Vigilance (The Aeternum Chronicles Book 2), page 1
Copyright ©2017 H.G. Chambers
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Printing, 2017
Editing: Jane Tucker
Cover Design: Rob Joseph
Map Illustration: Hiru Walisadeera
http://hgchambers.com
BOOKS BY H.G. CHAMBERS
THE AETERNUM CHRONICLES
Recreance
The Gathering Mask
Vigilance
For Melanie
Contents
Prologue
The Nights of Eros
On Deaf Ears
Highlands
The Battle of Masada
Low Places
Withdrawal
Dissent
Glühwein
The Doldrums
The Weight of the Fallen
Rudderless
Guardians
A Rational Choice
Prisoner 18277
Loch Fyne
Into the White
Choice
Hold Strong
The Cause
Subterfuge
The Nothing
Stand and Fight
The Call of the Void
Poros
Purpose
Epilogue
Glossary
Acknowledgments
Newsletter
Fourteen hundred years after discovering the secret to eternal life, a battered humanity recovers from centuries of conflict known as the Aeternum Wars. Ruled by the all-powerful Ministry, most of humankind now huddle in the geo-magnetic powered colony of New Arcadia.
Prologue
“Bravo.” Variant Marconas clapped slowly as he stepped out of the darkness into the dim light of the wall-mounted oil lamp. His shadow flickered erratically on the rough stone walls of the small room. Magdalene Medeia sat casually in the high-backed velvet chair, watching him stride confidently toward her. A teal silk dress with lace trimming flowed like water over her crossed legs, spilling onto the floor.
“Variant,” she said coolly, raising an eyebrow as he came to a stop before her. The muscular man was towering, and would have seemed even taller had her chair not been elevated, placing her just above his eye level.
He stood before her and clasped his hands together, squaring his broad shoulders with hers. “Eliminating two obstacles with a single blow. I doubt even Maveth himself could have seen that coming.”
“You would be wise not to speak that name without intent,” Medeia warned.
“I have nothing to hide from the Great Dark, Medeia. Can you say the same?”
She studied him for a moment and smiled. “Sorry to disappoint, Marconas. I will not be goaded into professing my self-evident allegiance. In fact, there are many who would argue one’s actions define dedication far better than words ever could. Wouldn’t you agree?” She refused to give him the high ground; to do so would undoubtedly lead to her death.
He smiled and gazed at her with striking cobalt eyes, his irises pulsing subtly.
Maker he’s beautiful. Medeia immediately banished the thought from her mind. It was no secret that seduction was one of his dark gifts. No. She would not join the ranks of women he had seduced and devoured.
“Now now, Magdalene,” he spoke as if to a child. “Let’s play nice, yes?” There was a long pause. “After all, the Antari was a thorn in both of our sides…as for Besamael…”
She knew well his animosity toward Besamael—the most powerful Shaoh Mah she had ever encountered—not that it mattered now. Marconas would certainly be pleased to learn of Besamael’s death. She smiled and waited for him to continue.
“Can anyone truly know the mind of His Eminence? I suppose it’s possible he might be pleased at the elimination of such an ancient and powerful weapon…”
Bastard. She frowned. He was testing her, trying to trick her into denying responsibility for Besamael’s death so that he might claim it. She would not take the bait. This trophy belongs to me.
She kept her face calm and spoke, “Dear Variant, it must be so disappointing to have been left out of the plan,” she goaded him, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps if you had not left so soon, you could have claimed a trophy of your own.”
He frowned.
Good. She didn’t want him smiling. He was far more dangerous when at ease. “Timidi mater non flet, carissime,” she pushed him further, testing the boundaries of his tolerance.
His frown turned to a scowl, and she readied herself to defend. Gathering kai would be the same as drawing a sword, and so she refrained, hovering on the brink.
He watched her for a tension-filled moment, then regained control and smiled. This time, the smile did not reach his eyes.
“I will attribute your insolence to the ignorance of youth, Medeia, but should you overstep—”
She produced a small black disc from a pocket in her dress and placed it on the arm of her chair.
“Where did you get that?” he asked, failing to conceal his surprise.
“As I said, actions are far more indicative of dedication than words.” The disc had a small circular indentation on one side. The reverse would remain smooth, until she decided which symbol it would bear. The omni-stone was a gift from Maveth himself. A reward for the events she set in motion at Praeconis Amphitheater. She could now travel to any adjacent world for which she knew the symbol. Beyond that, it served the purpose of showing Marconas she was in favor, and untouchable, for the time being.
He scoffed, attempting to hide his envy. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Medeia. Few remain in his good graces for long.”
He eyed the omni-stone greedily, and she slipped it back into her pocket.
“Enough with the pleasantries,” he said, his face growing serious. “There is still the matter of the boy. What happened beyond the shadowgate was not insignificant. Your grandson was meant to perish with the Antari, was he not?”
