Black Halo

Epilogue

THE STIRRING IN THE SEA



Mesri had been a holy man, once: a revered speaker of the will of the Zamanthras. He had guided his people through many trials and many hardships. He was the chain that had held Port Yonder together. He was a leader. He was a man of the Gods. He was good.

And now, he was a fast-fading memory, his eyes shut tight and drifting beneath a cloak of shimmering blue as his body was commended to the depths. The last body to go under, the other victims of the longfaces’ attack having since been offered to the ocean. It had begun reverently enough, with the ritual candles burned and the holy words spoken.

But the candles had been extinguished by a stray wave. The people did not know all the words. Mesri did. Mesri was dead. So was half of Port Yonder. And once that reality became too apparent, the funerals lasted as long as it took to identify the bodies and drop them into the harbour.

By the time they sent Mesri to Zamanthras, only two remained to watch him sink beneath the blue. Only Kasla. Only Hanth.

The girl peered out over the edge of the dock. ‘Do we say something?’

‘To who?’ he asked.

She glanced around the empty harbour. ‘To Zamanthras?’

‘Feel free,’ he said.

Kasla inhaled deeply and looked for inspiration. She looked to the sky, grey and thundering. She looked to the sea, glutted with corpses. She looked to the city, its blackened ruin and blood-spattered sands. And so, she looked out over the ocean and spat.

‘Thanks for nothing.’

They continued to stare at the sea, saying nothing. Neither of them felt an obligation to stay, to remain silent. Neither of them knew where they would go, what they would say.

‘Are you going to stay?’ Kasla asked.

‘I am returning home,’ he replied.

‘You say that, but you don’t look like you’re from around here. Your skin is too white and your eyes are too dark to be Tohanan. And you very clearly don’t follow Zamanthras.’

‘Zamanthras doesn’t tell me who I am. Neither do your people.’

She shrugged. ‘I guess not. Still, you kept everyone safe while we rescued them from the longfaces. They’ll welcome you for that.’

‘That’s fine,’ he replied. ‘I’m glad they’re safe for now.’

‘They are. We all are.’ She reached out, slid a hand into his robe and smiled. ‘Heartbeat.’

He turned on her. ‘What?’

‘I can feel it through your skin,’ she said, running her fingers over his chest. ‘You must be stressed.’

‘I … am …’ he said, nodding weakly.

‘You need food. Fortunately, the cooks survived.’ She patted him on the back and began walking to the wreckage of Port Yonder. ‘Come on.’

He turned and began to follow. The water lapped at the docks. The sky rumbled. And between the voices of the storm and the sea, Hanth heard a whisper reach his ears from the waves.

‘Ulbecetonth honours her promises, Mouth.’

He forced himself to keep going, to keep his eyes forward. He didn’t dare look behind him for fear of seeing four golden eyes peering at him from the depths, a grey dorsal fin splitting the waters.

On the sands below, the females were joyous. The air was rife with the shrieking of Those Green Things as they were driven under lash and blade to chop more wood and haul it to the shore to be built into ships. The slightest excuse – a pause to take a drink, a load moving too slow – was used to justify an immediate execution.

‘Shouldn’t you stop them?’ a rasping voice asked from behind him.

Sheraptus scowled; between the shriek of Those Green Things, the laughter of the females and the cackle of the sikkhuns as more and more corpses were hurled into their pits, the sound of the Grey One That Grins was just somehow even more grating.

‘It’s quite wasteful, you know,’ his companion said. ‘If you have no slaves, you will have no ships and you will have no way to find the tome.’

‘No,’ Sheraptus said, pointedly.

‘No?’

‘I’m bored with that. I found your stupid tome and it cost me dearly.’

‘You’ve never given a concern for cost before.’

‘That was before I lost my best warriors, my First Carnassial and my ship for the sake of a few pieces of pressed wood. This is no longer interesting.’

‘There is still more to learn.’

‘Of what? Overscum? They show up where you don’t want them to and ruin everything. That’s as much as I need to know and as much as I care to know. I’ve decided … we’re returning to the Nether. There are plenty more wars to be fought there.’

‘But so little power to be gained,’ the Grey One That Grins urged. ‘Consider all that you have found here; consider all that we have given you to fight Ulbecetonth’s children on our behalf. The martyr stones, the poison …’

‘The power I’ve found here is weak and fleeting. I’ve not yet met anyone who can best me.’

‘No. Only those who can best your ship.’

‘You are aggravating me,’ Sheraptus growled. ‘Consider my gratitude for the stones to be my aversion to killing you.’

‘Most appreciated. However, I feel you may be a little shortsighted.’

‘I also feel that way. I was apparently too hasty in offering such gratitude.’

‘I simply mean to imply that you are letting your mood sour the potential for one of the greatest powers you’ve yet to see.’

‘Power … is that all you think me concerned with?’

‘No. This power, however, you might be … considering it comes in a form you will find most pleasing.’

Sheraptus paused, a smile growing across his lips as the Grey One That Grins drew the words out between his long teeth.

‘The priestess.’

‘What of her?’ Sheraptus asked.

‘Did you not sense something awry last night on your ship? A strength you have not tasted before?’

‘I did … on the beach, as well. Her?’

‘She possesses something not yet seen in nethra. Perhaps you are interested?’

‘Passingly. In her, though …’

‘She attracts your ire?’

‘We were interrupted. She did not scream for me.’

‘I see. I can show you how to find her. I can show you how to harness her power for your own ends.’

‘And in return?’

‘The tome.’

‘As you wish. The Screamer is out seeking its whereabouts right now. I suspect Those Other Green Things that sank my ship will be involved.’

