IGS 4: New Ending

[After Dameon is defeated, Scorio realizes that Naomi is the King's Scepter. This then follows.]

Her eyes had gone wide. “I was the King’s Scepter?” He’d told Naomi all about his Trials during their nights together at the Fury Spires. “But that means…”

Scorio let out a breathless laugh and ran his hand through his hair. “You reincarnated. Here. In Hell. Without the Archspire. I…”

Her hand had gone to cover her mouth. A wave of emotion crested within him, and he wanted to step forward, to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he didn’t.

Couldn't.

An image hung in the air between them. Alain, reaching out his arm, desperate to intervene, and a great tail slashing through the air.

How close would you say we are to being best friends?

Scorio dry swallowed the knot in his throat as his shoulders sagged. Naomi was staring at him, brows raised, aware that something had just shifted, but she didn’t seem surprised. She pursed her lips, bowed her head briefly, then looked away, expression bitter, resigned.

“This is very moving,” said Jova dryly. “But we need to keep moving. Silverines are approaching. And that’s got to be an Abstraction.”

[Plenty of minor edits follow in their conversation with Plassus, but the chapter now ends like this.]

“Moira. Well, she’s competent if nothing else. She’ll need to know. If the Silverine situation goes badly, it’ll go badly fast. I’m going to keep this Cube afloat for now. Someone’s going to come knocking. But before we send word out, you all need to rest.”

“We don’t have time to rest,” said Jova stubbornly.

“How far are we from the Red Keep?” asked Plassus.

“Three or four days of direct flight,” said Scorio. “If we don’t stop like we were doing on the way up.” And he couldn’t help but glance at Xandera.

“Get four hours of shut eye,” said Plassus. “Then go.”

Jova nodded grudgingly.

“What happened to the Herdsmen?” asked Scorio, suddenly realizing he’d seen no sign of Sal or Havert or the others.

“I asked them to confine themselves to their quarters. They’re there now.” Plassus smiled. “My treatment of Bravurn has apparently made my requests very convincing.”

“All right.” Scorio stood. “Then… we should get our rest.”

“Grab food and drink on the way to your rooms.” Plassus considered. “There are storage places with rations or something on the way to apartments just across the promenade. I’ll have them light up for you.”

Everybody rose from their stools. Plassus remained behind the bar, the half-emptied bottle at hand, and caught Scorio’s eye as he turned to go. “You. Wait.”

The others quit the lounge, most of them glancing back curiously as they left, and once they were gone Plassus crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “How are you holding up?”

“Me?” Scorio ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“I can tell. I see the way the others look to you. I may be the highest ranked here, but you’re their leader. You’ve earned it, and I can tell you’ve taken the responsibility for them.”

Scorio nodded uncertainly.

“You’ve done good, Scorio. What you all have uncovered out here, well.” Plassus sawed at his jaw with one hand. “I can’t begin to fathom how this will change political equations across Hell. From all the great names that will be reborn in the next class to the exposure of the Herdsmen to my outing an Imperator for her role in this to the existence of this bloody Cube.” Plassus grinned. “What a mess this is going to make. Kuragin and Nyrix filled me in on the details while we were waiting for you all to return. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say you’re responsible for all this.”

“For better or worse.”

“For better,” said Plassus confidently. “Any damage brought about by exposing the truth was already hurting people without their knowing. You’ve done good, lad. At great expense, I know, but you’ve done good.”

Scorio wanted to protest, but it was all he could do to just put his hands on his hips and stare at the floor. “I can’t help but focus on the losses.”

“Aye. I’ve no wisdom there. Set yourself against the world and the world will make you pay. But I’ve lost my fair share of good people. And yes, you can tell yourself they’ll be reborn, but it’s never the same.” Plassus seemed to sink into a moment of dolorous reverie. They stood in silent for a spell, but then the Charnel Duke roused himself. “The losses added up until I couldn’t stand to lose anymore. And in my madness, I decided it was better to throw everything into the flames rather than to continue bleeding out slowly.” He grinned wryly at Scorio. “Until a young idiot barged into my chambers in the Fury Spires, called me a coward, and challenged me to a duel.”

Scorio snorted in rueful amusement.

