IGS #4, Chapter 56

Scorio

The air was hushed, as if the entire Cube held its breath as Scorio led Fionna down the hall. He thought she might take the lead, confident now that she was free of the Gauntlet, but the experience had clearly had a profound effect on her, such that she walked alongside him, casting hesitant, nervous glances at him all the while.]

Dying horrifically over and over again could have that effect on people, he guessed.

Their footsteps echoed loudly. Anseline had to know they were out. Where was she? Waiting on some throne so that she could monologue at him?

Probably.

The Bronze-lit hallway led past a bunch of doors, but he ignored them, his gaze locked on the opening at the far end. A sense of space, of grandeur. That’s where she’d be. Ferula in hand, he was eager to confront her.

He stopped at the mouth of the tunnel, and took in the large space beyond. It was… unlike anything he’d ever seen. The Academy, its Gauntlet, the Old Gauntlet, and even the Cube’s Gauntlet had all given him glimpses of ruined vastness, ancient spaces, brutal architecture. The Fiery Shoals had been dense, dark, and improbable atop its lake of lava, while the Fury Spires had been awesome in its alien design.

But this.

The bronze floor was so highly polished that the reflected lights from all around looked like wet smears across its face. Domes of blue glass hovered high overhead, so artfully constructed that it looked as if each gazed up and out into either a huge aquarium or a forest canopy or some other natural wonder. These were supported by pillars of cream-colored stone between which were arrayed banks of glittering blue glass panels, entire vertical walls of them that flickered as if stars were constantly falling behind their faces. Huge archways divided the immensity into subtle atriums, with the lower half of the walls ringed by bronze balconies which blazed with islands of Silver-mana lights. The balconies were organic, rounded and undulating in and out, and each boasted doorways, passages, and other complexities beyond, so that they were clearly not ornamental but meant to be lived in spaces.

The cumulative effect was dazzling, with the floor reflecting the natural light that filtered from high above alongside the smears of Silver-mana light from the lower half of the walls and the blue twinkling lights from above. It felt as if the place should be throned with people, the balconies alive with conversations, foot traffic, the doors opening and closing, people crossing the great bronze floor with purpose, the entirety of it alive with activity and energy.

But all was still.

No sound. No laughter. No movement.

Just this alien beauty, this immense construct, so that it felt more a museum of wonder than a habitat for people.

“What is this?” asked Scorio softly, trying to take it all in.

“The Fortress of Symmetry,” said Fionna, tone hushed. “I grew up here. Ages past, it was supposed to be full of Herdsmen. But our numbers have shrunk to just a handful. This may seem large, but it’s but a fraction of what’s contained in the cube. There are entire wings given to forges and laboratories, along with endless warehouses of equipment, gathered resources, ore, and tools. It’s—it doesn’t take up the entire Cube though. The livable part. Most of that is for—well. The batteries.”

“Batteries?”

Fionna bit her lower lip as she glanced at him, as if deliberating some decision, then straightened up and gestured around them. “All of this is powered by mana, right? The lights. The Fortress’s constant levitation and automated journey. Its defenses. The Gauntlet. The crucibles, the… everything.”

“Right.” Scorio considered the sheer amount of mana this all had to take to operate. “That’s got to be an enormous amount. Because the Cube’s been around for—what—seven hundred years?”

Fionna nodded numbly. “Something like that. And maybe in the beginning there were Great Souls here who could help power it, but now?” Her smile was despairing. “Now it’s just me and Anseline and a handful of others, living like ghosts amongst the echoes of the past.”

Scorio felt a minor urge to comfort her, but that instinct died quickly. Fionna was no innocent. Rippling his fingers along the haft of his ferula, he frowned at the gleaming fastness of the Cube’s interior. “You grew up here?”

“Yes. It was… I…” She studied his face, expression plaintive. “I don’t want to sound like I’m seeking pity. After what you’ve been through. Being a Red Lister. All your trials. Just… my years here weren’t… they weren’t happy ones.”

