Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) (36 page)

CHAPTER 66

N
othing is as it appears to be.

Syl could still hear the words spoken by Onwyn, could almost feel the old librarian’s skin against hers, her thin, bony hand clasped in Syl’s palm, fragile yet substantial with life. If nothing was as it appeared, did Onwyn also include Kosia’s death in her summation, poor Kosia, who—like Syl, like Elda—had been researching Archaeon? The more Syl thought about it, the more she became convinced that the discovery of Kosia’s body in the Second Realm had been no accident. If it had, and she had been discovered, then killing her and making it look like an unfortunate cave-in would serve to keep others away, and reinforce the Second’s reputation for dangerous instability. Syl didn’t like it, not one bit, but clearly the Second Realm was where she needed to be.

And although she now knew that Archaeon was a planet, she still did not understand why the Sisterhood seemed so anxious to delete details of its existence. So it was a habitable world, with some form of life. What of it? It was not as if it was the only such world. Why was it important enough to kill for—for it surely seemed that Elda had died because of Archaeon, or why else would she have scratched its name on a locket and entrusted it to Syl to spirit off Avila Minor and take to her mother? Did Elda’s mother know of her daughter’s double life? she wondered. Would she be shocked, disappointed, or proud? For now, though, it was left to Syl to take this clue left by Elda and make some sense of it.

The imminent wedding of her father and Syrene gave Syl an opportunity to explore that she would never get again, for it plunged the Marque into a state of excitement and distraction. All but the most
essential of personnel were leaving for Erebos since the Sisterhood was in charge of the arrangements for the day, from catering to security. The Novices and Half-Sisters were to act as hosts and servers at the wedding, and they had set off before dawn, clad in crisp, new robes, to prepare for the guests. However, as the future stepdaughter of the Archmage, Syl was exempt from these duties. Instead she was expected to put on appropriate finery along with her happiest smile, and then stand behind her father as he wed the creature that had destroyed him.

Syl was left entirely alone to prepare. Her yellow dress from the Genesis Ball had been laundered and now hung in her closet, the stones on the belt polished to a sheen, but she could hardly bear to look at it.

Instead, shortly after breakfast, Syl slipped into her stolen white robes and made her way into the underbelly of the Marque. There was little need for further subterfuge. Only a skeleton staff of maintenance crew seemed to be around, and they were too preoccupied with keeping all systems functioning to pay a passing Service Sister much heed.

So it was that she reached the entrance to the Second Realm entirely without incident. She made her way down the old staircase until she reached the section where the tunnel was sealed off by heaps of rocks, but zooming closer on Lista’s cartograph revealed a way around it: a narrow access tunnel in the back of one of the deserted libraries behind her, for the rocks and cautionary tape were a deterrent and nothing more. This old Realm was too honeycombed to ever be entirely secure.

Within the dank tunnel there was some light, even without activating a glowstick, for the disused space was home to microorganisms that grew in the walls and gleamed in the darkness. It wasn’t much illumination, but it was enough to see by. However, Syl soon encountered another problem: the tunnel was so narrow that she had to turn sideways to work her way along it, and at one point it constricted so much that she found herself unable to go forward or backward, and was convinced that she would remain stuck forever.

This, she thought, is why they didn’t block it off, because it’s useless. The rocks pressed against her back, pinning her in place, but then
she remembered the creeping garniads, and after some rather panicked flailing, she managed to wriggle free, ripping her robe and leaving a nasty scrape along her hipbone. Shaken, she moved onward.

Eventually the old access tunnel rejoined the main one, and she made good progress until she rounded a corner and saw that the way was again blocked by a rockfall. Boulders, stones, and pebbles were piled from floor to ceiling without any way around them, and the cartograph appeared to be getting no readings at all. Even the path she was on didn’t show, and only the blue light blinked forlornly on the device. She studied the rocks, thinking of Kosia, of her broken remains being pulled from a pile such as this. Onwyn’s words echoed back at her.

