Kingsbane (Empirium 2)

In the next moment, something ruptured—something deep within the fiber of the ground Eliana stood upon, within the air she breathed. The sky rippled as if struck, and its bruise darkened, rushing across the canvas of morning sunlight like the flood of an angry sea.

“Look, my queen,” said Zahra gently, and Eliana obeyed, not realizing until that moment that she was clinging to the angel’s arm like a child gone to its mother after a bad dream.

She looked up at the sky and watched it open.

Out of it poured a great black cloud, thick and streaming, the fall of a dark river. It expanded in the open air—blooming, magnifying—and from within it came sounds like none Eliana had ever heard. Angrier than war cries, more unbearably lonesome than the howl of wolves.

And the world itself, green and verdant, waiting for a race of angels to build a new home upon its rolling hills, quaked and collapsed.

It happened quickly, as if the structure of the world had been hastily constructed and the arrival of the angels had triggered its demise. The sky shrank, no longer a luxurious expanse but instead a mere pinprick of light, retreating to an unreachable horizon. Green meadows and silver rivers faded abruptly to blackness.

The terrible cries in the air burrowed into Eliana’s skull. She sank to her knees, gasping for breath, but her efforts were futile. She couldn’t breathe in this place. There was no air, no water, no sense of depth or distance. She clawed at her chest and realized it no longer existed. She had no chest, no lungs. She was still alive. She had thoughts, and she knew her name.

But as she groped through the air, she found nothing—no legs, no hips or hands. She searched with her mind, which seemed the only thing left to her. She wanted to sob, but the idea of crying remained trapped in her mind.

It was then that the pain slammed into her.

Even without a body, she could register it. Her body hadn’t simply disappeared. It had been taken from her, ripped away by this place in which she now found herself—not a fresh, green world, ready to be remade into a new homeland, but rather a void, a nothing space between the world of Avitas and whatever lay beyond.

The human saints had lied.

Eliana added her own furious voice to the millions around her, all of them crammed into a space both endless and caged. She wanted to beat against the walls that held her. She would tear them apart, burst back into Avitas, and destroy the saints from the inside out.

Except…she was nothing but a mind. A consciousness, bodiless and impotent.

She howled and wailed. She raged for centuries, and then—

The world changed. She was herself again. She was Eliana.

She gasped, clutching her own arms, her stomach. She touched her face. She was alive. She was whole.

“Zahra?” she sobbed.

“I’m here, my queen,” came Zahra’s voice, soft and regretful. “Watch.”

Seven brilliant figures looked down upon that same vast green world, untouched and peaceful. A false world, a lie constructed to deceive the angels into submission.

And a good lie it was, a skillfully crafted one. Otherwise, the angels, with their powerful minds, would have never believed it.

Eliana reached for Zahra’s hand; she grasped it gently.

“How did they deceive you?” she breathed. “Why did you believe them?”

“They were excellent liars,” Zahra replied. “And they had help.”

She gestured at the seven figures, standing at a ripped-open seam in the fabric of the world. Eliana’s mind cleared, her heart still racing, for now she recognized them, from long years of Remy’s stories: Tameryn, dark-haired and golden-skinned, her daggers trailing shadows. Pale, white-haired Marzana, her shield wreathed in flame.

The saints.

Eliana would have fallen to her knees once more if Zahra had not been there to hold her up. There were Saint Ghovan and his quiver of arrows, Saint Nerida and her trident, Saint Grimvald and his hammer, Saint Tokazi and his staff.

Saint Katell, the sunspinner, her skin a rich, dark brown, her black hair coiled in a tight braided knot, carrying a blazing sunlit sword.

And beside her, tall and lithe, dazzlingly beautiful, was an angel—warm brown skin, wings of light and shadow framing his body.

“Aryava was a great leader of my people,” Zahra said quietly, “and had many who were blindly faithful to him.”

Eliana remembered Remy telling her the story of Aryava and Katell: an angel and a human saint, bound by a forbidden love.

“He died in her arms,” Eliana murmured, recalling Remy’s voice. “He died in the final days of the war.”

Zahra nodded. “He died fighting angels who understood his betrayal and the deception of the saints, and who led a final insurgency in an attempt to save us.” A beat of silence. Zahra’s voice was careful, deliberate. “This rebellion did not succeed. They were cast into the Deep, along with the rest of us.”

“And Aryava’s last words…”

“‘Two Queens will rise,’” Zahra said. “‘One of blood, and one of light.’”

Saint Grimvald stepped forward, looking out over what Eliana now knew was the Deep, disguised to seem otherwise. “If we send them here, we doom them. They cannot survive here, not as they are.”

Saint Katell nodded, her expression unreadable. “And if we do not, then they will destroy us.” She glanced at Aryava, a flicker of doubt on her face.

He took his hand in hers, his eyes soft. “This is the only hope for you,” he told her, quietly, “and for us.”

Then the saints and the false green world of the Deep disappeared into a swift, dark fog.

Eliana returned to herself, gulping for air as tears streamed down her face. On her hands and knees in Saint Tameryn’s cavern, she fumbled for Zahra’s hand and found nothing there. The loss of Zahra’s body struck her hard in the chest.

“My queen, please breathe,” came Zahra’s worried voice. “I know it is a great deal to understand. Perhaps I should not have shown you—”

“No, you should have.” Eliana breathed for a few moments, then sat back against one of the stone pillars, trembling and nauseated. “Humans were losing the war against the angels, and they discovered how to open a doorway into another world.”

“Not another world,” Zahra corrected gently. “Not even the saints were powerful enough for that.”

“So other worlds do exist?”

