Ancient Evil (The First Genocide Book 1) (6 page)

“OK, let’s run through it.” Jonni, laced
his fingers together, with index fingers extended, and tapped his lips with his
fingers thoughtfully. “When someone she knew approached, did she ignore you and
talk to them instead?”

“Uh uh, she introduced me and tried to
involve me in the conversation.”

“Hmm. How about when she went to the
bathroom? Did she come back? Or did you need to track her down?”

“She came back.”

“How about that fucking Friday night mosh
pit in front of the bar? When you managed to fight your way to the bar and
returned with drinks, had she ditched you.”

“Nope, she shouted and waved at me. She had
managed to snag a table.”

“Hmmm, very curious.” Jonni tilted his head
to the side. “And when you left the building, did she tell you to piss off and
walk home alone?”

“Again, no. You can see my confusion. She
said she was hungry –”

“Wait, wait, I think we are getting
somewhere now. Where did she want to go, the All Night Bakery or the All Night
Garage?” Jonni leaned forward eagerly.

“MacIver’s”

“Where the fuck is MacIver’s?” said Jonni.

“MacIver’s. The bakery.”

“What? The All Night Bakery? If you went to
the All Night Bakery, say the All Night Bakery.”

“Well the sign doesn’t say ‘All Night
Bakery.’ They just figured out that they could sell pies and sausage rolls and
such to drunken students at night, since they are there anyway baking bread for
the morning. It’s a real bakery, not just a munchie magnet. We all just call it
the All Night Bakery, but it is actually ‘MacIver’s Bakery’.”

“Huh, who’d a fuckin’ known? Well, except
for you, you wanker.”

“Anyway, moving on. You seemed interested
in whether we went to the All Night Bakery or the All Night Garage. Why? I’m
intrigued. I shouldn’t be, but I am.”

“Well,” Jonni said, “I was thinking she was
going to get you to take her to the Garage to buy her a bunch of food and some
fags and then ditch you, but no, she chose the Bakery. Did she at least make
you pay for her, what? What did she order?”

“A macaroni pie. And no, she didn’t make me
pay; she paid for it herself.”

Jonni threw his hands up in the air. “Well,
you got me beat. I cannae figure it out.”

“So, you think she actually, you know,”
Finn cleared his throat, “likes me?”

“Only one way to find out.” Jonni paused
dramatically. “Ask her to go to the ball.”

“The ball? What ball?”

“I don’t know what fucking ball. One of the
Halls must be holding one soon. Ask her to one.”

“Um, OK. That was actually helpful.” Finn
ate a couple of mouthfuls of the salty, gooey mess on his plate. “Do you think
you could, you know, come along as well?”

“Ach, no, please. I hate balls. Well,
except my own.” Jonni smiled, grabbed his crotch and paused, waiting for Finn
to say something. Finn didn’t. Jonni frowned. “Oh come on, that was some of my
best material.” He paused again, and again Finn remained silent. “I suppose I
can try and score with some Wee Mary who has never had a real man before.” He
sat up a little straighter and sucked in his gut a little. “Alright, but you
owe me and no fucking Ceilidh. I’m no gonna dance.”

Finn smiled and thought to himself that
Jonni was protesting a little too much. “What are you smiling about now?” says
Jonni.

“Nothing.” He took a deep breath. “I am
probably going to regret saying this, but I hope she does like me, because I
think I may be falling in love.”

Jonni started choking on his food and then
shouted, “Fuckin hell, did she let you fuck her in the ass?”

Finn tried to ignore the stares and
murmured, “Yep, big regrets.”

Andy was petrified and in pain — so much
fucking pain.

The little French slut who had flashed her
cleavage at him at the beach party had led him into the darkness where something
had grabbed him before he had blacked out.

When he had woken he had found himself in
this miserable rocky darkness. There was no ambient light for his eyes to
adjust to; all he saw was blackness. This served to heighten his other senses —
not a good thing.

He could hear them moving in the darkness;
he was sure that there was more than one. He was even starting to believe that
he could tell them apart by the way they touched him and by the way they hurt
him.