Nothing is as it appears . . .

Syl tested the rocks, but they seemed solid enough. She tried the walls alongside, but they were firm too. She supposed that she could work her way back and try to find another subtunnel, but the prospect of squeezing herself through that tight space again terrified her. She forced herself to think logically.

Assumption 1: Kosia had died here while trying to discover the Realm’s secrets. If Kosia had been right, and the Second was being used to hide something, then some among the Sisterhood would probably want access to it.

Assumption 2: If access was required, then the tunnel could not really be sealed off, unless the collapse was recent, although it couldn’t be as the wispy webs of garniads floated in the spaces between the rocks, and the dust was thick enough for her to write her name in.

Conclusion: There had to be a way past.

She began working her way along the wall of stones again, touching each one, testing it carefully, wary of being bitten, until she came to a small, indented area to the left, close to the tunnel wall, where the garniad webs were at their thickest. She stood before it and peered in, using her glowstick to illuminate the webs. She could see no movement. Still, she didn’t want to be bitten. One sting would hurt, but Amera had said multiple stings could flood the Illyri system with enough venom to stop a heart from beating, and this looked like a
very big nest. Still, if there was a means to gain access beyond the rock collapse, it might well be behind the web.

Had Kosia come to the same conclusion? What if she too had put her hand into the web, found a lever, and triggered a further collapse in a trap set by the Sisterhood, a trap just for the bold? But Syl had come this far, and she wanted to know the truth. Frankly, she had nothing to lose. Everything that mattered to her seemed lost anyway. She closed her eyes, inserted her hand into the web, and waited for the first bite. None came. Instead she felt a rounded button against her fingers. She pressed down hard, holding her finger in place, and after several seconds a section of the wall to her left slid open, revealing a small tunnel that curved around the rocks. She withdrew her hand and the doorway stayed open for long enough to permit her to slip through, after which it closed behind her once more. Syl checked the rock wall on the other side. Yes, there was a gap in the stones, but this time without any webs to hide the presence of the button. The experience of getting out would, she hoped, be less nerve-racking than getting in.

The tunnel beyond was far cleaner than the one behind, and lights were set in its roof because the walls had been cleared of microorganisms. Syl saw moisture on the stones, and smelled disinfectant, just as she heard a low whirring from ahead of her. She thought about retreating into the little tunnel doorway, but there was no time. From around the corner appeared a small circular drone, hovering midway between floor and roof. A series of nozzles on its frame sprayed liquid evenly along the tunnel and, in this case, over Syl. She closed her eyes and mouth, and covered her face with her hands, as the disinfectant covered her from head to toe. It wasn’t toxic, and it did not burn; it seemed just strong enough to kill bacteria. The drone stopped at the rocks, beeped once, then returned the way it had come, still spraying disinfectant as it went. Syl followed it until she came to a clear glass window set into the tunnel wall, and there she stopped.

She had found the First Five.

CHAPTER 67

T
hrough the glass, four of the ancient Sisters were seated as though at points of a compass, facing north, south, east, and west. The fifth, and by far the eldest, sat in the center, slumped on a chair set higher than the others, her head resting against its heavy padding.

“Mage Ezil,” murmured Syl, for it had to be.

So she was not dead, although perhaps she might wish to be. Wires connected the bodies of the Sisters to an array of monitors. Feeding pipes were fixed to their mouths, and catheters and rectal tubes took care of waste products. The face of the Sister facing Syl was deathly pale, and her eyes were like marbles floating just below the surface of curdled milk, clouded by cataracts—they stared sightlessly ahead, not registering Syl’s presence. The Sister’s body was concealed beneath a white medical gown, and tattooed hands rested on her thighs. Silver nursing droids set on rubberized tracks waited patiently nearby, their multiple arms ending in pincers, needles, and blades, ready to intervene at any sign of a medical emergency. No other Sisters were to be seen.