“You shamed me into action, and I demanded you fight for me. Do you recall why?”

Scorio raised a brow.

“Because I knew you’d continue making life hell for our enemies. And that’s how you handle the pain of your losses. Turn it into action. Whatever you’re feeling now, make your foes feel ten times worse.” Plassus grinned. “And I know that’s a unique talent of yours.”

Scorio considered, then forced a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good man. Now. Summon your ferula.”

Scorio hesitated, surprised, then did as he was told. Plassus didn’t reach for it, but simply examined it from where he stood. “Now that’s a pretty thing. But you feel off. Something about your Heart and mana usage is fucked. How many vortices can you send out?”

“None. All of them.”

Plassus raised a brow.

“Watch.” Scorio reached out with his Heart senses, and took in the Bronze that filled the room. Plassus had Dominion, yes, but hadn’t exerted Primacy, so he envisioned the chamber full of the Imperial Gel matrix and willed it to collapse into his Heart.

The Bronze began to slowly swirl about him, and then, as one, collectively, caught fire.

“What the—” Plassus snapped his fingers and the Bronze stilled, all control wrested from Scorio’s hand like a sweet taken from a child. “What was that?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Scorio tapped his ferula against his shoulder. “I can turn it all solid, too.”

Plassus was glaring at him as if he’d just sprouted a second head. “Do it again.”

Scorio repeated the process several times under Plassus’s watchful eye, until the older man gestured for him to stop. “Well I’ll be damned. That’s the most ass backwards way I’ve ever seen someone try to claim Dominion.”

“Feels like it.” Scorio sat on a stool, exhausted. “I can gum up the works, slow down other people’s attempt to claim Primacy, but not claim it myself.”

“I’d reckon not. Huh.” Plassus tapped his chin. “Fascinating. Ridiculous, mind you, but fascinating. I’ll think on it. I can hardly let you stumble out there like a drunk Charnel Duke who doesn’t know his ass from his face.”

“Thanks. Any guidance would be most…” Scorio swallowed a yawn. “Must appreciated.”

Plassus snorted in amusement. “You’re a hair shy of making Charnel Duke. If we can sort out this nonsense. But go sleep. I’ll have some advice when you awaken.”

Scorio rose, inclined his head, and quit the lounge. Exhaustion, grief, hope, fear, and wonder swirled through him. Too much had happened in too little time. Pain over Kelona’s death shifted into satisfaction over Dameon’s death, then became awe and horror at what was happening with the Suns, then nervousness and hope at the return of Naomi.

Too much. It was all just too much.

He followed a band of light that Plassus had no doubt lit for him across the echoing promenade, in through an archway that led to a flight of steps that climbed to a third floor hallway with a dozen doors off its length.

The strip of light led halfway down to one door, but when Scorio reached it, he heard another open behind him.

“Scorio?” He turned to see Naomi in her doorway. “Can we talk?”

Chapter 66

Scorio

“Naomi.” Her very name summoned a wealth of emotions, even as the person before him seemed other. This wasn’t in some fundamental manner the Naomi he’d known, so passionate and loyal, so fervently suspicious and bitter, so caustic and ready to abandon all society and its causes. The woman in the doorway with her long, lustrous black hair and distinguished bearing appeared more the King’s Scepter in the flesh, a figure from his distant past.

But it wasn’t. It was her, somehow. He just had to find a means to connect it all in his heart and mind.

“Sure, of course.” His pulse was racing, and he felt supremely aware of his own body in relation to hers, the mere yards between them. “In my room, or…?”

She hesitated, and he cursed the implications of his offer, was about to clarify, but then she smiled and stepped forward. “Sure. Privacy would be good.”

He led her into his chambers. They were dusty, cool, and mana lights glowed to life as if sensing their movement, bathing everything in soft copper radiance. A low bed, a round table with four chairs, and the walls decorated with patterns of subtle copper, white, and gray that were sufficiently abstract as to be barely noticeable. Scorio barely took it in; he moved to the table, avoiding looking at the bed, and pulled out a chair.

Naomi sat across from him.

The silence was total. It felt like a tomb in here, no windows. Only the sound of their breathing.

“I can’t really believe it’s you,” he said, a smile rising to his lips. “For so many months I wondered where you were, hoped you were well, but it felt like I’d never see you again.”

