Wrath of Kerberos (19 page)

Finally, the miracle came.

By this time, Katya had started to come to terms with being a family of two. When they made love there was no longer the pressure of procreation; now they gave themselves to each other for the pure pleasure of it. There was still the desire for a child, but it didn’t burn quite so fiercely, didn’t tear at Katya and Silus as it once had.

When Katya’s period was late, she thought nothing of it – often in the past it had failed to arrive on time. Then, one morning, while she had been helping Silus bring in the day’s catch, the strong smell of the fish had caught her like a slap and she had emptied her stomach onto the quay. Katya lived in a fishing town, she was married to a fisherman; never before had she been so affected by the smell. She dismissed it as the onset of a cold, or a stomach bug, but when she threw up every day for two weeks, and her period didn’t show, she knew what was happening.

“I’m pregnant,” she announced one afternoon, as Silus sat mending nets by the fire. They wept in each other’s arms then, thankful that their prayers had finally been answered.

As Katya had come to learn, however, such happiness was fleeting. A few months later the Chadassa invaded Nürn and they had been forced to flee. Everything had changed, not least her husband. From being a quiet, considerate fisherman, Silus had gone on to become the saviour of a nation, fighting against the foul alien creatures who had bequeathed him his burgeoning preternatural powers. Katya had been appalled to discover the legacy that linked Silus to the Chadassa, especially in consideration of their son. Zac, however, had so far displayed none of his father’s talents when it came to the sea. He was a perfectly normal little boy, seemingly unscarred by the events that they had all lived through, and Katya had grown closer to him day by day, while drifting away from her husband.

She had fallen in love with Silus at a glance. When he had first spoken to her, Katya felt like she had known him all her life. Lying beside him now, on an alien world, she had never felt more distant from her husband. Silus was no longer hers. Other forces guided his fate now, and Katya felt like a mere passenger, carried along by events beyond her control. She wanted Silus to hold her and tell her that everything would be alright; that one day they would return home and things would carry on as normal, but he had fallen so far from her that she no longer believed any of that was possible.

Silus began to mutter again in his sleep and Katya wondered whether he was conversing with Kerberos, and what the god was asking of him now.

I
LLIUN SAT AMONGST
the piles of mouldering paper, water pouring through a hole in the ceiling and lapping at his heels. Though coils of wire snaked across the floor, there was no danger of electrocution; the ship was dead, and in a few hours he would leave it for the final time. Once Illiun had made his preparations for their exodus, he had lit a candle and come here into the depths of the vessel, hoping to salvage at least some memento of his people’s long history. The archive room, however, had been all but destroyed – the data cubes containing their history had been burned out in the power surge created by the Swords’ misguided sorcerer, and the paper records had been turned to pulp by water from the ruptured pipes. Thousands of years had been reduced to nothing. The only history they now had were the stories they carried in their own heads. Illiun understood that it could have been a lot worse for them; that they would have been annihilated by the entity but for the intervention of Silus, and that it was only through his mediation that they had been allowed a hope of survival at all. But it still hurt to know that for all the centuries they had been running, for all the generations raised on the promise of a better tomorrow, all Illiun could now offer them was some far corner of a desolate world.

He didn’t blame Silus; he had done his best for them. If any blame was to be shouldered, then it would be shouldered by Illiun alone. He had been there at the end of the world that had created them. He had taken the ship, leading his people on an exodus across the stars, keeping the story of their origins alive while all around him generations of his people had come and gone. Through the ship, Illiun had lived for thousands of years, and now that the ship was dead it was only appropriate that he share the fate of the people he led.

But he wouldn’t leave without a physical memory of their past.

Illiun ascended to his own quarters, skirting around fallen girders and crawling through crumpled corridors. His bedroom was blackened with smoke and the lights in the ceiling hung on frayed cables, slowly swaying in the warm breeze that breathed through the broken ship. However, one thing remained untouched and this he lifted from the bedside table.

The photograph showed Illiun standing beside an elderly man, grinning, with his arm around his shoulders. Tears trickled down his face as he studied the picture, remembering back through the millennia to the man who had given him life, who had made him the leader of a whole new race created by science.

“Forgive me father,” he said. “I have failed you.”

