He smelled a glass filled with wine, surprised to find it was actually wine. It smelled like stale stewed fruit.
Judging by the smell, this was poured within the last day or so.
Maddox grabbed the glass and walked upstairs.
He knew he had a drinking problem, but… he was immortal and the wine was on its last legs. He chugged it and set the glass on the staircase as he made his way to the bedrooms. He came to a narrow hall, three doors on either side. He waved his hand, and they flew open simultaneously.
He walked slowly, peering into each small room with its single bed and wash basin. Yes, each bed held a dead woman or child, except the last room, which looked like it had been jointly decorated by a madman and a tornado. The room was tossed and the bed shattered in a heap in the center. It looked like someone had tried and failed to burn it. The walls were plastered with pages ripped out of a book over which bloody gibberish and arcane symbols had been painted.
He examined the door frame. It was small and narrow, like the hallway. The creature he had fought was as wide as three men and would be hard pressed to fit through it. The symbols on the wall were squiggly nonsense, as if evil snakes had rolled in ink and drawn horrifying shapes with their bodies.
Maddox looked about the room for some kind of clue, something out of place. The room was such a disaster it would take hours to dredge through.
Odd that
there aren’t statues of any gods in this house.
“I need more wine or… something,” Maddox grumbled to himself as he made his way downstairs. He checked the rest of the cups at the grisly feast and they were full, but he felt he’d have better luck checking the kitchen cabinets. He found a stoppered bottle of brandy in the back corner of one cabinet behind the spices. Judging by the dust on the shoulder of the bottle, it didn’t get opened very often and he heard a satisfying slosh when he shook it.
He pulled down a glass and set it on the counter.
Maddox froze as he looked down. He’d set the glass on a handbill.
SHOCKING: MURDER IN THE MAGISTERIUM!
On the sheet was an intricate woodcut illustration of an inverted headless body with a pair of angelic wings on its back. The wings were upside down on the suspended body, which made them right side up in the picture.
Maddox poured a shot of brandy and studied the illustration. The artist had done a faithful enough rendition for Maddox to recognize the body was displayed with careful intent. The copy was dated a couple of weeks ago and insisted on a cover up of brutal ritual murders throughout the city of Dessim. The anonymous author went on to speculate wildly on the perpetrator.
“Shit.”
Maddox paused, flicking back through centuries of stored memory. The Sword contained a ton of knowledge, but its ability to use or access it was limited by the intelligence of its wielder. Maddox was good at retrieving information, but the experience of memories was dizzying.
“The Inverted Seraph. The Feast of Exquisite Slaughter…” Maddox said with a slow and dawning realization. “Someone is recreating the signs of the Dark Ecliptic. Oh, game on, motherfucker, game on.” He pounded his brandy and went back upstairs.
E
IGHT
The Song of the Sea
J
ESSA
The First People came from the shores of Mazitar. In that time Kondole and Kultea were lovers, and they had the first child whom they named Noah. His eyes were silver like the moon.
And for a time things were good.
The first people communed with the Dream Spirits and learned the art of magic. They built a thriving village and had many more children. Kondole and Kultea created clouds and fish. They spread rains to the five winds to give nourishment to the plants and trees. The first people’s children spread to all corners of Creation, bringing life and creating birds and horses and every manner of animal.
And for a time things were good.
But Kultea grew jealous and did not want to share the world with the descendants of the First People. She and Kondole fought, and a mighty storm formed over the caldera of Thelassus that rages to this day. It was Noah who put an end to his parents fighting.
And for a time things were good.
He chose Kondole, and the Wavelords inherited his gift for rain, thunder, and lightning. They lived in harmony on the sacred shores on Mazitar. Kultea, defeated, slithered to the bottom of the sea away from all mankind to seethe and plot her vengeance.
But for a time things were good.
