Nara and her companions, who were quickly and efficiently slitting the guards' throats.

  Baldus stabbed a finger at the bearded man, and a beam of blue-green lightning shot into the slave's chest. I didn't recognize the magic, and watched in horror as the slave began to shrink. His bushy beard spread, and within seconds the man was gone. In his place lay a tiny, quite harmless, hedgehog.

  I overcame my shock, gliding toward Baldus. Energy stirred within me, a mixture of the power I'd borne when I first arrived, and the new void magic I'd gained from Xal. I combined them, deep purple lighting crackling around my blade. I rammed that blade into Baldus's back, just above the fourth vertebrate.

  The stored energy rippled through his body, and he began to twitch and thrash. Smoke rose fro
m his body as the void lightning completed its work. The charred stench of human flesh billowed out from his armor. I blinked, struggling to grasp the power of what I'd just done.

  "That was impressive, Aran," Nara said. I looked up to find her aiming her spell-dagger in my direction. "There's no way our mutiny would have succeeded without you. You're going to make a wonderful apprentice, assuming you're smart enough to lay down that sword."

  Behind her, all four of her companions had armed themselves with spell-rifles. There was no way I was going to overcome them. I didn't trust Nara, but I didn't have a better choice. I dropped my sword.

  Nara waved her dagger at her closest supporter. "Go pick that up. We'll give it back to him when we're sure he's not going to do anything stupid. Let's go."

  They started back for the ship, two of them dragging Baldus's still smoking body. I wasn't surprised. His armor, the ruby in his eye socket, and his stave were all of nearly incalculable worth. Certainly more than I was.

  I sighed, bending to scoop up the hedgehog. It peered up at me suspiciously, growling.

  "Hey, don't blame me. I have no idea if the spell will dissipate over time, but if not maybe can find someone to dispel it." I started after Nara, wondering what came next.

  My situation wasn't of my own making, but at least no one was trying to kill me. For now.

  ~FIN~

  Chris Fox is the USA Today Best-Selling author of the space opera Void Wraith Trilogy and Ganog Wars series, as well as the urban fantasy series Deathless.

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  LOST SOULS AND OTHER ANOMALIES

  A SHORT STORY

  By Christopher Holliday

  ABOUT LOST SOULS AND OTHER ANOMALIES

  The death of Kaleigh's mother brings her home to the colony of Bergemon, where a haunting connection unfolds between monolithic artifacts, an indigenous species, and whispers of an afterlife unique to the former residents of her world.

  LOST SOULS AND OTHER ANOMALIES

  Her mother's funeral brought Kahleigh back to Bergemon. But it was the green hills, scattered with slate-gray spires gyring towards the sky, the white gravel path winding through her mother’s rose garden, and the subtle changes in her father that made her stay.

  As was her mother’s wish, Kahleigh scattered the ashes to the morning wind amid the dew-covered roses, where more than a dozen of the towering spires stood silent guard. With the scattering, she hoped to find an inner release—and self-forgiveness—for not being with her at the end.

  It was six weeks later, sitting quietly on the stone bench carved in the central monolith, that she first heard her mother’s voice again: "Kahleigh...."

  She sought out the only person she felt might have some insight, some explanation for the experience. "I fell asleep on the stone bench in the 'lith in her garden," Kahleigh explained. "It was her favorite place, the most like home."

  "Go on," Rupert said, nodding at her over hands steepled against his chin. He was the University’s resident field anthropologist, a gaunt young man with round wireframe glasses and a forehead crowned with thinning blond hair. He had studied briefly with Kahleigh during her graduate work in the colonial ruins of Greene's World. While there, he had demonstrated a brief infatuation with her by quoting odd bits of his own poetry, the only snippet she remembered being a fragment of a sonnet describing her "fiery copper hair and eyes of cobalt blue." She’d left the campus with a degree in pre-expansion archeology and a quickship pass for the far and away; he’d gone to chase myths on Bergemon.

  They were in his office, a sparsely-furnished cubicle with corner windows overlooking the tree-lined walkways of the University quad. She glanced outward; fall on Bergemon was a colorful affair, and the rust and amber leaves would cling long to the trees before falling to the lawn. Her mother had loved the season, so like Earth, even when so far away.

  "I woke up because I thought I heard her calling me." She dropped her gaze to her lap, brushing at the hem of her white cotton skirt. "This is the odd part—I could still hear her after I woke up."

  "Well," Rupert began, in a voice better reserved for an auditorium, "dream images can carry over into the waking state. It happens quite often. I woke up in my dorm once and saw a spider the size of my hand walking on the ceiling over my head." He held out his hand, palm open, for emphasis. Wiggling his fingers he said, "It dissolved away after taking three steps. Weirdest thing I ever saw."