Scorio nodded slowly. “Must have been lonely.”

“It was…” She considered. “It was a life. One I didn’t think I had any say over. But maybe…” She looked down and away. “Well. You’ve shown me what a lie that was.”

Scorio didn’t know what to say. Was she manipulating him? He didn’t think so, but that was her specialty, wasn’t it?

“In the Outer Gauntlet—that’s where we were trapped—I wanted to, well.” She bit her lower lip, grimaced. “I wanted to give up. I thought we were done for. We should have been done for. But you…” She glanced up at him. “What I’m trying to say, and clearly making a mess of, is that… thank you. For not giving up. We’d be there still, otherwise. And I know you can’t trust me. I wouldn’t, if I were you. But I decided in there that if I could help, if I could…do any small thing to repay you, because of what I learned in there, from watching you, about my own life, oh, by the gods.” She turned away and covered her face.

Scorio stood still, feeling at once awkward and some measure of impatience. But instinct bid him hold his tongue and wait.

“I’m making such a mess of this.” Her shoulders slumped. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry, and I’ll help you in any way I can. If you even want me to.”

“All right.” He didn’t know how he felt about that. Again, she seemed sincere, but… “Why don’t you just tell me where we go from here?”

Fionna turned back around. “Anseline—Lady Krula—is probably expecting us in the throne room. Through there. It’s her favorite place, and where controlling the Fortress and its engines is easiest.”

Scorio considered the key. “Will this actually help me control anything?”

“It’s the Warden’s key. You need that to access the powers of the throne.”

“Which I can only do once Anseline is dead?”

“She’ll demand you kill her. But—did you actually gain Dominion in the Outer Gauntlet?”

“No,” said Scorio. “Something close, maybe, but not the real thing.”

Fionna studied him, expression fascinated. “I don’t know what that means, but you’ll need Dominion to take control of the Fortress. Anseline will demand you establish Primacy.”

“And if I don’t?”

Fionna laughed. “She’s mad. I can say that openly at last. These past years she’s only grown worse, but now? I don’t know. I know know what she’ll do if you refuse her.”

“Is it refusal if I just can’t?”

“In her eyes? Probably. Maybe she’ll try to force you, or call you a liar, or… I don’t know. But she’ll kill you before letting you go.”

Scorio tongued the inside of his cheek and considered the gold key. “Well. I might have to ruin her plans, then.”

“She can slow down time. In here, especially. If she wills it, we’ll be practically reduced to statues. If you want to catch her off guard, you’ll have to be fast.”

“Just like her sister, then. Can she change memories, too?”

Fionna nodded.

Scorio considered his ferula. “Well, perhaps I have a few surprises of my own.”

“I’ll do what I can to distract her, when the time comes. But she has Dominion. She’s aware of all that happens in the Fortress. The chances of surprising are almost nonexistent… but I’ll try.”

“You will?”

Fionna flushed and looked down. “Yes. It might not change anything, but.”

“Because she betrayed you?”

“That, yes. And… other things. A lifetime of other things. But I don’t want to bore you.”

“All right.” He took a sharp breath. “Guess we’ve nowhere to go but this throne room.”

Fionna strode out onto the burnished floor, and led him down the center of the great open space. They passed beneath gigantic arches high above, and Scorio couldn’t help but marvel at each glass dome, each a window into some mythic looking landscape whose beauty was such that they seemed unreal.

Eventually they wound their way to a smaller, golden arch that led into a circular room. Fionna approached this arch from the side though, as if intent on their not being seen, and gestured for him to take a peek.

Moving up carefully, Scorio glanced beyond. The floor within was tiled with ivory, and a single bronze balcony ran around the circumference of the room halfway up. The ivory walls were inlaid with bronze pipes and complex machines whose bronze surfaces lit with great panels of golden light, but the upper third of the chamber was one vast glass dome whose thousands of small, composite panes glowed with opaque white light.