So much emotion in her eyes. She interlaced her fingers on the table before her and sat very straight, her face pale but for two dots of color on her cheeks. “I know what you mean. I…” she trailed off, expression becoming mildly helpless, eyes widening. “I don’t even know where to begin. There’s so much I want to tell you, but…”

He nodded slowly and fought the urge to reach out to place his hand over her own, then realized he was fighting it and relented. Her skin was cool, her hands cold, and her gaze leaped down to his touch before she unknit her hands and took his in both her own.

“I’m glad you’re back.” He fought the urge to laugh despairingly. Why were words so useless? “More than glad. I just don’t… this you. From my past. I have such vivid memories of the Scepter choosing the King, betraying me. I… I killed her, in that final battle. I watched her burn, and that’s when I truly came into my power. To see you now with her abilities…”

“It has to be overwhelming,” she agreed softly. “I understand. And there’s so much I have to atone for. Alain…” Her voice broke, but she took a deep breath and soldiered on. “Alain. I have to be say his name. I killed him. We—the Nightmare Lady and I—killed him. And maybe there’s room to, I don’t know, put the blame on her, or her influence, but…” Her eyes brimmed with sudden tears. “I can’t just pretend it was all her.”

He squeezed her hands. “Yeah.”

She gazed at their hands again, then withdrew her own. “I want to find a way to make what happened right, but I can’t think of anything beyond fighting in his name. Which he wouldn’t even have wanted, I don’t think.”

“No.” Scorio couldn’t help but smile, pain rising in his chest. “If you wanted to honor him, he’d probably have you seduce Fyrona.”

She chuckled under her breath and shook her head. “The best pervert there was.”

“Yeah.”

They remained thus for a moment until Naomi shifted restlessly. “I wanted to talk to you to say that I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t forgive myself. Maybe one day I’ll be able to find peace with what happened, but for weeks—months—as I traveled with Nox, I stayed in the Nightmare Lady form just so that I wouldn’t have to think about it. Even now, it’s easier to just… not. But. I won’t run from it anymore. And what happened between us—the… our relationship.” She met his gaze again, eyes bright. “I don’t expect to just pick up where we left off. I’m… I’m not that person any more. For better or worse, but I think better.”

“Oh.” Scorio inhaled deeply and nodded. “All right. Yes. I hadn’t even considered… but I know what you mean. Yes.”

She watched him with excruciating care, as if examining his every expression and mannerism for clues, but then nodded slowly. “I care more for you then I can say, Scorio.” Her voice swelled with emotion. “When I healed, it was the most obvious thing in the world to come back to you. But…”

He reached across the table and clasped one of her hands again. “And I care for you. I…” love, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get the word out. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you like this. You seem so different. Better. Healed. I mean, I can’t imagine what it’s like to have the Nightmare Lady out of you. A tenebrite…”

“Yeah. My so-called father implanted her in me when I was young. It was—the memory of it was—” She cut off, unable to find the words. He squeezed her hand tighter. “But the Nightmare Lady… I guess she helped me manifest my Great Soul heritage. Which would have lain dormant, otherwise. But I can’t remember my mother. My past. Even talking about it is hard. They placed a compulsion on me to never think about it.  I don’t know how they found me, who my real parents were, or what happened to my father. He must be out there. A Herdsmen. I can’t even picture him, but I know I’ll recognize him when I see him. I know I will. And when I do…”

Scorio nodded gravely. “Yeah. I’ll be there to help. Whatever you need.”

She pursed her lips against her emotions as she held his gaze, tears overflowing at last and running down her cheek. For a moment they sat thus, holding hands across the table, till at last she pulled her hand free to wipe her cheek. “When I think back to my time with you, it’s like seeing a life lived through dark glass. Her presence was always there. It was me, my—my love for you was real—but it’s as if I had to fight to even feel it against her influence. And it only got worse as time went on. When we reached the Fury Spires, then out in the Bone Plains… the memories are so warped, and the only good parts, the only parts that remain clear, are us.”

Again, the urge to absolve her of culpability was so strong. And to some degree felt correct. But he’d overlooked his reluctance the first time around with her, had placed making her feeling better above his own instincts, and he’d not make that mistake again.

