Nethereal (Soul Cycle Book 1) (19 page)

The wounds in his back and foot waged a screaming match that echoed in his every nerve, and Teg feared that both had reopened.
No time for old injuries,
he thought.
Whatever’s behind me wants to make new ones
.

Even clouded by pain and fatigue, Teg's senses informed him that the gloom had grown lighter; the trees shorter and thinner. Even the sickly sweet odor of rotten fruit was fading. Soon he saw a point of twilight piercing the benighted woods.

Teg forced a final burst of speed from his agonized legs and plunged onto the mountain’s scrub-grown slopes. He turned with splinterknife in hand to face his enemy, but none appeared. He couldn't remember when the sounds of pursuit had ceased, but for the first time in hours he knew silence.

Teg watched the opening in the woods, his muscles tensing for a fight he expected to lose. The thin blade hummed in his hand.

At last he saw two red points like dying suns piercing the darkness under the trees. Teg stood still as the lights grew larger, reaching the size of guilder pieces when the bestial head from which they stared became visible. The unholy marriage of wolf and boar that loped out of the woods may as well have sprung from his memory.

As the creature stepped into the light, a great shadow seemed to follow it from the woods, accompanied by a tremendous wind. Teg risked a look skyward, and the black hull of the
Exodus
filled his vision.

The wolf lunged, and Teg felt himself lifted bodily; hurtling away from the monster’s jaws. He stood in the hangar on a circle of nothing. A hatch hissed shut under his feet, replacing his view of the mountainside with a disc of glossy white decking.

A crisply uniformed navy technician approached him. “How was your first time riding the air lift?” he asked.

“Better than
not
riding it,” said Teg. He hobbled to the exit, but the man followed him.

“This was its first use, so we’d appreciate your comments. You know, it works like an aura projector, only calibrated to attract objects instead of repelling them.”

Teg paused and rounded on the tech. “Here’s a comment,” he said. “Shut up.”

Nakvin sipped dry wine and traced patterns in the cherry wood table as Jaren and Teg shot heated words across it. The
Exodus
officers' lounge was more luxurious than Tactical, but after years of meeting on the
Shibboleth
, convening the senior staff anywhere else felt wrong.

“We've dreamed of freedom for years,” Jaren said, “and you want to go back?”

Teg reclined with his legs on the table, favoring his left foot, which Nakvin had just re-stitched. “I didn't say we should go back,” he said. “I said we can't stay
here
.”

“The Guild hasn’t even touched this world.”

“Neither has anyone else, and with good reason.”

Jaren rose and gripped the back of his chair with both hands. He fixed his emerald eyes on the mercenary. “I never thought I'd see
Iron
Cross rattled by a pack of dogs.”

Teg planted his feet on the floor and leaned in to meet Jaren’s glare with a steely gaze of his own. “You're not listening,” he said slowly. “Those aren't just feral dogs down there. One of them came at me with a spear. Bullets just tickled it. Speaking as your tactical adviser—and the lone survivor of first contact—I advise you to let this one go.”

“There's enough firepower on the
Exodus
to burn that forest to the ground, along with every mad dog in it,” Jaren said.

Teg leaned back again. “Making us the proud owners of a dead rock in the middle of nowhere.”

Jaren fell silent, and Nakvin knew that Teg had won the debate, however much her captain wanted the dwarf sphere to be the home he’d sought for so long.

Teg turned to Deim. “Did you see where that sky ends?”

The young steersman shook his head. “I think it goes on forever.”

“You know why the Guild never claimed this place?” Teg asked. “I think it's just like Vernon and Craighan said. Crazy bastards actually did it.”

“We're in an unknown Stratum,” Nakvin finished for him.

“Not quite unknown,” said a sepulchral voice. Nakvin looked toward the entrance and saw Vaun’s shrouded form lurking in the doorway. “Who invited him?” she asked.

“He’s a stowaway,” said Teg, “so nobody.”

“If you will pardon my breach of maritime law,” said Vaun, “I will forgive your theft of my ship.”

Jaren shot a smug look at Teg and addressed Vaun. “You were on the
Sunspot
when she rammed Malachi. I knew that old tub wasn’t empty.”

