The Firmament of Flame, page 40
It started, like a migration of birds following invisible magnetic lines, except these lines weren’t invisible, they were searing paths of flame cutting through the cosmos: the dreadnaughts began aligning themselves along the beams of liquid fire, and then, one by one, they started jumping away, ready to take the Bright Wanderers’ demands of submission to the worlds where the light was falling. “Join, for we are the ones who have cleansed the pulse from the skies of your world; join, or have our dreadnaughts pound your cities from orbit.” The carrot, and the stick.
This wasn’t the sect wars. It wasn’t the Golden Age.
We were watching an empire begin to form, before our very eyes.
The same empire Julia had warned me about, the one that would be protected, once Ase found that final station of the forerunners, the one that could veil—or summon—the pulse across the entire galaxy. An endless cycle, where those who resisted the Bright Wanderers’ creed were returned to the stone age, and the web of imperial ambition just grew larger and larger, stronger and stronger, until it covered every system, every shipyard, touched every life between the stars, in one way or another.
And the spider at the center: a brutal psychotic of a sadist whose only real desire was to torture anything she couldn’t control.
I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know when, but even as I watched those dreadnaughts jump away, to begin the rise of her empire—not all of them jumped, of course; plenty stayed behind to protect the source of their power, still more than the Justified alone would ever be able to fight—I swore to myself that we weren’t just watching the foundation of the Wanderers’ hegemony, the beginnings of their sovereignty that would stretch from one edge of the galaxy to the other. We were also watching its downfall, the seed of its very end planted at the moment the whole thing truly began. That seed—that ending—was a very simple fact: we were still here.
And this universe wouldn’t just knuckle under, wouldn’t give in to her demands, wouldn’t succumb nearly as easily as the would-be empress thought it would, because she didn’t understand anyone motivated by anything other than fear, or pain, or rage; she couldn’t. She thought everyone other than herself—even the cultists who made up her armies—were all just … prey, domesticated cattle, as easily manipulated as the Cyn had been, however she’d achieved that.
She was wrong; people would resist, they would fight. It was what they did. For better or worse, the history of all the sapient species was one of conflict—she could offer all the “freedom” she wanted, complete with the caveats of annihilation attached if they refused, and people would still fight back, fight just because of the very ultimatum she’d offered. It was just what we were.
The Preacher could have told her that.
“What now?” Esa asked; she’d clawed her way back to consciousness, had dropped, more than sat, in her chair behind the gunnery controls—was looking out at the arrival, and departure, of all those dreadnaughts, the expression on her face just … tired, worn through, like she simply didn’t have any more horror to give, not after what had happened to the Preacher.
She’d find more, again. More horror, more fear, more anger, more rage, more determination, more bravery. She was young. She’d recover from this. And then—like me—she’d fight the fuck back. When you’re hit, when you’re knocked down, you get up again, and you just start swinging. That’s what you do.
I’d taught her that. And I’d taught her well.
“Now?” I asked her, even as I pulled Schaz’s nose away from the launch of the Bright Wanderers’ fleet, away from the pathways of fire carving ancient and long-lost courses through the sweep of the edges of the galaxy. “Now, we find a way to fight, Esa. There’s always a way to fight.”
“And can we win?” Even now, a little bit of that spark was returning to her voice: a little bit of what she’d lost, finding its way back. It was a tiny thing, just a little bit compared to what she’d had taken from her, but it was there, all the same. Losing the Preacher—losing to Ase—wouldn’t break her. Not my Esa.
“We can. Somehow. We’ll do it together.” I reached out, and took her good hand, squeezed it in my own.
It took her a moment, but she squeezed back.
And then we made the jump to hyperspace.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The difficulty in writing the acknowledgments for the third book in a series is that you’re really just thanking the same core group of people for a third time running, and by this point, there are only so many ways you can say, “Thank you; there’s no way this book would exist without you, and even if it somehow did, it would be a far, far lesser thing if you had not helped it come into being.” Still, there’s a reason for that: that same core group of people are the ones who have their fingerprints on every page, the ones whose voices are just as integral to the work as my own, the ones who do the actual work when it comes to getting a ragged manuscript filled with half-developed ideas and bizarre flights of fancy ready for actual publication. So they’re getting thanked again, whether they like it or not—the fact that you, the reader (who should always be first and foremost in terms of who gets thanked, because without you, there’s no point for this book to exist), somehow found this book, and somehow made it all the way to the end, is a testament to the hard work and dedication of these people, much more than it is to my own private lunacy.