“I… I love you, too,” he said, and it was true, he did, her presence, her company, her everything was so fundamental to his being. “And I want you here. With me. I just… we’re going to need time, I guess, to figure this out. Feel it out. This new you. Our relationship to who we were. I want to pull you into my arms, to just make everything better, but I think we both know that’s not a good idea.”

“No,” she agreed, wiping at her cheeks again. “We can’t just pretend nothing happened.” She inhaled deeply and then exhaled, smiling bitterly at him right after. “Thank you for even listening to me.”

“No, come on. Don’t be like that. Naomi. You’re—we’re bound together. It’s no coincidence that you’re the King’s Scepter. That I found you in the ruins. If I’m Whispered as they say, then you’re natural-born and… whatever change we have to bring to Acherzua, to our kind, it begins with your showing people there’s a way to be different. A way to break from the hold the Academy and the Archspire and all of Great Society demands we behave. The blazeborn, Nox, the fiends of Acherzua—all of that is wrapped into what you and I are. The techniques and powers I’m manifesting, your own incredible abilities. I don’t yet know what it all adds up to, but it feels right, you and me. We feel right. We just need… time. To learn who we are now. How we fit together.”

She listened, wide-eyed, then nodded and raised his hand to her cheek. For a moment she just held it there, eyes closed, biting her lower lip, and then she sighed and released him to rise to her feet. “Yes. Thank you, Scorio. I don’t know what I deserve at this point, but I plan to earn every step of what’s to come next. But thank you for saying that, for being my friend, for… giving me a second chance.”

He also rose. “Of course. Can I…?”

She nodded jerkily and stepped into his arms. They clasped each other tight, and he pressed his nose to her hair, breathed in her clean, familiar scent, and it felt so right how they fit together, so natural, that a fire began to arise within him, burning away the doubts and wisdom, the caution and pain.

They were alone in his room. The door was closed. Nobody expected them for hours.

Women, am I right? Alain’s amusement, his droll delivery, his facetious grin, and part of Scorio even now expected the man to step out of an unseen corner to ruin everything.

As Scorio drew back, he couldn’t help but ruefully realize Alain was still at it, even from beyond the grave.

“Good night,” said Naomi, moving to the door, voice husky and low. “I’ll… see you soon.”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve got a lot coming.”

She paused in the doorway and smiled. “We’ll deal with it together?”

“Together,” he agreed, then remained standing for awhile long, staring at the door long after it closed.

* * *

Scorio was roused from fitful dreams by the lamps glowing brightly, filling the room with daylight radiance. He sat up groggily, rubbed at this face, then found in the bathroom a highly placed metal spigot in a tiled corner that discharged immense amounts of heated water. He bathed, reveling in the sensation as he sluiced away dirt and fatigue, then found dusty robes hanging in a closet, gray and finely woven, with black sashes to tie around his waist. Herdsmen attire? Was it risky to don it? But seeing as he couldn’t force himself to put on his burned and filthy rags, he shrugged in resignation and did so.

Everyone gathered in the promenade below. The brief rest must have helped, but his companions looked if anything even more exhausted then before, as if the brief rest had only served to accentuate their deep wells of exhaustion.

Plassus looked great, though. He’d found a robe of gleaming silver silk chased through with golden threads depicting snarling tigers, and looked to have been drinking steadily ever since they’d last seen him.

“The situation has deteriorated,” he said as they assembled in the broad promenade. “Shocking, I know. We’ve an Abstract following after us, but not on this plane, or that plane, or any plane I can quite discover. It’s immaterial but very interested in us.” He shrugged philosophically. “But I’ve decided to ignore it until given cause. Which may be coming soon. Silverines are massing in the area. The Sun’s shit all its mana over the valley, which, may I say, has run riot beneath us, and I fancy we’ll soon be under attack. If you’re to get out, now’s the time.”

“You’re sure you want to stay?” asked Scorio. “What if help doesn’t come in time?”

“Then we’ll all die together, won’t we boys?” And he grinned at where Nyrix and Kuragin stood together.

“Can you accelerate it’s passage?” asked Jova. “Get away from here?”