But it was none of this that made Syl’s stomach turn, and it was not the sight of these shaven-headed old females seated like statues that made her raise her hands to her mouth and choke back the urge to be violently ill.

No, it was this:

The skull of each Sister was smothered in a mass of red tendrils that came together to form a series of fleshy cables. The thinner cables connected each of the Sisters in the outer circle to one another, snaking between their heads, pulsating and wet as if alive. Four thicker, tangled
cords extended inward like the spokes of a wheel, coming together at the top of Ezil’s head, their red coils concealing her forehead entirely. The tendrils curled and twisted, sometimes sliding free and probing at the air around them before diving back down greedily toward their host, so that the old Mage’s skull was like the hair of Medusa, the serpent-haired Gorgons of mythology.

And stretching upward out of that central entanglement was a single link of a deeper red, an umbilical cord running from Ezil’s skull and ending in the belly of a creature of which Syl had seen the likes only once before: wrapped around the brain stem of Grand Consul Gradus. However, the organism had appeared little bigger than a prawn, or the larva of some insect. This one, though, was much larger, about the size of a morbidly obese child, and it was held up by a web of tendrils that formed a hammock underneath the high roof of the cave.

The creature’s body was transparent, misted slightly like a steamy window, and through its outer membrane Syl could make out a central dark heart pumping blood through the vessels, supported by a series of earthwormlike lateral hearts. She could see the swelling and contraction of what might have been lungs, and the pinkish-yellow mass of its brain above two dark eyes. The rest of its head consisted entirely of sucking tentacles, most of which extended through the web and connected it still further to the Sisters below. It had no legs but instead had smaller gripping tentacles on its lower body, and these were covered with short hairs and sharp barbs.

Syl looked to her right, to where a sealed door led into the room beyond. She wanted to get closer now that she was starting to overcome her initial shock and revulsion. She wanted to
see
.

The door opened automatically as she approached, revealing a subchamber in which hung medical scrubs and face masks. A voice spoke automatically from a hidden speaker, reminding all personnel to adhere to safety procedures before entering. A diagram on the wall made clear what those procedures might be: put on scrubs and mask; enter decontamination shower; proceed. Syl slipped into scrubs and a mask, and entered the shower room through a sliding glass door. Her body
was enveloped in a sterilization mist, a buzzer sounded the all clear, and she was admitted into the main chamber.

She could smell it even through her mask and the sterilization fluid: decay, bodily waste, and something worse, like the stink of a slaughterhouse. She moved closer to the Sisters, most of her attention fixed on the organism above them, although—just like the elderly Nairenes—it did not seem to register Syl’s presence. She made a full circle of the Sisters, casting anxious glances at the net above her head, fearful that one of those tendrils might reach down for her as well. Finally she ducked beneath the outer cable and approached Ezil on her raised dais, her head level with the Mage’s hands.

Cautiously she reached out and touched Ezil’s wrist.

It was as though Syl had put her hand to an electric cable. Her body arched, and her fingers seemed glued to Ezil’s pale, withered flesh. At the same time, a series of images exploded in her head.

The flight of the original First Five to Avila Minor; the early days in the tunnels and caves; the construction of the Marque; the ongoing exploration of the moon . . .

And the discovery of the meteor; the very same as the boulder she had seen in its glass dome showered with endless kisses.

Syl saw it all as though she were present at every important moment. She saw a Nairene scientist tell Ezil of the discovery of organisms inside the meteor that they’d unearthed on the moon, and heard the order to place the rock in quarantine, but by then it was too late. Four Sisters had already been infected, Ezil among them, contaminated by ancient parasites, life-forms almost as old as the universe itself, things with no name, for there had been nothing to give them a name when they came into being.

The Others
, Syl thought.

They had wandered the universe for billions and billions of years, carried on debris, buffeted by solar winds, each organism capable of independent existence but linked to the rest, sharing their discoveries, recording, remembering, mapping solar systems, galaxies.

Wormholes.

