Legacy: The Technomage Archive, #3

By B.J. Keeton

The Untouchable has returned.

 

Ten years have passed since the events of LINEAGE, and now the Untouchable's telepathic control of his people has made Erlon a peaceful world. But people are disappearing, and their friends and families don't remember them once they're gone. Something is upsetting the demigod's perfectly controlled paradise.

Saryn, Chuckie, and the rest of the technomages have spent the decade hiding, but not resting. Saryn has used all of the Charons' resources to find a way to sever the Untouchable's control over the people of Erlon. But if she uses it, people may die. Lots of people. Saryn and Chuckie must decide if the price of freedom is too high, and whether or not they have the right to pay it in the first place.

 

LEGACY concludes The Technomage Archive's epic fantasy adventure with old friends, new faces, and a final confrontation where the fate of the universe hangs in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.J. Keeton
• Release date: Jun 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513032283

Book preview

Books by B.J. Keeton

Steampunk Novels:

Nimbus: A Steampunk Novel

Stratus: A Steampunk Novel

The Technomage Archive Trilogy:

Birthright (The Technomage Archive, Book One)

Lineage (The Technomage Archive, Book Two)

Legacy (The Technomage Archive, Book Three)

Short Works:

A New Day, A Technomage Archive Novelette

Working Retail

If you would like to find out about new releases by B.J. Keeton, please sign up for his mailing list at http://bit.ly/bjkemail

For the real Chuckie Tidwell—

Who was surely nothing like his namesake here, but I feel like I know nonetheless.

Previously in Birthright

Ceril Bain has always spent summer breaks from Ennd’s Academy with his Gramps. Together, the two of them gardened, told stories,  and generally enjoyed their time together. Toward the end of one of these breaks, Ceril finds a golden sword buried in the dirt of the garden.

His grandfather explains that it is called a Flameblade—the weapon of an ancient order of technomages called the Charons, who had once ruled the world and had long since vanished.

Thrilled at his discovery, Ceril returns to school only to be singled out because of the weapon. The Flameblade begins acting with a mind of its own, appearing out of nowhere when Ceril is sure that it’s tucked away safely in his dormitory. While entering a new level at the Academy, Ceril marvels at the new technology he now has access to. Ennd’s Academy uses Instances, man-made dimensions that occupy the same space at the same time and are connected by a network of portals.

During a long-distance interview with the academy’s new headmaster, Ceril’s Flameblade materializes at his feet. Understandably, the headmaster is intrigued and summons Ceril to meet him in person. Once they meet, the headmaster informs Ceril that Ennd’s Academy is only a front for the Charons, who have not vanished like his grandfather had said. Ceril is recruited into their ranks because of his natural affinity with the Flameblade and is sent to the Inkwell Sigil to begin training.

For six years, Ceril lives on board the Inkwell Sigil, an interdimensional ship and training facility, as he works toward becoming a full agent of the technomages. His training includes learning to Conjure—an ability that would allow him to create virtually anything using nanites that would eventually be infused into his bloodstream. However, the night before his final Rites, the ship’s hyperdrive fails, leaving the crew stranded.

Ceril and four of his classmates are given the task of retrieving the only man who can fix the ship—Ceril’s Gramps, who is revealed to have been a founder of the technomage archive, and who has spent the last five hundred years in self-imposed exile.

The only way the team can get home is to go through a toxic Instance called Jaronya, which is inhabited by large, winged creatures. Ceril and his teammates confuse an attempt at first contact with an attack, and they kill two of the world’s inhabitants. After the fight, the team is captured and imprisoned, and they are allowed to live only because their captors’ believe Ceril’s team may fulfill an ancient prophecy about a group of magic-wielding messiahs.

The team is later brought before the High Priest for judgement, and she deems them impostors and sentences them all to death. Rather than allow themselves to be killed, Ceril and his team fight their captors and try to escape. During the fight, one of Ceril’s team—a soldier named Swinton Mareletov—is killed and Ceril himself is brutally maimed by the High Priest. He saves the rest of his team by killing her with what he thinks is his dying breath.