Three slender trees grew from the center of the room, their trunks weirdly elongated and their branches reaching for the huge dome, their delicate canopies blossoming some fifty yards above them, and centered between their trunks rose a circular dais of cobalt blue and gold. There Lady Krula sat upon a great bronze seat, twin panels on either side glimmering with lights and buttons and levers, her eyes closed.

Of course she’s on a throne, thought Scorio to himself.

A decision, then: to enter and converse, and deal with Anseline’s madness, or attempt to end the problem here and now. There were so many variables, so much he didn’t understand, but could he risk her using her powers on him?

Better to risk chaos then place himself in her power once more.

He caught Fionna’s eye, pointed at his ferula, then indicated with his thumb at what lay around the corner within the chamber.

There could be no doubting his intent.

If Fionna was going to betray him, now was the time.

Her face paled, but instead she simply nodded jerkily.

Scorio took a calming breath, raised his ferula so that it was pointed at the seated Charnel Lady, and unleashed its power.

Lady Krula’s eyes snapped open as time slowed to a crawl.

His colorless flame flew slowly through the air, aimed perfectly at her chest, but she had ample time to erect her Shroud, which proved as formidable as any Charnel Duke’s.

The mote of flame dug deeply into the Shroud’s curvature, causing it to glow brightly, and then burned itself out.

Lady Krula beamed, as if the attack on her life were a sign of good character. “Welcome, Scorio! Welcome to the future you shall soon fashion, that you shall create once I am gone. But not so fast. First I must inform you of a few particulars, though I applaud your eagerness.” Her smile was predatory and cold. She’d donned a green gown of velvet that she’d belted at the waist with a high girdle, and her lank brown hair hung about her bony shoulders.

Scorio went to unleash another blast from his ferula, but then Lady Krula’s might consumed the room: Dominion. His Heart guttered before her absolute power, and his ferula faded away.

Damn it.

Then time sped back up; Scorio jerked forward, all his effort suddenly unbalancing him, so that he staggered briefly before righting himself. How was he supposed to destroy a Charnel Duchess in her place of power? At least she seemed intent on talking. Perhaps he could wrest some advantage there.

Anseline’s broad smile faded as she considered him. “Long have I waited in these gleaming halls, and ah, so paltry has been my company. But such is the weight of authority, is it not? Heavy is the crown. But I was not content to remain idle. By my own initiative I have reached across Hell and brought you here, to this moment, to enact destiny. The time for waiting has come to an end. There are those who would strike me dead for my temerity, but they are cowards, traditionalists, and hold too dearly to their own power. Don’t they see that the hour is at hand? And you, Scorio, the man of that hour. You have carved your deeds across the flesh of Hell, and now you shall do so again. You others, attend us.”

A gold-lined door in the far wall opened and figures emerged. These were clad in all manner of robes, some fine, some utilitarian, some with deep cowls over their heads hiding their faces, some not, but one face leaped out at him instantly, familiar yet greatly changed.

It was a young man, high of forehead and with cadaverous aspect, his cheeks sunken, his chin strong, his nose hooked. Square shouldered, mouth pursed, he stared curiously at Scorio in turn, studying him with frank appraisal but no recognition.

Bravurn.

It was him, his years shed, his personality less codified, the weight of his regard shorn of the authority of a Blood Baron.

Scorio’s heart began to pound, and he saw again that very man standing over Xandera Prime’s corpse, her severed head held in one fist.

“These are the last Herdsmen that yet reside within the Fortress,” said Anseline. “They shall serve you once I am gone. None of them have reached Pyre Lord, but they shall be your willing tools, for I will it to be thus. Approach, Scorio.”

There were nine of them, and they formed an uncertain line to one side of the blue and golden dais. Scorio stopped halfway toward Anseline’s throne, and Fionna stopped just behind him.