One would fondle him intimately with a huge
clawed hand until he felt close to climax and then squeeze his balls until he
felt they were going to burst like an orange being run over by a tractor tire.
He knew it was crazy, how could a he become aroused over and over again by a
monstrous hand and knowing the pain to follow? They seemed to be able to tweak
his emotions as they wanted. 

Another would slide its feet as it moved so
he could tell where it was and poke him with some sort of blade that burned
after it pierced his flesh. It could circle for an hour before stabbing him, or
it could jab him repeatedly over the course of a minute. He never knew what to
expect.

The worst was the whisperer. She would
whisper in his ear that he just needed to hang on a little longer and they
would let him go. She filled his head with visions of freedom until he could
almost taste the outside air. She could claim that she would make him wealthy,
attractive or famous and he would believe her. When he reached the point of
highest hope she would start laughing. The laughing could continue for hours
until he felt he was going to go mad. Maybe he was mad. Maybe he hit his head
and this was all a delusion.

He started to laugh. That was it, he was
mad. None of this was real.

Madchester, he was in Madchester for real.
He laughed, rocked back and forth and said, “Madchester, Madchester…” over and
over again. The pain and fear faded away.

“I think he is used up, n’est pas?” He
stopped muttering and listened. He had not heard the little French whore speak
in the days or weeks or months he had been imprisoned in the darkness.

“Shite, I think you’re right. I thought he
would last longer. Leader will never let us grab another. Shitty little
University town. Let’s try to squeeze a little more out of him, shall we?”

“D’accord.”

His terror spiked briefly again as he felt
clawed hands grab his arms and legs and pull. He heard a ripping and popping
sound before his gibbering mind shut down and he died.

It
was Assessment Day.

Hael had been preparing for this day for
every moment of his twelve-year life.

Maybe that was not strictly true. There had
probably been a few weeks after his birth that had not been dedicated to
preparing him for this day, although keeping him alive and feeding him could
conceivably be considered to be preparation for Assessment Day, so, on second
thought, let’s say that it was strictly true — each and every moment of his
short life had been spent preparing for this day.

His earliest memories were of his mother
teaching him and his brothers their lineage. By the age of six he had memorized
the names and deeds of all of his direct forebears back to the time of the
Emergence, except for one notable exception, who had his deeds and name
expunged from history. Even the games they played were designed to increase his
chances of success on Assessment Day and ultimately to prepare him for the
Academy. Strategy games honed his problem-solving skills. Fighting and running
toughened him up. Social games taught him the nuances of body language and
motivation to prepare him for command. Card games and dice taught him the value
of luck and the assessment of risk.

Everything he needed to start his adult
life, today, on Assessment Day.

He had gone to bed early the night before
but slept little — he had been too anxious to relax — worried that he would not
awaken an hour before dawn to make his way to the Desert Gate for the First
Test. Being late would have dramatically reduced his chances of gaining a place
in the Academy, much less being one of the Ten.

It was not enough to merely get into the
Academy; he had to be one of the Ten. Every one of his ancestors, stretching
back more than two millennia to Emergence, obtained a place in the Academy. Of
those ancestors, other than the first one — Idaam, who had led his tribe out of
the desert — Hael knew of only five others who had not been one of the Ten on
Assessment Day. His brother Lucan had been Eight on Assessment Day and was
currently ranked as Three in his year.

It was not just familial expectations that
made him determined to be one of the Ten. The Ten were provided better beds,
more food and were generally better trained than the other boys. This meant
that the lower ranked boys were always hungry, both literally and figuratively,
to become one of the Ten. It also meant that as every day passed, it became
harder to displace one of the Ten. Ranking on Assessment Day and keeping your
Rank past first year usually meant you would stay in the Ten until graduation.

He would not, could not fail.

His reverie was broken as he turned a
corner and saw the massive sandstone doors of the Desert Gate. The Desert Gate
always stirred a fierce pride in him. We was proud of being one of the Guest,
and proud of the improvements that the Host had wrought in his people. The
engineering required in the design of the functioning stone gates, fifty feet
high and three feet thick, was astonishing. The engineering, however, was
secondary to the awe-inspiring artistry. The Guest were responsible for both
the engineering and the artistry, but the Host were responsible for making the
Guest capable of such fine work.