The remaining members of his team are able to stabilize Ceril’s injuries and, with the help of a holographic entity known only as the Gatekeeper, transport themselves back to Ennd’s Academy, where Ceril undergoes extensive surgeries and procedures to save his life.

After spending three months in a coma, Ceril awakens to some crushing news. His Gramps—whose real name is Damien Vennar—has attacked the academy and killed numerous people, including the headmaster who recruited Ceril to the Charons in the first place.

Little does Ceril know that while he and his team were away on their own mission, the home he shared with Gramps had been invaded by a group of terrorists claiming to be Charons. They stole a book of notes and records that he kept of the Charonic Archive’s most important and highly regarded secrets, and he was all but forced to break his exile or be killed.

After connecting the terrorists to Ennd’s Academy’s new headmaster Gilbert Squalt, Gramps sets out on an interdimensional quest for the leader of the terrorists, who has gained power and influence by impersonating the man Gramps used to be–a legendary demigod known as the Untouchable.

Previously in Lineage

Ceril is awakened by an attack on Ennd’s Academy. The Untouchable is raiding the school, coming for him. After a narrow escape thanks to Chuckie, Saryn, and Harlo, Ceril leads his team back to Ternia where he attempts to deal with the raw emotions left over from learning his Gramps was the Untouchable.

While there, Ceril taps into a bank of ancient power his grandfather had hidden away, cutting through the membrane between worlds and into Jaronya again. He and his team attempt to search for the Untouchable on Jaronya, doing their best to avoid the savage angels they discovered on their first foray into the noxious, purple world.

They run into a friendly community of Jaronya led by a man named Watcher, who points them in the direction of a city called Helia, which was once a base of operations for the Untouchable. To reach it, they must cross preadator-infested plains and forests made of solid light, survive being attacked by a tribe of forest creatures led by a horrifyingly similar priestess to the one that maimed Ceril months before.

Upon reaching Helia, the team learns from the city’s artificial intelligence that the Untouchable is not simply Ceril’s grandfather, but his creator. Ceril is a clone of the Untouchable, made out of nanites and given life, much like other synthetic races like the Jaronya. Helia then attempts to carry out ancient programming, killing Harlo and causing Ceril to accepts the power within him as he destroys the city’s personality matrix.

Flush with power and emotion, Ceril goes out of control. He uses his Flameblade to cut through the fabric of the world and goes back to Ennd’s where his grandfather has set up base for his Return to power.

The two are reunited, but the reunion is harsh and short-lived. Ceril is no match for his creator, and during the ensuing fight, the Untouchable destroys his grandson, his clone. The quantum force that held his nanites together and gave him life and intelligence is destroyed. He collapses into a pile of lifeless particles.

The Untouchable collects his remains and puts them on a shelf, never to be forgotten.

And now...the epic conclusion!

Legacy: The Technomage Archive, Book 3

Prologue

The altar was different today somehow. Bali had no idea how or why.

She looked at the Artifact and just knew that something was different. The hike leading to the altar was the same as always. The trees were still dead at the base of the path, but they grew thicker and more vibrant as she moved uphill. The sky gradually changed from a drab, overcast grey to a deep, rich blue that was almost purple as she reached the clearing at the top of the hill. It was so beautiful that even the air tingled against her skin. She stood under the crystalline arch that separated the clearing from the rest of the Toryagh foothills and the village below.

Everything was like it always was. And yet she knew that something about the altar had changed.

Bali stared at it for some time, and she felt none of the dedication and surety she usually felt. The altar arced purple-green energy along its surface, which was normal, and the gigantic crystal that formed its base was illuminated from within. Again, just like it always was. Even the semicircular wall that enclosed the altar pulsed with purple-green energy. Which was, again, normal.

So what was wrong then? What made Bali so hesitant to approach the altar today?