—LEGEND OF THE KONDOLE,
ORAL HISTORY
EMPRESS JESSA LET
the warm pink sand squeeze between her bare toes while the water washed over her feet. On the horizon, the sun was just beginning to sink beneath a beautiful wall of distant clouds, painted orange and purple in the fading light. Seagulls cried above as people played and splashed in the ocean. The salty smell of the sea carried on the warm air current.
“Beautiful, is it not?” Sireen asked as she strolled beside Jessa. “I can’t imagine growing up so far from the ocean.” Sireen had long silver hair and a body that retained an enticing, voluptuous figure even as she entered midlife. She wore a jeweled sarong that was vivid yellow and blue, like the fish that swam amid the coral.
“Land is so empty,” concurred Pisclatet, Sireen’s footman and fashion designer. He had the head of a fish, with bulging unblinking yellow eyes, greenish silver scales, and a maw laden with needle-like teeth. How he managed to speak so eloquently Jessa could only guess. He wore a lime green petticoat embroidered with daisies and festooned with bows of the finest silk.
Jessa smiled and let her hair carry in the breeze. She gazed at a young couple kissing passionately on a blanket by the sea. “People here are so carefree. The way Satryn always used to talk about this place, it was as if the strong oppressed the weak at every turn.”
“Well, there are no poor people on this beach, so it is much better,” Pisclatet added helpfully. “The workhouses are a mile inland, and the slaves are not permitted to come here with their filth and poverty.”
Sireen grimaced uncomfortably.
Jessa sighed. “It seems I have yet another decree to make. The beauty of nature should belong to all. Shocking that I was not informed of this.”
Sireen placed her arm around Jessa’s shoulder. “You have just had a child. I didn’t want to bother you with local politics.”
“My opinions on slavery and exclusion should be well known to you, Aunt,” Jessa challenged.
“You cannot!” Pisclatet protested. “This beach is a holy site, where Kondole and Kultea were given birth. It is sacred to both religions, and only the anointed can set foot here.”
“It might be a touchy issue with your supporters,” Sireen admitted. “But there are other beaches just as lovely in Mazitar. In fact, you would be hard pressed to find a stretch of sand any
less
lovely than the one we walk across now.”
“Fishbone Bay,” Pisclatet said. “It is rocky and always reeks of rotting octopus.”
“Thank you for reminding us, Pisclatet,” Sireen clipped. “It is but one place out of dozens.”
Jessa said, “You said you wanted to support me in changing the empire back to something our Wavelord ancestors could be proud of. That begins with opening this beach and destroying the workhouses.”
Sireen smiled. “The empire does need change, but too much, too quickly… It may seem like a petty issue to you, and you’re right, but it is the petty issues that will breed resentment for your larger vision. If you want to introduce a democracy, then perhaps it is best to let the people decide for themselves which customs are fair and which are not?”
Jessa frowned. Her aunt was probably right. As Empress, Jessa had total authority, but every use of it made her more like her grandmother than the ruler she wanted to be. The people of Thrycea had lived so long under the yoke of tyranny that they viewed freedom with deep-seated suspicion.
They walked in silence as they approached Sireen’s pavilion, a magnificent tent of pink silks fluttering in the breeze. Blue whale banners hung proudly about the encampment, and a small contingent of female Patrean archers in red armor patrolled the area.
Jessa saw her son, small and frail, in the arms of his father. Cameron had shaved his beard down to salt and pepper stubble, which took some getting used to. He was very good with Torin, and it was almost easy to forget that Cameron had broken Jessa’s heart.
Her son stared with wide silver eyes as Cameron cooed at him playfully.
Jessa couldn’t help but smile. She had come inches from aborting her son to spare him the fate of being born into her family. But he seemed happy, for a baby.
Cameron looked up and grinned at Jessa. “There you are. By the way he fidgets, I think he’s hungry.”
Jessa took her son and asked him sweetly, “Is that true? Are you hungry?”