First, my family, who encouraged a love of stories in me before anything else—all of my first memories involve storytelling of some description or another, and most of my later ones do as well. The fact that this story joins, in some small way, such a wide, vast, deep pantheon as already exists is entirely a testament to your encouragement and support. Thank you.
For Sara, who’s always the first person to listen to me complain, and is coincidentally the first person to tell me to quit complaining and just solve my problems already, and what do you mean I can’t see how to solve it, the solution’s right there: thank you. You have the best solutions, always. Even the ones that involve fire. Especially the ones that involve fire. Thank you.
For Chris Kepner, agent extraordinaire, who works tirelessly to make sure that I can cling to even the slightest shred of sanity, even when he knows my grip is always slipping—thank you.
For Devi Pillai, Rachel Bass, Desirae Friesen, Liana Krissoff, Deirdre Kovac, and the rest of the team at Tor: seriously, reader, you won’t believe how hard these people work. It’s insane; it’s ludicrous. The fact that they manage to do all that work—large chunks of which are a direct result of me being an idiot—and still remain gracious, friendly, helpful, and dedicated speaks to their belief in their authors and their faith in the notion that what they do matters, and let me tell you: it does. It really, really does. Thank you.
For Anne Perry, Bethan Jones, Harriett Collins, and their colleagues at Simon & Schuster UK: The support, care, and attention you’ve lavished on me—and on Firmament—is a testament to your kindness, your compassion, and your dedication. Thank you.
For the innumerable other people in my life (okay, I lied when I said it was just a “core group” earlier) who have done everything you could—knowingly or not—to influence this work, in ways both large or small: thank you. If you think there’s the slightest chance this thank-you is for you, then guess what—it is. Thank you.
And last, but certainly not least—like I said above: first and foremost—for you, the reader: thank you. Thank you for taking this journey with me; thank you for making it this far; thank you for making these characters part of your life, part of your imagination, part of your dreams. I’m so glad, so awed, so phenomenally humbled that you invited them in and made a place for them there. Thank you.
—Drew Williams
August 19, 2019
ALSO BY DREW WILLIAMS
The Stars Now Unclaimed
A Chain Across the Dawn
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DREW WILLIAMS has been a bookseller in Birmingham, Alabama, since he was sixteen years old, when he got the job because he came in looking for work on a day when someone else had just quit. Outside of arguing with his coworkers about whether Moby-Dick is brilliant (nope) or terrible (that one), his favorite part of the job is discovering new authors and sharing them with his customers. Now that he’s written his own book, he is entirely confident that it can be hand sold to everyone, even people who don’t like science fiction, adventures, or fun in general, because it’s just that damn good. He is perhaps a tad overconfident in his own abilities as a writer. You can sign up for email updates here.
Twitter: @DrewWilliamsIRL
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Act: One
Chapter 1. Esa
Chapter 2. Esa
Chapter 3. Esa
Chapter 4. Jane
Chapter 5. Jane
Chapter 6. Jane
Chapter 7. Jane
Chapter 8. Jane
Chapter 9. Esa
Chapter 10. Esa
Chapter 11. Jane
Chapter 12. Jane
Chapter 13. Jane
Chapter 14. Esa
Chapter 15. Esa
Chapter 16. Jane
Act: Two
Chapter 1. Esa
Chapter 2. Esa
Chapter 3. Esa
Chapter 4. Jane
Chapter 5. Jane
Chapter 6. Jane
Chapter 7. Jane
Chapter 8. Jane
Chapter 9. Jane
Chapter 10. Jane
Chapter 11. Esa
Chapter 12. Esa
Chapter 13. Esa
Chapter 14. Esa
Chapter 15. Esa
Chapter 16. Esa
Chapter 17. Esa
Act: Three
Chapter 1. Jane
Chapter 2. Jane
Chapter 3. Esa
Chapter 4. Jane
Chapter 5. Esa
Chapter 6. Jane
Chapter 7. Jane
Chapter 8. Esa
Chapter 9. Esa
Chapter 10. Esa
Chapter 11. Jane
Chapter 12. Esa
Chapter 13. Jane
Chapter 14. Esa
Chapter 15. Jane
Chapter 16. Esa
Chapter 17. Jane
Chapter 18. Esa
Chapter 19. Jane
Chapter 20. Esa
Chapter 21. Jane
Chapter 22. Esa
Chapter 23. Jane
Acknowledgments
Also by Drew Williams
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE FIRMAMENT OF FLAME
Copyright © 2020 by Drew Williams
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Fred Gambino
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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New York, NY 10271
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-18620-1 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-250-18619-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-18621-8 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250186218
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First Edition: February 2020
Drew Williams, The Firmament of Flame