Could it be because she had brought Nori with her? Bali had been part of the first group to receive their Rites, and she didn’t remember the altar being like this, feeling like this. She didn’t remember being scared then. Maybe that was because of the commotion that had come with so many people in one place. That commotion didn’t exist with just Bali and her son.

Either way, Bali knew that she couldn’t wait too much longer. She and Nori had already passed beneath the arch, which meant their allowed time in the clearing was ticking away. They had to hurry if Nori was going to be Rited like the Untouchable demanded.

Reaching down, Bali intertwined her fingers with her son’s. She stepped toward the altar. Nori did not. He resisted and looked up at his mother, his eyes large and wide, almost welling with tears.

I don’t like it, Momma.

Bali took a deep breath to keep herself from crying and knelt down in front of Nori. I know, son. I know you don’t. But there’s nothing not to like! She grabbed his other hand and held them together in front of her chest. It’s just a table that’s going to...

Going to what? How could she explain Rites to a four-year-old? How could she explain something she didn’t entirely understand herself? Bali chuckled to herself as she realized that question pretty much summed up how it felt to be a mother.

She took a deep breath and looked back over her shoulder at the altar. It’s just a table that’s going to make you all better, she said.

I’m not sick! Nori said, looking earnestly at her. He snuck a quick glance at the altar.

I know. And after today, you’ll never be sick again, either. Remember when you ate all those berries last summer when we were visiting your Gran and Pan? Remember how upset your stomach was?

Nori nodded.

That table will make it so you can eat all the berries you want and never feel sick like that.

Nori stared over Bali’s shoulder at the altar. He alternated biting his upper and lower lips and blinked quickly as a few tears began to spill down his cheeks. I don’t like it, he repeated.

You do, too! Bali said, trying to lighten the mood. You love berries!

Yeah, but... Nori said, his eyes transfixed on the altar behind her. The table. I don’t like it. Can we go home?

Bali pressed his hands to her chest and touched son’s face. She cupped his cheek and made him look her directly in the eyes. Of course we can, Nori. But we have to do this first. We have to get made better by the table. She smiled at him. And once we’re done, we’ll go home, and I promise that we’ll eat all the berries we can find, and you’ll see that you won’t get sick. She stood up and turned toward the altar.

Nori pulled his hand away and turned. No! he screamed and took off running. I’m going home! I’m going home right now! He ran toward the path back to Toryagh village, passing under the crystalline arch they were standing in front of. There was a loud crack and a flash of light, and Nori flew through the air. He landed with a thump at his mother’s feet.

Nori! Bali screamed as she knelt next to her son.

The child was unfazed and obviously unhurt. He picked himself back up and started toward the arch again. Bali grabbed him by both wrists and began to drag him toward the altar. His heels dug into the soft dirt of the path as he kicked, and his screams echoed in the usual stillness of the clearing. Bali sighed, gritted her teeth, and blinked away her tears. She picked Nori up, intent on carrying him the rest of the way to the altar.

This had to be done. Nori had to be Rited. The Untouchable demanded it. Everyone across Erlon had been Rited when the Untouchable had Returned ten years ago, and his law stated all children were to be Rited at their fourth birthday. That’s when they were strong enough to survive it.

Bali did not like forcing anything on her son, but she did as her god commanded. And besides, she had been Rited ten years ago, and her life had changed very little. She barely remembered the procedure itself, and she had been an adult. Nori would forget it entirely by the time he was her age.

She tried to console the screaming child, as they approached the altar. Shhh. It’s going to be okay.

Screaming.

You’ll never be sick again. You’ll never even feel bad, Nori. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? Never feeling bad?

More screaming. Nori fought against his mother’s grasp.

Bali grunted and tried to get Nori under control. And just think, when you get to be a man, you’ll never get old and wrinkly. You will be perfect for a long, long, long time. You will live so much longer and see so much more than you would if you didn’t sit on the table.

Nori kept screaming and struggling, but Bali held tight. She neared the altar, and she felt the air thicken around her. She could feel the energy—the divinity—from the Artifact pulse through her. It was like her blood was on fire, but she swallowed hard and pulled Nori to his feet.