“But of course!” She’d noticed his glare. “You’re familiar with Bravurn from his prior life, are you not?” She laughed. “How delicious. Oh, don’t be so upset. This Bravurn is innocent as a babe. Well. Not quite, but you know what I mean. I’m actually considering making him our new Retriever. There’s a certain irony there, don’t you think, what with your being a Red Lister?”

“What’s a Retriever?” asked Scorio warily.

“A Retriever? One who retrieves. Who do you think we send to collect the Red Listers once they’re cast beyond the Final Door?”

Scorio stared at her. He recalled the desiccated corpse he’d stumbled upon in the caverns, impaled upon the stone spikes. “You mean… Radert was a Herdsmen?”

“But of course,” said Anseline. “Say hello, Radert.”

A plump man with a mooncalf smile at the end of the line gave a little wave. “Hello! I’m, ah, Radert, as you may have guessed. It’s an honor to meet you.”

The man beamed, his cheeks rosy, his hair a mop of caramel brown.

“You’re… so the Red Listers…?”

“Those we wish to recruit,” agreed Anseline. “We endeavor to run a tight ship here, but occasionally someone escapes our net, and of course we can’t have that. Hence the encoded designation of Red Listers.” She smiled. “A failsafe, if you will. Not that all Red Listers are meant to be Herdsmen, the Academy uses that protocol for its own reasons, but yes, it’s been a neat recourse for the rest of us. One that was meant to ensure that you were retrieved and brought here ages ago, but everything’s been… chaotic, of late. Radert died, and then the next Retriever was captured, and, well, I just haven’t gotten around to training the next one. There was no point, you see, once you escaped our little noose. But here you are. And my wager has paid off handsomely. Haven’t you disrupted all that you touched? Haven’t you been an agent of chaos and change? True to your nature, true to your past, true to your glorious reputation. All is well that ends well, and this, why, this will end beautifully!”

Scorio reeled. So many implications. Had Praximar known? The entire system, Red Listers, Radert, Sal’s faith—

He thrust it all aside. “What are you talking about? You released me to be reborn?”

“Focus on the imperatives, Scorio. You are to become the lord of the Fortress and all its wonders once more. Free of Heart Oaths, you shall usher it into the public eye, and yours shall be the consequent glory.”

She rested her chin on the back of her wrist. “For too long have I whiled away the years here in pointless obscurity. What use genius if you are commanded to stay still? But they didn’t conceive me capable of this ploy. That I’d invite my own death into the Fortress. Oh no. Those who are consumed by greed and an endless lust for power can’t believe that others might be otherwise.”

Scorio eyed the assembled Herdsmen. They were watching Anseline with expressions of distaste, confusion, and dismay. Clearly they weren’t of the same mind as their leader.

But he’d need them, wouldn’t he? To operate this marvel? This was no whale ship to be directed with gusts of mana. This was a complexity beyond his ken.

Anseline roused herself. “It’s a pity. I thought… I’d hoped to see my sister before I died, to explain, but…” She sighed. “Heavy is the crown. Come, Scorio. I’ll only put up a token resistance. There can be only one master of the Fortress. Cease masking your power. Claim Primacy and then grant me my death. The rest should be intuitive once you have taken ownership of its nexus and matrices. It will take some time for you to truly comprehend the vastness of its power and the role it plays in the local ecology, but time you have.”

Scorio wrestled one basic fact out of this mess of revelations. “You think I’m masking my power?”

“Of course. I am reading you as a… well. A Blood Baron, of sorts, but you escaped the Outer Gauntlet. You hold the Warden’s key in your hand. Thus, you must be a Charnel Duke.”

“All right. Say I kill you. What happens if nobody claims Dominion then?”

“An academic question?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Then… why, the Fortress will cease to operate, obviously. You do understand that it must always have a Warden, don’t you? Who else will oversee the processing of all the mana? Without Dominion, the whole system we’ve wrought in the Unfathom will fall apart within days.”

Scorio hesitated. “System?”