She nodded, deciding not to give voice to the lie. In truth, Khalil should have been the only one to die that day…though the girl was expendable. Besamael’s demise had come as a surprise…a riddle she had yet to unravel.
There was a flash of suspicion in his eyes, and he continued, “It is of great concern to our master, that one so young has kindled. You know well his stance on suppressing those with the ability.”
It was true, the Patriarch would not allow any who could gather to roam free without his permission, hence the ascension ceremonies. Only those able to evade ascension and serve him, while also avoiding his assassins, were allowed the chance to prove themselves and gain their freedom…or some bridled version of it. The fact that Oren and Clementine had kindled before their twentieth year—over one-hundred years early—was concerning; but even more than that, she found it curious.
“I understand you spent time with him, before the attack. Were you able to learn anything?”
“Our time was limited, and I was unable to study him in depth without raising Khalil’s suspicion. I believe the kindling may have resulted from a traumatic event in the boy’s life…namely, the death of his parents.”
Marconas nodded. “Anything else?”
“No,” she shook her head, “other than the fact that it was too early to gauge his true capacity.”
“Well that is wholly unhelpful,” he muttered, looking away and placing a hand to his chin. “Somehow, he and the girl were able to defeat an ancient and powerful Shaoh Mah. It may have been a fluke…perhaps Besamael’s luck had run out, or perhaps not. They must not be underestimated.”
Medeia nodded.
“We tracked them to an archway in the outer core. Records indicate it led to Eros, before it was destroyed from the other side.”
“It does…did,” she affirmed. “Tell me, Variant, are you familiar with Eros?”
He looked at her flatly, then sighed and answered, “Yes, I have spent some time on that broken excuse for a world.”
“Then you are familiar with the adage?”
He stared at her impatiently, not speaking.
Medeia took on a lecturing tone, “Nothing survives the nights of Eros.” She paused, letting it sink in. “By the time they reached the gate, the sun had nearly set.”
Marconas remained skeptical. “It changes nothing. He was your responsibility, and you failed to contain him.”
She resisted the urge to remind him it was his men who allowed them to escape.
“This is your mess, Medeia,” he lectured, “I have been tasked with ensuring that you clean it up.”
She frowned. “Absolutely not. I don’t need a chaperone, Marconas. I work alone.”
“You don’t have a choice, unless of course you’d like to take it up with the Lord Patriarch?”
Boil it, she cursed to herself. She must have let slip her mask of serenity, judging by Marconas’ self-satisfied smile.
“Come now, am I such poor company?” he asked sarcastically, spreading his arms.
She didn’t trust herself to answer.
Eventually, he continued, “Don’t fret, little robin, I’ll not interfere…unless it becomes evident that you are unfit for the task. You won’t even know I’m there.” He grinned.
This was not how she had anticipated this conversation going, but it was the hand she had been dealt. Sh
She clenched her jaw and gave a slight nod.
“It is expected that you begin your search immediately. Keep in mind, the Patriarch will require evidence of the boy’s death.” He turned to leave, then paused at the doorway, and spoke over his shoulder, “Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Should you display even the slightest hesitation, you have been promised to me, to do with as I please.” His mirthless grin sent a shiver down her spine, and he walked out of the room.
Medeia gripped the arms of her chair with white-knuckled frustration. Would the Lord Patriarch really have sent Marconas to supervise her? After she had betrayed everything she once loved in order to serve? It was possible Marconas was lying; that he was misrepresenting his instructions in order to maintain dominance over her. They both knew she was in no position to call him on it…not while Oren still lived.
She would have to tread carefully. When it came down to it, she didn’t know if she could do it. It was one thing to leave him to his fate, it was something else entirely to be the one to take Oren’s life. One thing was for sure, if she was unable to do it, she would sooner die than become Marconas’ slave. A life of unending servitude to one as twisted as him filled her with a dread eclipsed only by that of the Great Dark.
Medeia took several deep breaths, calming her nerves and steadying her hands. She stood and grasped the omni-stone in her pocket. Gathering and directing her kai into it, she held the image of a four winged serpent in her mind. The air before her rippled in concentric circles, and eventually revealed the vast beaches of Eros. She took one last look toward the room’s exit, and stepped through the portal.
1
The Nights of Eros
The sky of Eros transitioned from cerulean blue to a rich, deep purple as Oren watched the strange orange star sink beneath the horizon. It was a sight few had seen before, and lived.
“We have to find shelter,” Clementine said urgently. “Come on!”
Oren tried to stand, and fell back to the ground. He was both mentally and physically exhausted, the memories of being torn from his body still fresh in his mind. Clem put an arm around his back, helping him up and supporting some of his weight. Their boots left tracks in the dry sand as they stumbled along, fleeing the unknown threat of night.
‘Nothing survives the nights of Eros.’
Neither one knew why, but Oren had a bad feeling they would soon find out.
“Up there!” Clem pointed to a small, dark opening in the hillside lining the beach. At their current pace it would be another ten minutes before they were there.