The child looked at her as she gripped him, but he did not scream anymore. The thickness of the air affected him, too, apparently. His face was red and wet, his eyes swollen from crying. He panted from all his screaming , and he struggled against her grasp, as he looked up at her and cried silently.

Bali held her son tightly and knelt, placing him on the ground next to the altar. She kissed him on both cheeks and his forehead. He shied away from her, pulling against her hands. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him tight. She hugged his head into her chest and cradled him, trying to calm him like she so often did at night. He fought against her grip, and she could feel his sobs against her breasts.

She loosened her grip, kissed him one last time on the forehead, and said, It will all be over soon, Nori. And once it is done, we’ll go home and eat all the berries we can find, okay?

He continued to sob, and Bali lifted her four-year-old son onto the crackling altar. Immediately, the child stopped crying. Purple-green arcs of lightning snapped across his arms, legs, and neck. He was pushed onto his back and held there. The crystalline base of the altar glowed brightly, and some kind of mechanical arm pushed out of the altar and extended upward above the child’s head. Three identical devices appeared from the other three sides. Each arm was articulated at half a dozen joints, and each one bore long needle-like tubes that pointed down at Nori.

In a flash, all four arms stabbed into the boy. One in each wrist, one in his neck, and one in his stomach. If the boy felt anything, he gave no sign. He remained still as the needles rested in his flesh, and the only change Bali could notice was a corpselike paleness that gradually crept into his skin.

The arms embedded in Nori began to pulse and throb, injecting a liquid blackness with each beat. And then, just as quickly as Nori had paled, he began to regain his natural color. When all traces of the pallor were gone, the mechanical arms withdrew from the child and disappeared into the altar. The restraints flashed and disappeared as well. Nori turned his head to look at his mother.

Bali screamed.

She stared at her son, her Nori, and dropped to her knees. She screamed in horror and reached out to her son, her eyes never leaving his.

They were solid black and lifeless. The boy stared at her, unblinking. Then like a puppet on a string, he sat upright and said, This is your warning, Bali.

She screamed again. It was not her son’s voice; it was not the voice of a four-year-old. It couldn’t be. It barely sounded human at all. It sounded mechanical, and if a voice could sound metallic, his did. It reverberated slightly, as though someone else were speaking, and Nori was repeating the words a microsecond later.

Your only warning, the voice said.

Please, Bali pleaded, He has done nothing! My son is innocent!

He is. You, however, are not.

I am! I have been faithful and brought my son for his Rites, made the journey to the altar every week for the decade since the Return. I have done nothing wrong! Tears streamed down Bali’s face, and she prostrated herself before the altar. Please. Please spare my son.

No, the Untouchable’s voice said. You have done nothing wrong. But you will. Soon, your faith will be tested, Bali. And it will fail you, and in turn, you will fail me. This is your warning.

I will not fail you, Untouchable! Bali cried. She did not dare look up, partly out of fear and respect for her god, and partly because she could not bear to see her child like that. I would never fail you!

And yet, you will.

No! Bali screamed into the ground. Bali heard the altar above her head begin to hum, as though in response. She glanced upward and saw the crystalline base glowing and arcing lightning from its facets. Each arc struck Nori. She screamed until her throat was raw, but as she moved toward him, lighting struck rapidly at her feet, keeping her away from her child.

The lightning began to strike faster, and purple-green current coursed all over him. The boy stared at his mother with those solid black eyes, and then, Bali watched her son disintegrate.

It happened quickly, like something inside him had just...given up. One moment, her four-year-old son was sitting there, and the next, a cloud of shimmering particles floated gently in the air above the altar. They fell lightly into a pile on the tabletop, and the lightning continued to strike the pile. In seconds, the particles melted and merged into liquid, and Bali watched it stream over the top of the altar and run down the crystalline base.