The gate was carved with a depiction of
Emergence. It showed Idaam, Hael’s great to the power of eighty grandfather
leading his people out of the desert. The figures were double life-sized and so
cunningly carved that one could be forgiven for thinking the City was being
invaded by stone giants pushing their way out of the gate. The carving was not
only beautiful, but it was a tangible reminder of the Debt that his people, the
Guest, owed the Host. The Desert Gate was the point through which they had
first entered the city and pledged their service to the Host and re-pledged
service each year during Renewal. In return they were granted the privilege of
being guided, molded and sheltered by the Host.

Gathered in front of the Gate were two
hundred or so boys, the boys he would be competing with for a place in the
Academy and ultimately a place in the Ten. Caleb, his sparring partner, his
comrade in arms, his confidante and, most importantly, his best friend, was
easy to spot; he loomed over the other boys. His primitive visage made it look
like he had stepped out of the bas relief on the Gate behind him, untouched by
the eighty generations of improvements that the Host had wrought on his people.

Caleb smiled at Hael’s approach and held
out his hand. They grabbed each other’s forearms and hugged each other. They
nodded to each other and started to stretch.

They knew each other’s strengths and
weaknesses. Hael knew that many a bully had made the mistake of assuming that
Caleb’s large size and unrefined appearance were an indication of physical and
mental slowness. Hael knew better; Caleb’s intelligence and strength made him a
strong contender for a position in the Ten. The best thing that could happen
today would be for them both to make it into the Ten. Having a friend in the
Ten rather than just another rival would be a huge advantage for both of them
in the competitive world of the Academy.

Hael took a spot beside Caleb and looked up
to the steep roofs topping the turrets flanking the Desert Gate; they were
still in shadow. Once the highest roof tile was kissed by the sun the race
would start.

There was no one to tell them to start and
no one to prevent them from starting early, but they were being observed. If a
boy left too early, he could be penalized. If he waited for the other boys to
start, he would give away a critical advantage. They would learn in the Academy
that every Test tested multiple criteria. This was no simple race; it was also
a test of judgment.

Hael took his place at the gate and looked
up, his entire being focused on the turrets. He could hear a couple of boys
start to run, but he ignored them and waited. He saw a glimmer of sunlight on
the highest tile then started to run.

There was no fixed route from the Desert
Gate to the Academy. The most direct route would be the most congested. The
boys were not prohibited from interfering with each other, and anything not
prohibited was fair game.

Hael would take the secret route that his
family had been using for generations. It was a route so secret he had not even
told Caleb about it. For the route to remain secret he needed to slip away from
the pack and Caleb. He had started strongly to put some space between him and
the pack. Many would think his initial burst of speed foolish, as it would tire
him too soon, but he needed to get to a certain alley when not in view of his
fellow competitors, an alley that was bound by the rough stone wall at the back
of a bakery.

Most of the buildings in the City were made
of smooth stone blocks that were difficult, if not impossible, to climb. The
back wall of this specific bakery was different. The rumor, according to Hael’s
father, was that the bakery had been built by one of his ancestors after
retiring from the Legions and he had bribed a builder from the Ministry of
Hospitality to fit the blocks poorly, creating a wall that was rough enough to
climb. The alley wall was a gift to his descendants. The gift had a price; the
builder revealed the bribe when the wall failed the inspection and he and
Hael’s enterprising ancestor had both been cursed and had their names and deeds
deleted from the Guest rolls. According to Hael’s father, the wall had not been
repaired, as the Host had felt that the punishment paid for the advantage it
provided to Hael’s family. Hael was not sure whether the story was true or not,
but he knew that his ancestor would have faced his punishment with a smile on
his face at granting an advantage to his descendants. Hael knew that his father
had used the wall, and his older brother Lucan had used the wall and he knew
that young Bral would use the wall as well when he took part in Assessment Day
two years hence.

All for a few finger and toe holds on a
wall, what use was a rough stone wall, you may ask? The wall was a way to
access the untraveled high road, the roofs of the City itself.

Hael made it around two corners and ducked
into the correct alley and climbed the wall to the roof of the City.