“Yes, yes!” She waved a hand irritably. “The Suns, of course. Who will ensure the conduits remain active so that the Fortress can siphon them of power? Oh no, if that ceased to happen, the Suns would actually evolve, and then…” She smiled wryly. “Then oops! Everything would go very wrong.”

Understanding dawned. Scorio blinked, his mouth opening as all the pieces fell into place. “The Cube draws its power from the Suns. That’s what keeps it floating and active. And… and why it follows its path across the Unfathom, moving from Sun to Sun. You tap each one as you go, ensuring that none of them ever can explode.”

“Yes, yes,” snapped Anseline. “This will all become clear once you establish Dominion. Now, I shall relinquish Primacy so that you may Ignite your Heart and fight me for Dominion. Hurry, for I grow impatient.”

Scorio found himself able to Ignite, her Dominion retracting just enough so that he could access his reservoir once more. Knowing it futile, he reached out with his Heart senses. Anseline’s Dominion was total. The mana was there, sure enough, but locked away. For a moment he sought to impose the Imperial Gel matrix upon it all, to claw some advantage from her… but he might as well have scratched at a granite wall.

“I… can’t.”

Anseline blinked. “What do you mean? You want this. My death. I arranged for your friends to die. Or have you forgotten? I am your enemy. I’m a Herdswoman. You must desire to slay me.”

“Oh, I’d be happy to,” agreed Scorio, eyeing the other Herdsmen who were listening with rapt attention. “But… I don’t know how to claim Dominion.”

Anseline stared at him, her face expressionless.

“But!” He fought to keep his tone jovial. “What we can do instead is keep things going as they are for a little longer. You just sit there and keep siphoning the Suns. I’ll… I’ll go get someone to help. I’ll come back with your sister and she can relieve you of Dominion.”

“No!” Anseline shot up to her feet. “This is not for you to decide. I do the deciding. You are the chosen one. I chose you, for your past, for the resonance, for your ability to wreck change. This ends now. You—you defeated the Outer Gauntlet. That means you’re lying. You can claim Dominion. You’re choosing not to.”

Scorio’s thoughts raced. What to do? If he summoned his ferula she’d block him with her Shroud or claim Primacy once more. And even if he killed her, how long would it take the Silverine Suns to evolve? What would happen then? Could the Great Souls manage dozens of whatever emerged from such vast conglomerations of power? Would the Cube even be of use to him and everyone else if it crashed into the silver sands below?

He didn’t know.

“Don’t hesitate,” whispered Fionna urgently, only to sag by his side and collapse. At the same time, a second version of her appeared before Anseline and touched the Charnel Duchess’s elbow.

Anseline lifted up off the ground. She didn’t appear concerned, merely confused. “Fionna, what is the—”

Scorio summoned his ferula and loosed his colorless flame.

The second Fionna collapsed, corpselike, as Anseline glared abruptly at Scorio and summoned her Shroud, exerting Dominion simultaneously so that she dropped to the dais. Scorio suddenly felt mired in mud, and even the other Herdsmen who were reacting with shouts and alarm seemed to slow as if in a dream. But not before his ferula’s blast hit home.

It punched neatly through her Shroud just as it manifested, passed through Fionna’s back, and disappeared into Anseline’s chest.

Scorio felt himself abruptly freed of her power. Horrified at the speed of his own reaction, unsure if he’d chosen wisely, he could only stare as the Charnel Duchess’s Shroud disappeared. Anseline staggered backward as Fionna’s second corpse hit the floor, clutched at the arm of her throne, then collapsed to the ground.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

Fionna had appeared to one side of the chamber, and now covered her mouth with one hand, eyes wide.

“Bravo, Fionna,” said Bravurn, clapping his hands slowly. “You do have a little bite, after all. But Scorio, if you can actually claim Dominion, you’d best do so now.”

“I can’t,” said Scorio.