  "This wasn't the same. I was wide awake, and it lasted for more than just a moment."

  Rupert shrugged. "Anyone else around?"

  "No, it's on the fringe of the farm, just by the property marker. The only thing around besides me and the 'liths was a joey, sitting on one of the nearby stones."

  "Not a safe place for the joey."

  Kahleigh nodded; the indigenous animal—with a size and tail like a small kangaroo but a hauntingly simian face—was being decimated by farmers tired of having the clever critter raid their supply houses to steal bright objects and tools.

  "Maybe it was the joey talking to you." Rupert chuckled.

  "I'm serious."

  "Sorry. But I have a tough time believing in ghosts. Why not just write it off as a hallucination?" Rupert was returning her gaze intently, his eyes narrowing a moment as he tried to dissuade her.

  "I didn't say ghost. Never did I say ghost." And if it were a hallucination that would suggest possibilities she refused to consider. "I'm just telling you because you've been here awhile, and because it was so unusual. I thought maybe you'd have heard something similar, or have some explanation."

  Rupert spread his hands, "I don't know what to tell you. Farmers are always hearing stuff out in the monoliths. Wind mostly. You know how it howls through the bench hollows on some of them." He glanced out the south window where small groups of students were leaving the school as dusk began to settle.

  "How many times have you traveled by quickship in the last few years?" He didn’t look at her as he asked, but kept his stare on the quad.

  Kahleigh’s heart skipped a moment as he made the connection she was trying to avoid; that her trip here had somehow triggered transit instability.

  "Not nearly enough, Rupert. And it wasn’t a hallucination," she tried to argue him and herself around the symptom. "You were probably right, it was just a waking dream." She shifted the subject, "How’s your tenure here going? It’s not the most exciting post, is it?"

  Rupert turned back from the window and caught her eyes with his, "Well, I don’t get too many walk-ins who hear voices, if that’s what you mean." He grinned weakly and tapped the edge of the keyboard on his desk, "You know how it is. Publish or perish. The Administration loves results, and if you want the quickship passes to the hotspots and don’t mind the risk, results are how you get there.” He clapped his hands against his thighs. "How about if I buy you dinner and an ale? I’ve got a few things to do here, but I could meet you later." He started to stand. "Bet you haven't been to McMillan's in a while."

  The thought of the pub brought a wan smile to Kahleigh's face, though she found his abrupt transition a bit odd. She hoped he wasn’t considering this anything more than an offer for two friends to share a meal and drink. "It's been more than a while. I'll take you up on it, but I want to check up on my father first. He’s still not himself."

  "Understandable. Quite a shock to everyone," Rupert said. Sincerity, Kahleigh remembered, was never one of his strong points. "Seven at the pub?"

  Night had fallen, ending a much shorter day than she was used to at her last post. Arista had been a cold and barren world, colonized by seven waves of slowships. She’d spent many long days sifting through the remnants of the decimated colony, looking for clues to its downfall, while the small blue sun made its fifteen-hour trek across the sky. Toward the end, after Kahleigh learned of her mother’s illness, she’d spent ev
enings listening to her narrative mail from Bergemon, or looking with misty eyes at the samplings of her mother’ paintings from garden. By slowship, Kahleigh would be unable to reach Bergemon before the end. And without the contingency of a sudden family death, the University would never grant permission for a quickship pass. The Administration’s position was that the risk of TI was too high, that repeat requests for visits during a lengthy illness would increase the risk, and only upon passing did they allow the expedited travel.

  She found her father by following the glow of the arc lights on the night sky, then by the sound of the grinder doing its work on loose stone and slabs of 'lith, grinding it all into a fine slurry. Later, tailored bacteria and common earthworms would be added to encourage it to support the slim range of crops this world would allow.

  "Kahleigh," her father said with a grunt, working a large slice of stone into the gaping mouth of the grinder. He was a stodgy man, well fit for teasing crops from the rocky soil of Bergemon’s upper plains. His forehead was the color of burnished chrome, smooth from repeated swipes of the red-checked kerchief he used in challenge to the orange sun. Cords stood out from the sweat-slick skin of his arms beneath the rolled-up cuff of a blue cotton shirt.

  The sound of the grinder working the stone prevented Kahleigh from speaking for a moment; she waited until the last of it was pulverized. The massive monoliths were too large and numerous to clear and lay aside. Stone by stone the highland farmers of the colony were grinding them into topsoil.

  "It's late, you should quit for the day," she said when the din had faded.

  He didn’t answer, but instead started rolling another slice from the tip of a fallen 'lith toward the grinder's mouth.