Illiun tucked the photograph into his jacket before making his way out of the ruined ship. His thumb stroked the picture’s surface as he looked to where his people were gathering, collecting together their possessions for the long journey ahead. Taking one last look back at the vessel that had carried them through the void for so long, he turned and joined them.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

F
OR THE LAST
three days they had been following the star that Kerberos had placed in the heavens to guide them. In all that time, Silus hadn’t slept once. His exhaustion lay on him like a physical burden, compounded by the weight of the guilt he carried for his role in the coming genocide. He looked to Katya and Zac, hoping to draw strength from the knowledge that he was doing this for them – for all of Twilight – but they had been growing increasingly distant from him of late. Katya wouldn’t meet his gaze or return his attempts at affection; Zac spent more time with the settlers than with his father, gleefully chasing Hannah through the dunes, or being carried on the shoulders of one of the adults. When this was all over, how would Silus explain to his son the role that he had had to play in the slaughter of his friends? How could he ever be a Daddy again to this little boy after that? He wished that there was an ocean here into which he could retreat, leaving the human part of him behind forever. Even in this realm of sand and harsh winds, he could hear the song of the sea, and he longed for a chance to lose himself again in its depths, relinquishing all responsibility.

“There sits a man who has something on his mind.”

Silus looked up to see Dunsany standing over him.

“Care for some company?”

He was about to say
no
, retreat back inside himself, but he realised that the misery into which he was descending was doing him no favours, and putting him even further from those he loved.

“I reckon that star’s getting lower,” Dunsany said. “Looks like we’ve almost reached our destination.”

The light burned low on the horizon, perceptibly larger than it had been a few days ago.

“Silus, if you don’t mind me saying, you look all in. When did you last sleep?”

“Can’t remember. Just desperate to return home, you know? Even with what faces us there.”

“I know what you mean. It would be good to have something other than sand to look at for once.”

Silus was desperate to share the burden of his guilt with Dunsany, but if he told him the truth of Kerberos’s plans then there was a chance that Illiun would discover them, and that would endanger everything. Instead, he leaned over and placed more wood on the fire; one of the planks they had taken from the ruins of the
Llothriall
.

“How’s Bestion holding up?” he asked.

“Better, I think. Ever since Kerberos showed His hand he’s seemed considerably happier, filled with a holy purpose, as it were. Which is more than can be said for you.”

“Sorry?”

“Well, you’ve spoken with a god,” Dunsany said. “Surely that enriches you spiritually, gives you a greater insight into all of... this?”

“I suppose so. It’s... well, it’s complicated.”

“Clearly. There’s no doubt about it, Silus Morlader, you’re a hard one to figure out.” Dunsany sighed and stretched. He reached into his jacket and retrieved two thin cigarillos. “Smoke? Something else I managed to salvage from the
Llothriall
.”

“Yeah, sure. Why not? It’s been a while.”

Silus accepted the cigarillo from Dunsany and lit it from the coals glowing at his feet. He inhaled deeply, feeling the musty smoke filling his lungs. The smell reminded him of his father and the small shack near the harbour at Nürn, where he had repaired his nets and tarred his ropes. Silus felt as though he had spent most of his childhood in that shack, learning the trade. And although that was millions of years and thousands of miles away, he found himself blinking away tears, a sudden sadness threatening to break out into wracking sobs.

“You alright, Silus?”

“Fine, fine. Just thinking about Nürn.”

“Ah yes, Nürn.” Dunsany didn’t say anything more than that, merely stared into the fire as he smoked.

“Those things will be the death of you, you know.”

“Illiun,” Dunsany said, getting to his feet. “Do join us.”

“Thank you.”

Silus looked away as Illiun sat beside him, hoping that the flush of shame that reddened his face would be credited to the heat from the campfire.

“We were just thinking of home,” Dunsany said. “A million miles away or more now for you, I suppose.”

“I can’t even begin to calculate the distance from this planet to the world we once held dear,” Illiun said. “We’ve run for so long and so far it doesn’t seem to mean anything anymore.”

“Tell us about your home.”

“It was not
our
home, not really. It was bequeathed to us – a gift from our creators. We were created as stewards of our world, protectors of the environment which supported and nurtured those within it.”

“Sorry,” Dunsany said. “Did you say your
creators
? Were you not, then, created by a god?”

“No. We are children of science, much like the silver-eyed men but far more advanced. My people’s lifespans are approximately the same as your own, and they reproduce in much the same way, yet their ancestors were born within artificial wombs deep beneath the cities of our world. I was the first, and was tasked with leading my people, becoming their overseer. As such, my creators granted me a greatly increased lifespan.”

“So Bestion was right,” Silus said. “You are a godless people.”

“It’s true that we were not created by a god, although our creators themselves were people of faith. The god they praised, however, did not interfere in their lives; he merely enriched them.”

“Then why did he turn on you?” Dunsany said. “Why did the entity pursue you across the void?”

“No, you misunderstand. The god of my creators is not the same being as the entity. The entity destroyed my creators’ god.”

Silus was beginning to feel a sinking sense of dread. Had Kerberos lied to him? Was there more to the history of Illiun’s people than he had been told, or was Illiun even now spinning a lie?