And all the time the organisms sought suitable worlds, planets with
life that could be corrupted and used as breeding stock, the parasitic spores exploding from the ruined bodies of their hosts, their high kinetic energy making them capable of escaping even the gravitational pull of planets.

But sometimes the Others would lie dormant, letting life evolve, waiting to be discovered, just as they had on Avila Minor.

Yet the Others had never encountered a species as advanced as the Illyri, or a being as clever as Ezil—or as Ezil thought herself to be. A deal was struck. The Others relied on chance to discover host worlds and host entities, but the universe was largely devoid of life.

Spare us
, Ezil argued,
and we will find worlds for you. Make the Illyri great, and in return you will have life
.

So the Others formed a symbiotic relationship with the Illyri, the most ancient and lethal of them embedding in the First Five, and slowly they shared their knowledge of the universe with the Sisterhood. Thus the Illyri Conquest began.

But the price that the Sisterhood had paid. Oh, the price . . .

Syl felt not only Ezil’s suffering, but the agony of her four Sisters as well: Atis, Loneil, Ineh, and Tola, names that she had seen written and heard whispered. In the lore of the Sisterhood they had retreated deep into the Marque many decades earlier to immerse themselves entirely in the pursuit of knowledge. They had assumed the status of myths, of near goddesses. Instead they had given themselves over as hostages to an entity far more intelligent and ravenous than they could ever have imagined.

Their pain was not just physical; it was emotional and mental too. Even as the tendrils of the organism extended through them, controlling them, feeding off their energy, sustaining them as it slowly sucked them dry, still they had the capacity to feel sorrow, regret, guilt. Ezil had believed that she could hold off these parasites by striking a bargain she had no intention of fulfilling on her side, promising them other worlds, other species, but all the while plotting the destruction of these ancient terrors. Slowly, she had been forced to make sacrifices: a primitive animal here, an entire species there.

But they are hungry, so hungry.

Until finally whole worlds were sacrificed.

Archaeon.

The word echoed in Syl’s head. She heard it spoken in Ezil’s voice even though the Mage’s lips had not moved.

We gave them Archaeon.

Her corruption had been slow but inevitable, for there are no small evils—each one is simply a step on the road to ultimate damnation.

And Earth will follow.

Suddenly another consciousness intruded into Syl’s revelation, one that was ancient, and malevolent, and hungry. It was both one and many, a great shadow that swept across her mind, and hidden in the shadow were billions of mouths, and each mouth was filled with a billion teeth.

The Other had become aware of her presence.

The contact between Syl and Ezil was broken, although whether by the Mage or herself Syl could not tell. Syl was propelled backwards, falling against the cable of tendrils that linked Atis and Tola. The cable did not tear, but the impact caused Atis to tumble from her chair, and sent a shock wave through the rest. Loneil’s eyes rolled blankly in their sockets. Ineh’s lips moved soundlessly, Atis’s head started to shake uncontrollably, and Syl thought that she heard Tola whimper.

Then their voices spoke in Syl’s head: first one, then two, until finally all were screaming so loudly inside her that she thought she must go mad.

Kill me.

Kill us.

Please, kill us!

The medical droids bustled forward, alerted to the emergency by the shrill beeping of the monitors. A rustling noise came from above Syl’s head as the organism moved for the first time in its fleshy web, the smaller filaments around its mouth twitching, its black eyes rolling in their sockets. Tendrils extruded from its body and slipped through
the gaps in the lattice, searching for the source of the disturbance. Puffs of red dust appeared from tiny openings in its body: spores.

But Syl was already running.

•  •  •

Oriel was watching the latest shuttle to Erebos rise from the Marque when she felt a painful tightening at the base of her brain. The Other inside her head began bombarding her system with alarmed pulses, along with images transmitted to it by the dominant organism, deep in the Second Realm. Oriel caught a glimpse of a figure in white medical scrubs, her back to the Other, intent upon escape. A door opened. A mask was cast aside. A face was reflected in glass.

Syl Hellais.