Chapter Sixteen #5
the Archons’ order,” Berith said. “She would have interfered—”
Isaac
killed his fire, spun through a new set of mnemonics, and loosed a burst of
sound directly at his uncle. In the few moments it took to cast, Berith piled
all of his collected bones into a solid wall in front of him. When the sound
struck, it exploded through the fortress of bone like a hammer through twigs,
spraying shrapnel, deafening the room, forcing his uncle back, shredding half a
dozen thralls into pulp and blood.
Zaria
charged into the fray, barreling toward the stage.
As she
ran, Isaac changed his cast again, forming a band of screaming wind. He
targeted the elemental students on either side of the stage. Every hurricane
was flung like a whip, battering the students, flinging many to the side, their
casting of ice and fire flailing uselessly through the air. Between them all,
Zaria continued to dash, breaking through the gap in their ranks, the tip of
her poleaxe held in a spearing thrust. With a burst of strength, she leaped
onto the stage.
Behind
the ruins of bone, Berith shot his arm to the sky.
Above
his head, the coffins on the ceiling began to rattle and shake. They wrenched
themselves along their ancient tracks, the bones inside providing all the
thrust. Suddenly, the coffins broke free from the metal, plunging across the
room like arrows loosed from a giant’s bow. Zaria kept charging. One missile
struck her on the shoulder, and the glass shattered in a spray, tearing into
flesh, the metal backing nearly knocking her from the stage.
She
snarled, recovering. She kept advancing forward. Her animal legs chewed through
the distance.
“Heel!”
Berith yelled.
Zaria
swung her axe.
Steel
chopped. Bone splintered and flew. The sheer force knocked Berith to the floor.
As she recovered from the swing, Zaria took another blow from a flying coffin,
stumbling back as the ancient glass shattered across her body. She regained her
balance, snarling at the pain, raising her axe blade high.
All at
once, a swarm of bone flitted through the air, pulled from the grates of a
dozen putrid drains. They flew quickly, frenzied and rushed. Zaria hesitated
just long enough for the bones to encase her, smothering her limbs, matting her
fur, drowning her body in death. No matter how hard she thrashed and kicked and
slapped, there was always a hundred more bones rushing from the depths of the
factory, thickening the cocoon around her. In moments, she collapsed to the
floor, screaming in pain.
Isaac
cast his anti-necrotic light, sharpening the spell into a solid, brilliant
lance.
“Stop!”
Berith yelled.
His
uncle struggled to his feet. A shrapnel of bone peeked from his ruddy
complexion, already beginning to bleed. The blow of Zaria’s axe seemed to have
dislocated his shoulder. On the floor of the stage, the bones began to slither
away, retreating just enough to expose Zaria’s head. She gasped desperately for
air.
“Cast
again,” Berith said, “and the pirate dies.”
Isaac
kept the white lance shining in his palm. If he loosed it now, the concentrated
energy would slice Berith in half. He had to do it now, before the thralls
could shield him.
His arm
shook with energy.
Berith’s
eyes reflected the light, hard and unblinking.
Slowly,
a crown of sharpened bone emerged around Zaria’s neck, like the spiked collar
of a dog. With a twitch, each of them could slit her throat. Necrotic tendrils
leaked from the tips of the bone, as green as a putrid bog.
Around
the stage, the Khador students picked themselves from the ground, their
movements languid and unconcerned. Each of their hands churned with elemental
magic. Above them all, Berith braced himself against the bank of metal devices.
He bashed his shoulder into the metal. The joint
reconnected. He flinched back, growling at the pain.
Isaac
kept tracking him with the lance, the energy in his palm close to boiling.
Do it.
Do it.
His arm
shook.
He
could barely see through the tears.
“This
is your last warning,” his uncle said, rubbing his shoulder. Blood leaked from
the shards of bone in his face. “Leave, and I will not pursue.”
The
bones constricted around Zaria, sharp and swirling. Necrotics wafted like
smoke. On either side of the stage, the thralls held their spells at the edge
of casting.
“If you
distract me again,” Berith said, “if you insist on meddling in the affair that
has ruined our family, I will kill you. I won’t be a coward, like I was before.
If I have ever done anything nice for you, Isaac, this is it. This is my only,
actual kindness.”
The
lance in Isaac’s hand grew into a bright, shining star.
“Start
a new life, Isaac. Live for yourself. This is the only chance you’ll ever
have.”
Slowly,
Berith paced around the metal device, never taking his gaze from Isaac. He
retreated to the edge of the stage. His blue eyes grew brighter, the sigils on
the thralls responded, and a dozen young students helped him climb down to the
floor, like servants dressing a king. Once secure, the enslaved students
gathered around him, shielding him with their bodies. Berith disappeared into a
sea of black robes and churning magic.
Above,
on the stage, the bones continued to swirl around Zaria, sharpened limbs
sliding past her throat. A touch of necrotics had balded the fur on her chin.
The
crowd of thralls retreated into the chamber, squeezing between the lines of
automation, ignoring the crusted blood, watching for the slightest sign of
attack. Isaac never lowered his hand. After a short time, Berith had traveled
so far down the pelvic cavity that he and his thralls almost disappeared into
the tangle of coffins, tanks, pipework, and dust. The gloom drank their
blackened robes.
For
just a moment, Isaac saw his uncle again, his eyes glowing bright with parasite
magic, his face peeking between the heads of his thralls.
“I
consider you my son,” Berith said, voice echoing down the chamber.
Isaac
aimed directly between his eyes.
“My
brother,” Berith continued, “is not your father. Not anymore. He gave you away
before you were even born. For all your life, the burden has belonged to me.”
Isaac
imagined his light piercing through Berith’s head, melting the skin, boiling
the bone, his inner brain steaming out from the crater of his skull. He
imagined the sound of his uncle’s body slumping to the floor. He pictured the
look of shock still stamped into his gaze.
He
wanted it.
He
wanted it very badly.
He
wanted to kill his uncle.
For the
life of him, he could not stop his hands from shaking.
“I want
you to know,” Berith said. “Despite everything . . . I am proud of you.”
Isaac
dropped his spell, screaming in rage.
His
uncle disappeared into the dust and gloom, dragging the bodies of all his
students. The sound of marching footsteps drifted away. All at once, the bones
around Zaria died, falling to the floor, the necrotic tendrils rusting the
metal of the stage. She gasped, clutching at her neck. In the space above her,
the stripes and stars gave a single flutter, as if the old necromancer gods
were still watching from the grave.
For a
moment, all that remained was the smell of blood.