Upon reaching the ground, the shimmering liquid pooled around the base of the altar. Bali watched as the crystal absorbed what was left of her son. She sat in horrified silence as the altar grew a bit taller, and the crystal seemed to restructure itself with more facets than before.

She blinked, and the energy stopped. The humming and pulsing was over. The clearing was calm once more, and the only sounds Bali could hear were from inside her own chest—her heart racing and her lungs panting. She stared at the altar and felt a pressure in her midsection, like someone was pulling on a string that was tied to her insides. There was a pinch inside her, a pressure, and a moment of blinding pain.

The world flashed around her. Colors surged, became more vibrant. The sky crackled and the blue became deeper. The grass beneath her feet became both softer and crisper at the same time; she could feel each blade as it touched her skin.

Bali breathed in the world around her. She loved coming to the altar. She loved worshipping the Untouchable. She always felt such peace and calm when in his clearing. Taking another breath, Bali pushed herself onto her feet and wiped her eyes.

Her hands pulled away wet. Had she been crying? As she took in the majestic view of nature around the altar, she swelled with emotion. Of course she had been crying. How could she not cry when faced with such beauty and calm and peace? The brightness and crispness of the world was enough to overwhelm anyone, and Bali did not feel bad about succumbing to its power.

She had experienced the sublime. With one last deep breath, Bali bowed at the altar. She felt content. The Untouchable was a good god, a fair god. He was the reason for this euphoria, and Bali smiled at the thought.

Full of hope and emotion, Bali felt refreshed. She turned toward the arch that delineated the clearing from the path back toward the village. As she passed under its purple-green crystals, she marveled at their beauty, their power. She loved everything about coming to the altar. It filled her with a sense of wonder like nowhere else she had ever been.

Perhaps one day, she would have a child to share that wonder with. One day.

Chapter One

I’m sorry, but the situation has changed. We have to move forward.

"Don’t give me that, Roman. The situation has changed? How? How has it changed?" Saryn sat across from her former teachers—now her colleagues and supervisors—and just stared at them. She leaned back in her chair and pulled her pale, blond ponytail over her shoulder. She stroked it and cocked her head slightly to the side as she waited on Roman’s reply. From the look on his face—the looks on all three men’s faces, actually—Saryn might have thought she was sitting before a disciplinary committee, but she knew better.

The situation... Roman began, but stopped. The muscled leader of the Charons sighed and waved at Lim Nephil, who sat to his left, to continue.

Nephil picked up the cue. The portly and flushed man leaned forward and said simply. People are dying, Saryn. We think the Untouchable is killing them.

The ponytail dropped out of Saryn’s hand as she, too, leaned forward. Her eyes widened. We already know that, Nephil, she said. That’s kind of what he does, isn’t it?

Well, yes, Saryn, it is. But... Nephil stumbled over his words. Saryn’s sarcasm had obviously knocked him off balance. But, not like this. He coughed and tried to compose himself. We have reports from some of our agents in the field that there are some...inconsistencies in our data regarding Erlonian population growth.

Haven’t there always been? Saryn replied. With the way Jaronya keep popping in and out with people, I’m amazed you can say we’ve ever had consistent data. We all know that I never have for my projects. Saryn shuddered as she remembered the giant, winged creatures her team had faced in a dangerous Instance during their Rites.

This is different, Roman said. "We can at least try to track the Jaronya bridges. When the angels take someone or bring them back, we can at least have agents tally them up. We can watch their coming and going with at least some degree of consistency."

Yeah, plus or minus eighteen percent. Real accurate data you have there, Roman.

He sighed. She was right, and he knew it. The bulky scholar propped elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. The muscles in his arms and chest rippled with the movement. Saryn was surprised every time she saw just how well-built Roman was. It just didn’t seem right for a Scholar to be that toned, that muscular. And as much as Chuckie teased her about it, she did not find it attractive.

Look, he said. The point, Saryn, is that even though we have a fairly large margin of error—

Fairly large? Ridiculous? Unprofessional? Dare I say it? ...Inconsistent?