“Not really.” Plassus considered, then shook his head. “The Cube’s a marvel, but I still only understand a fraction of its working. But in short, it relies on siphoning mana from the Suns. We’re still drinking deep of the last one’s guts, but that’s tapering off. If I push the Cube any faster, we’ll burn through reserves, and we’re not getting much from the next Sun that should lie up ahead. If they’ve figured out how to cut us off, we’ll crash. If I stay at this speed, however, momentum should keep us going for awhile yet.”

“And you’re holding out for what?” asked Scorio. “An Imperator?”

Plassus shrugged. “There’s all sorts of treasures in here. I’ve been wandering around, poking my nose into things. Weapons, suits of armor to put Endergrast’s baubles to shame, alchemy labs… this place could fund the war for years to come. Be a shame to just drop it in the desert and move on. Speaking of which!”

Plassus gestured for them to follow, and led them into the same lounge as before. Several of the booths were heaped with items now, with Sal checking over them.

“Here’s what I thought might be of immediate use,” said Plassus, hands on hips. “Sal, give them a quick run down.”

“Yes, yes, all right.” Sal tugged at his wispy beard as he glanced suspiciously at them. “I never was involved in the treasure department, my tasks lay more with the Cube’s engines, but here’s what I thought could be of use.” He took up a silvered cuirass, the best plate edged in gold and molded to reflect a chiseled torso. “This is part of the Etheric suit of armor.” He rapped his knuckles on it. “Very choice piece of equipment. They boost Shrouds, enhance your physical attributes, and halve your need for food and water. And fit themselves to your physique, which, in the case of the ladies… “ And he waggled his brows.

Jova crossed her arms and tongued the inside of her cheek as she stared at him.

Sal coughed into his fist and set the breastplate down. “Greaves, helm, vambraces. We’ve a half-dozen sets here. Oh, these are good.” He shuffled over to another table and took up a medallion. A diamond was embedded in an iron plate, with tiny runes carved around the perimeter. “Very precious, these are. They magnify your ability to channel mana. Allow you to drink more from the area, and pour more into your Heart all at once. They don’t boost your Heart itself, though, so be wary of burning yourself out.”

He continued in this vein for a while longer, explaining the properties of dozens of pill types, swords into which one could channel mana to amplify their cutting power, harnesses fashioned from the hollow bones of a fiend that granted flight, and false Hearts on which Oaths could be sworn, and other such wonders.

“Take what you want,” grunted Plassus. “This is gear fit for the Scorched Swale. You’ll need it out there.”

Everyone moved forward to claim what called to them. Scorio donned the amor, which indeed molded itself to his frame, attaching without need for buckles and belts, along with a selection of pills and vials that he pressed into them moldable velvet of a slender traveling case. He draped the medallion over his neck, and took up what Sal had called a Chromatic Veil, which was a lead bottle that once uncorked would pour forth a rainbow hued wall that would remain in place for hours. He hefted it, remembering his faithful chalk, and placed it inside his robes.

“Now,” said Plassus. “You’re to head for the Red Keep. Advise Lady Krula as to what’s happened, and have her reach out to Broic

 the Brawler for me. He’s down in the Scorched Swale, but he’ll recognize the value of what we’ve got here in the Cube, right enough. Move fast and keep a low profile. The Silverines are stirred up like a bunch of hornets, and I doubt they’ll be placated by nice words.”

“I’m going with them,” said Leonis, adjusting the bone harness about his frame.

“You, boy, need to heal,” said Plassus.

Leonis simply met the Charnel Duke’s stare with calm determination, and when he didn’t blink, Plassus threw up his hands. “Or go ahead and get yourself killed. Fine by me.”

Xandera had watched all from the entrance to the lounge, and now she moved up to join the group. “I will be traveling north,” she said. “Adventuring has lost its appeal. I feel a strong drive to return to the Iron Weald and connect with Xandera Prime, to tell her of what’s transpired her in the Unfathom, and begin a hive of my own.”

Even her way of speaking had changed, and as Scorio gazed up at the august queen, he realized that the blazeborn girl he’d once known was truly gone. But then Xandera smiled at him and reached out with her one good arm to take his hand. “Scorio, if there is trouble, and you are in need, send for us. As dangerous as you think the Silverines may be, even they will quail before my mother-self if she rouses from her hive.”