“Indeed not,” said Vaun. “I arranged passage with her master, who was seeking you out when we chanced upon your battle with the guildsman.”

“If you weren’t the
Sunspot
’s captain,” Nakvin said, “why did you call it
your
ship?”

“Sadly,” said Vaun, “the Guild Master’s homunculi slew my friends before I could intervene. Yet I know the dead do not begrudge their avenger his just recompense.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Jaren said. “You’ve earned your place on board, but Nakvin’s got a point. This meeting is for senior officers only.”

“Your council has reached an impasse,” said Vaun. “This dilemma transcends your experience. Luckily, I am not unlearned in such matters.”

For no reason she could name, Nakvin’s hackles rose as Vaun approached the table.

“Cross and the Magus spoke true,” he said. “We have left the Middle Stratum. Now we descend to the pit.”

“I didn’t quite catch that,” said Teg.

Jaren turned to face the windows. “I think I do, but I don't believe it.”

“You are the last scion of your people,” said Vaun, “yet you deny their wisdom?”

“Why don’t you spell it out for us mortals?” asked Teg.

“We orbit perdition’s threshold,” said Vaun, “the vestibule of the Nine Circles.”

The room fell silent as a grave, where Vaun seemed right at home.

Jaren spoke first. “Assuming you're right, how do we get out?”

Vaun’s callous mask seemed to gloat. “It may be that you do not.”

“Deim, get back on the Wheel,” Jaren said. “You got us here. Now get us back.”

“That path ends in wretched death,” said Vaun. “The only way out is through, and for that you need a gate.”

“Searching those woods will kill us faster than sailing for the ether,” said Teg.

“The portal will not appear as a vine-grown arch in a murky glen,” said the voice behind the mask. “The Circles’ denizens take pride in guile.”

Nakvin planted one elbow on the table and laid her head in her hand. “You mean the gate is disguised,” she said, “and we need to solve a riddle to find it.”

“How is that better than taking our chances in flight?” Jaren asked.

“Recall that a puzzle, however fiendish, must have clues,” said Vaun. “There will be a marker.” The empty eyes of the mask stared at Teg. “Perhaps you saw more than you know, Master Cross—or more than you've said.”

A moment passed. Then Teg sighed and said, “There was a mural.”

“What did it look like?” Jaren asked.

The mercenary shrugged. “Damn thing’s so faded I can't say what it was for sure.”

Jaren’s features hardened. “Use your imagination.”

“Alright,” said Teg, “it looked like Deim's ink.”

Nakvin stared at the junior steersman. So did everyone else.

“I don’t know what he's talking about,” said Deim, his dark eyes wide.

“Stand,” said Vaun. “Let us compare the wall to your flesh.”

The young man shot a pleading look at Jaren, who only nodded.

Deim slowly rose from the table. He turned and pulled his shirt over his shoulders, exposing the tattoo on his back. Nakvin gazed as though for the first time at the winged woman etched upon Deim's olive skin. She exhaled sharply, only then realizing that she’d been holding her breath.

A moment passed before she noticed that Teg was looking at her. “It's…you,” he said.

Nakvin barely heard him. The longer she looked, the clearer the likeness became. Yet there were disturbing differences as well. “It's not me,” she said. “Not exactly. Look at the eyes.”

“She's right,” Jaren said. “The eyes aren't silver. They're red.”

“Not red,” said Nakvin. “They’re
rose
. What about the mural?”

“The face was completely worn off,” said Teg, “but I can see one difference. The painting’s hair was black like yours. Deim's ink is lighter.”

“It wasn't like this before,” Jaren said. “When did you have it changed?”

“I didn't,” said Deim. “The hair and eyes should both be black, unless someone's been drawing on me in my sleep.”

“Who gave you this mark?” Vaun asked.

“My father,” said Deim. “He had the same one, and I think my grandfather did, too.”

“He did,” Jaren said. “So did your great-grandfather. Each marked his son during infancy. The picture must be glamered, because it grows with you.”

“Indeed,” said Vaun. “It may be mutable by other forces also.”

“Deim, what does it mean?” Nakvin asked.

The steersman looked at the deck. His face reddened. “I think it's an image of Thera.”