Oren put his head down and fought, grunting through the pain and exhaustion. His struggle within Besamael had nearly cost him his life, and it most certainly felt that way. He took quick breaths of the dry, alien air. It had been mere hours since the last time they’d seen this sandy beach, yet the vast ocean was completely gone, as if it had never been.
“Almost there!” Clem said, urging Oren forward. It was a desperate hope that the cave would provide any protection, but it was their only option.
A gentle breeze picked up, stirring the sand and cooling the sweat on Oren’s forehead. There was something unnatural about it. He continued to push himself, trying not to lean too much on Clementine.
“Lie with me,” a voice whispered on the air.
“What? Did you hear that?” Oren spun his head around, searching for the voice’s origination.
“Hear what?” Clem asked. “We’re almost there! Keep going!”
“Lie with me.”
“There! There it was again. Did you hear it?”
“I didn’t hear a thing,” Clementine said nonchalantly.
“Hmm?” Oren stretched his limbs, relishing the feeling of the plush grass beneath his back. Sunlight warmed his limbs, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves of a tall tree overhead. He hadn’t felt this good in ages. A distant memory of pain briefly lingered in his mind, but he quickly dismissed it in favor of the serene pleasure of this moment.
Clementine smiled, as radiant as the sun above, and plopped another plump redberry into his mouth. She had been sprawled out in the grass beside him, but had moved to rest against his chest, her face mere inches from his.
He stared into her eyes. Her breath was intoxicating. Every instinct in his body screamed for him to pull her close, press his lips against hers, and explore her mouth with his own. It took all his willpower not to embrace her then and there.
“Are you sure? I mean—”
“Shhhh.” She pressed a finger to his lips, then ran her hand through his curly brown hair. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Lie with me.”
Something in Oren’s mind hesitated. How did we get here? He struggled to remember where they were before they arrived in the serene meadow, but kept coming up short. Wasn’t there something important I should have been doing? Something about a cave…
She bit his earlobe, breathing gently into his ear, and the thought vanished from his mind as he was flooded with pleasure at the sensation. She was now sitting on top of him. When did that happen? He didn’t care. She pressed her lips against his, and the thought fled. Never before had he felt anything this powerful. He was hers, eternally. There was nothing he possessed that he would not give to her. As if in response to his intent, she pressed firmly against him, breathing deeply.
“Oren!” A terrified voice echoed from somewhere far off.
He paused, unsettled by the distraction. Clem reached up under his shirt, caressing his skin. I am yours, he thought with abandon.
Clementine pulled away suddenly, a look of fury contorting her face. Oren watched in shock and confusion as she looked around. He’d never seen her display such unbridled outrage. Her back arched, and she let out an inhuman shriek to the sky, before dissolving into a wet, viscous fluid, along with the grass, the sky, and the tall tree above. Pain wracked Oren’s body. He opened his eyes, which he hadn’t remembered closing, and scrambled backwards over the sand away from the horror before him.
Row upon row of long, segmented insectile limbs undulated on either side of the pale, maggot-like sack. The monstrosity was raised up before him on its rear legs, easily standing at twice his height. Its belly was covered in dark bristled holes, opening and closing like an infant’s mouth searching for its mother’s breast.
A bright blue light flashed and the creature scuttled backwards.
“Oren!” It was Clementine’s voice.
There was another flash of light, and Oren saw a squat man spinning a bow staff, attacking the monster from behind. Thump! Thump! With each strike, the blue light flashed. The insectile beast lunged toward the man, but he quickly dodged out of the way and resumed beating his staff against its fat, fleshy body. It let out a high pitched, barely audible shriek of rage before retreating over the sand and into the darkness.
Oren sat panting with wide eyes. He was covered head to toe in a mucusy, viscous fluid.
Clementine ran over and wrapped her arms around his neck, then looked into his eyes. “Are you okay? Oren?”
“Yeah…yeah I’m fine…I think,” he answered. He wiped the goop from around his eyes. What was that thing?
The short, unusual man stepped forward. To Oren, he looked ancient. Grey hair and a long beard encircled his round, dark brown face. He stood straight-backed, his round belly protruding before him, and his staff standing tall at his side. There was a look of curiosity in his eyes.
Oren watched as Clementine stood and stepped up before him. “Thanks. We owe you”—she glanced back at Oren—“Big time.”
“Thanks,” he answered, smiling broadly.
There was an awkward silence, and Clem spoke to fill it, “Is there somewhere safe we can take shelter for the night?”
“Night.” He nodded, then pointed at Oren.
Clem rushed over to Oren and crouched down beside him. “He’s hurt, we need shelter.”
“Hurt. Big time.” The squat man walked with a slight limp as he approached Oren. He peered at him with large pupils, checking over his chest and limbs.
“Help,” he stated plainly, and began rooting around in his satchel.
Oren looked to Clem for support, but she was nervously scanning the surrounding darkness.
The man eventually produced a spotted, gray stone scarab; big enough to fill the palm of his hand.