He hesitated then stepped in close. The august queen that had once been his child-like friend smiled warmly and leaned in to wrap her heated arm around him. He hugged her back, her plated armor and unyielding flesh alien and wondrous and comforting all. For a moment they stood thus, and then he stepped back.

“It has been wonderful to travel with you,” said Xandera softly. “An experience that I will treasure for as long as I live. You are a true friend to the blazeborn, Scorio. Call us and we shall come.”

“And you,” he said, feeling broken with sadness, with the speed at which everything was changing. “If I can come, I will.”

Xandera turned then to where Leonis stood, and reached out her hand to him in turn. He moved forward to take it, his expression conflicted, his gaze pained, his smile rough as ever. Something had passed between them, Scorio saw. Perhaps one day he’d ask Leonis about it.

“What you ordered from the menu has been served,” said the blazeborn queen softly. “My kind can never change, but you. You, Leonis, have shown how mutable, how beautifully mutable you Great Souls can be. I salute you. You are my friend, and I shall tell my mother of your worth.”

Leonis bowed his head, his throat working, and then gave a gruff nod. “Thank you, Xandera. I’m honored to call you a friend as well. I hope to see you again one day soon.”

“Time to go,” said Plassus. “If not past time. I’ve been knocking around Hell long enough to understand just how much things in Hell have changed over the past few days, and I can’t begin yet to guess at how it’ll fall out.”

“Agreed,” said Scorio. He stepped in to give Nyrix a tight hug, then clasped arms with Kuragin.

“I’ll lower you to the ground,” said Jova to Xandera. “Will that be all right?”

“That shall suffice,” said the blazeborn queen. “The Silverines will know better than to test my resolve.”

“Lad, fall back with me,” said Plassus, as their group quit the parlor and began moving toward the distant bay. “I’ve been giving your situation thought, and have to admit to being flummoxed. You’re going about your advancement all wrong according to our traditions, and are doing things you shouldn’t be able to do.”

Scorio eyed his friends up ahead and then exhaled with frustrated patience. “I see. Then—”

“I’m not done.” Plassus tone was sober, focused, serious. “You’re carving your own path here. What I’ve concluded is that you need to continue doing so. I don’t know how, but you should continue to explore your relationship with mana through the powers and abilities of the fiends. That’s my instinct. Find other fiends who can explain how they do what they do. Relate their powers to your own. It’s too late for you to return to the traditional path. You’d have to unlearn half of what’s gotten you this far. Vortices, dominion—perhaps those concepts don’t or can’t even make sense to you any longer. But that may be to your advantage.” Plassus studied him. “You’re far out beyond my ken, and it feels like I’m doing you a disservice by telling you to seek out fiends, but that’s what feels right. Blood Baron, Charnel Duke, all those tiers are on some level artificial and imposed from without. You’ve a talent, a knack for going where none have gone before. Embrace it. See where it takes you. Let go of the need to ascribe to our old ways, and who knows how far you’ll go.”

Scorio stared at the old Charnel Duke and couldn’t find the words to respond. For a moment he felt almost giddy at the prospect of discarding the need to shoehorn himself into the old ways of advancement. It had felt increasingly onerous and awkward, but if he were to just strike out on his own…?

A weight that had lain upon his shoulders since the Outer Gauntlet lifted, and he reached out to clasp Plassus’s forearm. “Thank you for the advice. I think I’ll take it.”

“Not as if anybody could bloody stop you,” grinned Plassus. “Take care of your friends. Continue as you’ve done, and know that you have in me a fierce ally. You’ve done good, lad. Keep it up.”

Scorio held the other man’s deep and wearied gaze, then nodded once. Turned to check on his friends. Jova, Leonis, and Naomi had turned back to wait for him, and each of their faces were so familiar, so beloved, and to have Naomi back amongst their number—

A strange emotion stirred in his soul.

Joy.

A fierce and savage joy. He wasn’t alone. Those he loved were with him once more, and together they’d take this fight as far into Hell as they needed to go.

Scorio took a deep breath, and with them by their side set off at a jog down the Cube’s promenade, toward the great bay, and there to set forth into the waiting mysteries and horrors and beauty of Acherzua.