Her son looked at her and waved his arms at her face. Jessa cradled him and let him suckle at her breast, which he did in earnest. It was all she’d ever wanted—to have a family. It might have been better with a faithful husband and supportive mother, but she couldn’t say her child was unhappy. That was good enough.
“There have been reports,” Cameron began. “Nasara’s armada is growing daily. There’s also rumors of an Agnathan dreadnaught sighted near the Bleak Atoll.”
“Eelfolk are disgusting savages,” Pisclatet said, his gills puffing in disgust.
“A dreadnaught could do considerable damage to a fleet,” Sireen said gravely. “They aren’t amphibious, but they can sink a vessel and navigate in total darkness beneath the waters.”
“So the Abyss has lent its support to Nasara?” Jessa asked.
Sireen replied, “We expected this. The coelacanth are devotees of Kultea. They would see the Kraken Mother drown Creation and let their maws consume humanity for food. A dreadnaught would be the least of our concerns. We simply need to send an ambassador to replace your uncle Maelcolm.”
Jessa protested, “I will not consign one of my own people to the lightless depths of the Abyss to appease those monstrosities. You yourself said had my uncle Maelcolm lived, Satryn might not have turned into the creature she became.”
“Then send someone you don’t like,” Pisclatet said. “Lord Boromond is a fat useless man with unforgivable taste in shoes. And Quinax is hideous even by the misshapen standards of human beauty. His flat, boring face would look best seven miles from the sun.”
“Quinax is incredibly stupid,” Sireen said flatly, “and would go to any length to earn my favor. Perhaps I could invite him to my chambers—”
“I will not whore out my aunt to some lesser noble!” Jessa protested. “I have every confidence Heath will secure the votes needed in the Grand Assembly. With the power of Kondole and the Protectorate navy, we will be unstoppable. We just need to give him more time.”
Sireen stroked Jessa’s hair. “The Prophet of Kondole cannot fail… But have you given any thought to our
other
option.”
“No,” Jessa said, cradling her son. “And I will speak of it no more.”
Sireen bowed her head in deference. “As you wish, your Majesty.”
Jessa handed her son to Sireen. “What if I went to the Abyss?”
Sireen nearly dropped Torin in the sand. “That’s madness!”
“I’m the Tempest, and every other person to sit on the Coral Throne has made the voyage.” Jessa clarified, “If I could secure their blessing, at least in the eyes of my opponents, Nasara would have to submit.”
Pisclatet offered gingerly, “The coelacanth are dangerous in other ways, your Majesty. They are not all as… congenial as Pisclatet.”
“You are a priestess of Kondole. They would never accept you.”
Cameron stiffened in his chair. “You can’t be serious. You have a son to think about.”
She glared at Cameron. It was hard not to snap at him, but what he said wasn’t unreasonable. “I am thinking of my son. But I was entrusted also with the livelihood of millions. I will not see Thrycea torn apart by civil war as Amhaven was.”
“They could kill you, Jessa. They have Thunderstone,” Sireen cautioned, wrapping Torin protectively in her arms.
“And so does Nasara,” Jessa said. “Satryn may have raised me poorly, but she did teach me how to fight. And I will have Pisclatet with me.”
The fish-man shrieked. “What?”
“Do you not desire to return to your home?” Jessa asked.
“Beneath the glittering surface of the waves,” Pisclatet began poetically, “is a lightless hell of constant murder. The bodies of the dead do not even have time to decompose; as they sink, they are eaten and eaten until their remains look like flakes of snow fluttering through the darkness. Every fish and every creature of the sea lives in perpetual terror. I am standing here before you in my resplendent glory only because I was quicker to escape the birthing feast than my siblings. Hell is not some other place; it is right beneath the waves.”
No one said anything for a while. Jessa wished Sword were present to lighten the tension. The waves lapped at the beach and seagulls circled overhead.
“So was that a yes?” Jessa asked.
He pressed his scaly webbed hands over hers and nodded gravely. “If this is what you want, Pisclatet will accompany you.”