“A crucial piece of the puzzle,” said Vaun.

“Why would the locals worship a Tharisian sun god?” Jaren asked.

“The folk of Tharis named their suns in dim memory of a greater truth,” said Vaun. “Thera was daughter to Zadok All-Father. She slew him, and the cosmos sprang from his corpse.”

“That's an old wives' tale,” said Teg. “I should know. My mom told me.”

“The Guild have done their utmost to cloud the past,” said Vaun. “A tale it is, but one that bears truth.”

“I don’t see how that helps us,” Nakvin said.

The eyeless mask stared at her. “The Queen of Doors guides the way to hidden truth.”

Teg's face lit up. “There was something else: a green circle with a point on top. The lady was holding her hand over it. That's where I got the idea to head for higher ground.”

“We're over the mountain right now,” Nakvin said. “Deim, did you see anything on the peak? A gateway, or even a cave?”

“No,” said Deim. “I searched every inch.”

Nakvin folded her arms so that each hand passed into the opposite sleeve of her robe. “There goes that theory,” she said.

“Often, the solution to one puzzle provides a clue to another,” said Vaun. “The gate wardens made Thera’s icon in the lady Steersman’s likeness. They would not design their sacred ornaments without forethought.”

Teg laid his palms on the table as he stood. “Alright,” he said. “Full disclosure. It was Nakvin's dog that chased me up the mountain.”

Nakvin couldn’t keep her mouth from falling open. “He only comes when I'm threatened,” she said. “I was safe and sound up here.”

“I think this is where he comes from,” said Teg, “and where he goes back to when his job’s done. The one I saw might not have been yours, but judging by the others down there, I'd say his kind are locals.”

Jaren looked at Nakvin, and the finality in his voice gave her chills. “It has to be you,” he said. Somehow, she knew he was right. The gate would only open for her.

Still she demurred. “Does anyone else think we’re jumping to conclusions?”

“A simple test should satisfy your doubt,” said Vaun. “Take the Wheel.”

Nakvin clenched her teeth and swallowed the bitter venom that ran from them. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

The pirates left for the bridge with Vaun close behind. As they approached, the double doors opened. Two Mithgarders exited carrying a black, man-shaped bag that smelled of spoiled meat. The ill omen almost made Nakvin turn back, but curiosity burned away her fear, and she went inside.

Stochman stood ashen-faced below the Wheel. He made no objection as Nakvin brushed past him. She climbed the short stairway, empathizing with the cold fear of condemned prisoners mounting the gallows. The wordless call came to her again as she set foot upon the Wheel. This time, she didn’t resist.

The white circle blazed, and Nakvin became the
Exodus
. The black ship’s raw lust made her stomach turn, but her loathing subsided as awareness of a second presence dawned. It clung to her—not greedy, but forlorn— like a child seeking comfort.

“I hate to distract you,” Jaren called up to her, “but sooner’s better than later.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew how weird this feels,” Nakvin said. Yielding to intimate yet alien longing, the Steersman concentrated on the peak below. The summit shook with a thunderous roar. Through the baleful ship’s eye, Nakvin saw the mountaintop collapse in on itself. In its absence a vast dark crater yawned.

“I don’t know what I expected,” said Teg, “but that wasn’t it.”

Nakvin plunged through the gate without waiting for Jaren’s command.

At first Nakvin saw only far-flung points of light flecking the darkness.

“Are those stars?” Stochman asked.

Nakvin held out hope that they were until she felt heat on the ship’s alloy skin. “I think they’re vents lining the inside of a huge empty sphere.”

“We must’ve gone down a magma tube,” Stochman said. “The whole planet’s hollow.”

“Only if the inside is bigger than the surface,” said Nakvin. “This space has about the same diameter as the mean orbit of Mithgar’s moon.”

“What’s our best ETA to the wall?” Jaren asked.

“About twenty hours at top speed.”

“Can we go back the way we came?” Stochman asked.

“I don’t think so,” Nakvin said. “The gate dropped us into the middle of this thing.”

“What about ether drives?” Jaren asked.

The Steersman shook her head. “Wherever we are, we’re cut off from the ether.”

“Set the fastest possible course for the wall,” Jaren said at last.