‘The Shen are powerful. It may take many females to wrench it from their grasp.’

‘I have many females.’

‘And the artifact,’ the Grey One That Grins said, ‘you returned it from Port Yonder?’

‘Yldus arrived not long ago. I hardly see what you want with a pile of bones, though.’

‘It will become clear, in time.’

‘You say that often, I note.’

‘I have little time to explain. My presence is needed elsewhere.’

‘Of course. Vashnear will tend to your needs.’

He heard the Grey One That Grins turn on his heels and begin to walk away. Without turning around, Sheraptus called after him.

‘This power she has … and how to harness it …’

‘It will be a long process,’ his companion said. ‘Long … and slow.’

And without a word, Sheraptus smiled, returning his gaze to the island below. The sikkhuns fed. The ships bobbed in the surf as supplies were loaded onto them. And the females were joyous.

So many steps, Mahalar thought as he climbed down. Were there always this many?

Not for the first time, he thought about turning around, returning to the top and sleeping for a few more hours. But his people were waiting for him below. They had requested his guidance.

He found the Shen gathered in a throng at the bottom of the massive stone staircase; he felt their yellow eyes upon him, heard the quiet hiss of their breath. At the fore of them, he recognised Shalake, heard the towering Shen’s breath louder and angrier than the rest.

He bowed his scaly head to them as he was about to ask what they had summoned him for. That reason became clear as he recognised another presence amongst them: small, kneeling, quivering with fear.

Human, he recognised. Humans here … with Shalake.

His heart sank. He knew what usually came next.

‘Mahalar,’ Shalake said. ‘We found this one outside the reef. We await your wisdom.’

Of course, Mahalar thought with a sigh. ‘Wisdom’ is not often needed to sentence terrified humans to death. All the same …

He came before the human, smelled his frightened breath, the salt on his skin, heard the quaver in his voice.

‘Your name?’ he asked.

‘S-Sebast,’ the human replied. ‘Of the Riptide, under the captaincy of one Argaol—’

‘Sebast,’ Mahalar repeated. ‘What is it you’ve come seeking?’

‘Our m-men,’ the human stammered. ‘Three men, two women, one … thing. They disembarked weeks ago. We were supposed to pick them up weeks ago. But our crew … dead … slaughtered. And now, me …’

He let that thought hang, unfinished, in the air, clearly hoping for a denial, a shake of Mahalar’s scaly, wrinkled head, anything that might suggest he would walk away from this.

Mahalar simply pulled a pipe from his robe and lit it, taking a few deep, long puffs.

‘Where were you to meet them?’ Mahalar asked.

‘T-Teji, sir. It’s supposed to be a trading post not far from—’

‘We know what Teji is, human,’ Shalake hissed. ‘But apparently you do not. These waters are forbidden to humans.’

‘We didn’t know!’ Sebast squealed. ‘We didn’t know, I swear! Let me go and I’ll take my men away from here and never return.’

Mahalar looked to Shalake. ‘His men?’

‘Dead,’ Shalake answered.

‘W-what?’ Sebast stammered.

‘It is our way, unfortunately,’ Mahalar said. ‘We stand atop sacred ground, Sebast. Our charge sleeps deeply, and we take care that no one disturbs her.’

‘Your charge?’

‘It takes a long time to explain,’ Mahalar said. ‘A longer time to convince you. But we have been convinced for a long, long time. This is our charge. These are our oaths.’ He shook his head. ‘We break them for no one, Sebast.’

He glanced to Shalake, nodded. He felt the wind break as the great Shen’s club rose into the air. He felt the air stand silent as the great Shen’s voice followed.

‘SHENKO-SA!’

‘No! PLEASE!’

He heard the sound of a melon splitting, a sack of fruits hitting the earth. He smelled blood on the air and sighed.

‘I am sorry, Sebast.’

‘We do as we have to,’ Shalake said. ‘If he found those humans he sought …’

‘I know,’ Mahalar said. ‘But I was told you sent warriors to deal with them.’

‘Yaike says that they are dead.’

‘And who told Yaike?’

‘Togu.’

‘Then be on your guard. Togu has forgotten much in his time away.’

‘We have not,’ Shalake said. ‘If they still live, we will kill them. The longfaces have been sunk, continue to sink as we find them. The demons …’

‘Are coming,’ Mahalar said.

‘You can sense them?’

‘As easily as I can sense you.’

‘How long?’

‘Not very.’

‘Why now?’

‘They are called.’

Mahalar turned to stare up the great stone staircase. He could feel the mountain towering above him, smell the rain clouds that hung about its peak. And deep within its stone heart, he could hear a sound, fainter, but growing louder.

A heart, beating.

‘She,’ he whispered softly, ‘is stirring.’





Acknowledgements

I poured a lot of stuff into this book. Mostly anger. But there was joy, love, humour and a bunch of other nice things, too. I would like to thank the people who pointed out just when I put too much love onto a page, because it was pretty gross, and those who thought there could have stood to be more anger from time to time.

Naturally, I’d like to thank my editors, Lou Anders and Simon Spanton, for their relentless work on it, and my agent, Danny Baror, for getting it into their hands. These are the men I respect so much I can’t give them silly nicknames.

Not so for my gurus. I’d also like to thank Matthew ‘Wouldn’t You Just Kill Her’ Hayduke, John ‘Needs More Sex’ Henes and Carl ‘Okay, I Know That Sounds Cool, but Picture It in Your Head and Tell Me It Doesn’t Sound Stupid’ Cohen for providing their unique insights.

It was a collaborative effort. But I did most of the work.

That’s why I get more pages than they do.