The panels of golden light along the wall began to flicker in a new pattern, one that even Scorio could tell betrayed urgency.

“Well, that’s not good,” said Radert, scratching at the back of his head. “None of us here can, either.”

“Our only hope, then, is that a higher ranked Herdsmen will notice the loss of control and arrive before it’s too late,” said Bravurn. “Or else…”

Fionna was still staring at the fallen Anseline. “It worked. She’s… she’s dead.”

Scorio kept his ferula raised. “Thank you, Fionna.” He still couldn’t quite believe she’d done it. But the situation was grave, and he had to remain focused. “Is there anything that can be done to stabilize the situation?”

The sole Herdsmen who’d been wearing a deep cowl pushed it back, revealing his prematurely aged face. Scorio thought him past the ability to feel fresh shock, but the sight of Sal’s gaunt features, his skin the color of old bone, his stringy beard, caused Scorio’s eyes to widen anew.

“Hello, Scorio, it’s me, Sal.” He began rubbing his hands together as he smiled nervously, displaying his missing teeth. “I’ve, ah, been here for some time, now. And become something of an expert on the Cube and its mechanics. Again.” He glanced disdainfully at his peers. “No surprise, seeing as I was the original creator of much of this… wonder.” And he gestured around the room. “So, it’s with some authority that I can state that we’re absolutely doomed unless you can claim Dominion, or someone else steps in to do so. Promptly.”

Scorio could only shake his head.

“A pity, that.” Sal smiled again. “You see, this is a very delicate enterprise, a complex equation that requires balancing lest it all go to hell.” He snickered at his own pun. “Because, well, there are—think of it as a matrix of force that extends from one Sun to the other, leashes, constraints, confabulations. All originating from here, the Fortress of Symmetry. But without Dominion, well.” He gave a rapid shake of his head. “It all falls apart.”

“We have days?” asked Scorio. “In that time—”

“No!” Sal’s bark was raw with sudden anger. “Not days! The destabilization process has already begun! The closest Sun already slips its harness, and soon its neighbors will do the same, then the next. We’d best pray that an Imperator arrives in the next few moments, for if not, the Suns will…” He paused, searching for the right word.

“Explode?” suggested Radert.

“Evolve beyond a threshold from which there is no returning.” Sal stroked his wispy beard. “It will be fascinating to observe, of course. There are centuries’ worth of theories as to what happens next, what the Sun shall become, but most agree that the Silverines’ have the right of it: a god shall be born. Not a friendly god, either.”

“This…” Scorio tried to find the words. “How could such a system have been put in place? Why aren’t there protective measures?”

“Ah,” said Sal, tapping the side of his nose. “Why indeed?”

Bravurn was staring at Sal with consummate disdain. “Because the creators of the Fortress were not averse to this eventuality.”

“They wanted the Suns to explode?” asked Scorio.

Bravurn nodded. “It’s the only reasonable deduction. Even if it weren’t their primary objective, the explosion of the Suns must have been seen as a suitable back-up plan in case their original plans fell apart.”

“They,” said Scorio. “You’re not one of them?”

Bravurn’s smile was just three degrees short of a sneer. “Nobody truly is until they reach Crimson Earl. We Herdsmen are gradated, knowledge doled out accordingly, and all wrapped in such secrecy that the left hand can never divine what the right is doing.”

“None of that matters,” snapped Sal, stepping forward as if to push Bravurn back and out of sight. “We must now raid the Fortress of all we can and flee before it begins to fall. But oh! What a fun surprise the Academy is going to have. Their next Class is going to be a doozy!”

The pattern of the lights across the walls were flashing brighter and more rapidly.

Scorio looked from one Herdsmen to the next, to Anseline’s corpse to the throne then to where Fionna yet stood. There was simply too much taking place here that he didn’t understand, and he knew he couldn’t trust what he was being told, either.

One truth remained, however: Anseline was dead, Dominion was lost, and the Lost Cube was about to fall from the sky.