“Yes, my queen. They lie beyond the fabric of this one, beyond the reach of any being that has yet lived.” She paused. “Except—”

“Except for my mother,” Eliana said flatly. “And perhaps for me.” e next moment, something ruptured—something deep within the fiber of the ground Eliana stood upon, within the air she breathed. The sky rippled as if struck, and its bruise darkened, rushing across the canvas of morning sunlight like the flood of an angry sea.

“Look, my queen,” said Zahra gently, and Eliana obeyed, not realizing until that moment that she was clinging to the angel’s arm like a child gone to its mother after a bad dream.

She looked up at the sky and watched it open.

Out of it poured a great black cloud, thick and streaming, the fall of a dark river. It expanded in the open air—blooming, magnifying—and from within it came sounds like none Eliana had ever heard. Angrier than war cries, more unbearably lonesome than the howl of wolves.

And the world itself, green and verdant, waiting for a race of angels to build a new home upon its rolling hills, quaked and collapsed.

It happened quickly, as if the structure of the world had been hastily constructed and the arrival of the angels had triggered its demise. The sky shrank, no longer a luxurious expanse but instead a mere pinprick of light, retreating to an unreachable horizon. Green meadows and silver rivers faded abruptly to blackness.

The terrible cries in the air burrowed into Eliana’s skull. She sank to her knees, gasping for breath, but her efforts were futile. She couldn’t breathe in this place. There was no air, no water, no sense of depth or distance. She clawed at her chest and realized it no longer existed. She had no chest, no lungs. She was still alive. She had thoughts, and she knew her name.

But as she groped through the air, she found nothing—no legs, no hips or hands. She searched with her mind, which seemed the only thing left to her. She wanted to sob, but the idea of crying remained trapped in her mind.

It was then that the pain slammed into her.

Even without a body, she could register it. Her body hadn’t simply disappeared. It had been taken from her, ripped away by this place in which she now found herself—not a fresh, green world, ready to be remade into a new homeland, but rather a void, a nothing space between the world of Avitas and whatever lay beyond.

The human saints had lied.

Eliana added her own furious voice to the millions around her, all of them crammed into a space both endless and caged. She wanted to beat against the walls that held her. She would tear them apart, burst back into Avitas, and destroy the saints from the inside out.

Except…she was nothing but a mind. A consciousness, bodiless and impotent.

She howled and wailed. She raged for centuries, and then—

The world changed. She was herself again. She was Eliana.

She gasped, clutching her own arms, her stomach. She touched her face. She was alive. She was whole.

“Zahra?” she sobbed.

“I’m here, my queen,” came Zahra’s voice, soft and regretful. “Watch.”

Seven brilliant figures looked down upon that same vast green world, untouched and peaceful. A false world, a lie constructed to deceive the angels into submission.

And a good lie it was, a skillfully crafted one. Otherwise, the angels, with their powerful minds, would have never believed it.

Eliana reached for Zahra’s hand; she grasped it gently.

“How did they deceive you?” she breathed. “Why did you believe them?”

“They were excellent liars,” Zahra replied. “And they had help.”

She gestured at the seven figures, standing at a ripped-open seam in the fabric of the world. Eliana’s mind cleared, her heart still racing, for now she recognized them, from long years of Remy’s stories: Tameryn, dark-haired and golden-skinned, her daggers trailing shadows. Pale, white-haired Marzana, her shield wreathed in flame.

The saints.

Eliana would have fallen to her knees once more if Zahra had not been there to hold her up. There were Saint Ghovan and his quiver of arrows, Saint Nerida and her trident, Saint Grimvald and his hammer, Saint Tokazi and his staff.

Saint Katell, the sunspinner, her skin a rich, dark brown, her black hair coiled in a tight braided knot, carrying a blazing sunlit sword.

And beside her, tall and lithe, dazzlingly beautiful, was an angel—warm brown skin, wings of light and shadow framing his body.

“Aryava was a great leader of my people,” Zahra said quietly, “and had many who were blindly faithful to him.”

Eliana remembered Remy telling her the story of Aryava and Katell: an angel and a human saint, bound by a forbidden love.

“He died in her arms,” Eliana murmured, recalling Remy’s voice. “He died in the final days of the war.”

Zahra nodded. “He died fighting angels who understood his betrayal and the deception of the saints, and who led a final insurgency in an attempt to save us.” A beat of silence. Zahra’s voice was careful, deliberate. “This rebellion did not succeed. They were cast into the Deep, along with the rest of us.”

“And Aryava’s last words…”

“‘Two Queens will rise,’” Zahra said. “‘One of blood, and one of light.’”

Saint Grimvald stepped forward, looking out over what Eliana now knew was the Deep, disguised to seem otherwise. “If we send them here, we doom them. They cannot survive here, not as they are.”

Saint Katell nodded, her expression unreadable. “And if we do not, then they will destroy us.” She glanced at Aryava, a flicker of doubt on her face.

He took his hand in hers, his eyes soft. “This is the only hope for you,” he told her, quietly, “and for us.”

Then the saints and the false green world of the Deep disappeared into a swift, dark fog.

Eliana returned to herself, gulping for air as tears streamed down her face. On her hands and knees in Saint Tameryn’s cavern, she fumbled for Zahra’s hand and found nothing there. The loss of Zahra’s body struck her hard in the chest.

“My queen, please breathe,” came Zahra’s worried voice. “I know it is a great deal to understand. Perhaps I should not have shown you—”

“No, you should have.” Eliana breathed for a few moments, then sat back against one of the stone pillars, trembling and nauseated. “Humans were losing the war against the angels, and they discovered how to open a doorway into another world.”

“Not another world,” Zahra corrected gently. “Not even the saints were powerful enough for that.”

“So other worlds do exist?”

“Yes, my queen. They lie beyond the fabric of this one, beyond the reach of any being that has yet lived.” She paused. “Except—”

“Except for my mother,” Eliana said flatly. “And perhaps for me.”