Hael could see the Academy in the distance
as he pulled himself over the lip of the roof and lay on his back for a moment
to recover from the climb. After three deep breaths he jumped up and ran along
the tiles towards the first alley. There were dangers involved in roof running.
The tiles could break or slip. There was a need to jump many narrow and some
not so narrow alleys. A fall from the roofs would result in injury, death or,
even worse, not getting placed in the Academy by not finishing the First Test.

The alley loomed ahead of him as he
prepared himself to jump. He pushed down and back with his mind as his feet
left the edge of the roof and he sailed into the air. The added boost provided
by his mind allowed him to clear the alley easily. He settled into a rhythm of
run, push, jump, land and run again.

The roof route was not particularly
strenuous for him, due to his remarkable mental strength. He was not able to
actually levitate himself — even one of the One Hundred Companions would find that
challenging — but his mental pushes made leaps of fifteen feet much easier. No
doubt the route would have been much more difficult for most of his forebears;
his mental strength was unmatched by any of the Guest he knew about. The risk
of roof running was worth it, as it allowed Hael to strike directly for the
center of the City rather than follow the winding roads his competitors were
forced to take.

As he got closer to the administrative
center of the City the streets and alleys widened and he needed to, once again,
take to the ground. Here again his mythical ancestor’s foresight proved itself
useful as the secret roof route ended at the Central Canal that circled the
Administrative Quarter of the City.

He did not pause as he reached the edge of
the building bounding the canal, but ran off the edge of the roof, pinching his
nostrils closed and squeezing his eyes shut. The feeling of vertigo ended as he
plunged into the water and swam to the other side of the filthy canal. The
canal not only allowed Hael and his ancestors to descend quickly from the roof
route, it also served to obscure the route itself, as he and his immediate
family always arrived at the Academy stinking of canal water. Some families had
incorrectly assumed that Hael’s family had developed some oddly effective
swimming ability to reach the City center quickly. Investigating this
possibility had led to more than one case of canal fever.

On pulling himself from the canal, he noted
that the streets appeared cleaner, closer to the powerful center of the City
and Empire. The relative cleanliness may have been due to additional work
crews, civic pride or just because the wider roads provided the detritus more
room to spread out.

He rounded a corner and had his first
glimpse of the ziggurat that housed the Academy. He started to see the other
boys running in the same direction as he. It looked like he was near the front
of the pack. He dug deep and increased his speed. He concentrated on the
rhythmic chuff of his breathing.

Two breaths in, one breath out.

Two breaths in, one breath out.

His arms and legs moved without thought as
he steadily moved past his competitors.

Hael’s field of vision increased as he
burst into the square surrounding the Academy. Looking ahead, he saw that five
boys had already arrived at the Academy steps. Another four were almost there.
Following these four was a gap and then the large figure of Caleb, who was
followed by Hael.

Hael felt his heart clench. Only one of
them would be in the Ten and Hael needed to make sure it was not Caleb.

He lowered his head and leaned forward,
pulling on all of his physical reserves.

He started to close the gap. Hael
lengthened the rhythm of his gait to match that of Caleb. He stretched out his
senses and felt the powerful beat of Caleb’s heart, and his own heart slowed to
synchronize with it. The cadence of his breath coming in and out of his lungs
matched that of Caleb.

Hael could feel the bond form, he was ready

He focused and jerked his body to the
right. Caleb stumbled to the right as the sympathetic bond Hael had created
pulled him to the side. Caleb was overbalanced and tried to use his forward
momentum to keep going. Hael reached out and put his hand on Caleb’s shoulder
and vaulted over him, pushing him face first into the cobbles.

Hael looked over his shoulder and saw the
large boy on his knees, his face a mask of blood. Caleb grimly climbed to his
feet and resumed running.

Hael made it into the Ten.

He also lost a friend and probably made a
mortal enemy.

There is always a price.

Two figures stood at the top of the
ziggurat. They were shielded from view. Only one of the powerfully adept,
possibly one of the Emperor’s inner circle, his One Hundred Companions, would
have been able to detect them through the shielding ward. Or one of the Feral;
one never knew with the Feral.

One of the figures was Guest, and the many
decorations on his uniform indicated that he had risen very high in the
military. The other was Host, shorter and more powerfully built. His uniform
was no less decorated; however, the decorations were richer, more ornate.