Roman continued unfazed. —we have recently begun to notice even larger pockets of the population disappearing. Not a lot, and not everywhere, but the numbers are too great to line up with the Jaronya bridges. And when you consider that people aren’t really dying from old age anymore...

Thanks to the Rites, Saryn said.

Exactly. As of the last count, Saryn, we’ve tracked a population decrease of thirty percent across Ferran and Yagh. That’s not even considering Bester and whatever the hell is going on in the Uncharted Wastes.

"They are uncharted, Roman," Saryn said. She regretted it almost immediately. There was proper snark and then there was just being mean.

Roman narrowed his eyes. Even with our fairly large margin of error, we can’t account for that many people.

Which means the Untouchable is up to something. But what?

Roman leaned back and shrugged. We don’t know. Like we said, the situation has changed. But we’re not exactly sure how. Either way, the Archive feels that the sooner we get people untethered, the better. The Charons can’t just sit back and let the Untouchable telepathically control everyone on the planet.

And I told you, Saryn said, it’s not ready. I’m sorry.

What are your simulations running at now, Saryn? Bryt spoke for the first time since they had convened this little meeting. The short Soldier stared at Saryn.

She stared right back. It’s not ready, she said.

That’s not what I asked, Saryn. What are your sims at? How successfully can you untether people from the Untouchable, Saryn? Bryt asked again.

Saryn bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself in line, then she said, The last simulation I ran was at ninety percent, which means it’s not ready yet.

That’s fantastic! Bryt said. Ninety percent?

That means that the other ten percent fails, Bryt.

So ten percent of the population remains tethered to the Untouchable. That’s a much better outcome than I had ever hoped for.

No, Saryn said. It’s not. It doesn’t mean that ten percent of people stay tethered and unaware. She sat upright for emphasis. It means that ten percent of the time, people don’t survive the process.

Bryt acted like he was going to start talking again, but she continued. The simulations show that in ten percent of subjects, the nanites that bind them to the Untouchable experience some kind of...feedback.

What kind of feedback? Bryt asked.

Saryn shook her head. "I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s the nanites themselves. I don’t think even the Untouchable is crass enough to build a self-destruct into his worshippers.

I think it’s the nature of the tether, she continued. As far as I can tell, people aren’t directly connected to the Untouchable. He’s still just a man, after all. She waved her hands to punctuate the statement. "They’re routed through switching station, and then those signals are sent to the Untouchable. These stations try to compensate for the feedback, and when they do... the person is shredded apart. Cell by cell. They’re disassembled. She looked at her superiors for a reaction, and when she didn’t get the one she wanted, she explained, Ten percent of the time, it wouldn’t just kill them—it would destroy them. Obliterate them."

No reaction.

It’s not ready, she said again.

Bryt, Roman, and Nephil shared a glance, and Roman pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. Let’s take a quick break, Saryn. We’ll meet back here in half an hour to discuss this further.

I don’t see that there’s anything left to discuss, Saryn said.

Half an hour, Roman said, and then turned around and walked out of the conference room. Nephil and Bryt followed him.

Saryn watched them go, an awful feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.

***

Are you hearing yourselves? Saryn asked when they reconvened. "Under the best possible conditions, this procedure will decimate the population. Literally decimate it, Roman. Ten percent. Dead. Just like that. All because you couldn’t wait a few months or years longer."

I don’t see that we have a choice, Saryn.

"How do we not have a choice? When you’re talking about killing ten percent of an Instance’s population, you have a choice!"

We looked at the numbers, Saryn, and made a decision. Roman sat back in his chair. He was being awfully casual for the kind of conversation they were having. Worst case scenario, eighteen percent of the population is going to die because of the Untouchable and whatever it is that he’s doing.

"Right, worst case scenario."

We have decided that since your results are reliable, a ten percent loss is acceptable. That’s eight percent lower than if we do nothing.

Saryn was furious. And sick. "And ten percent worse than the best case scenario."

"Do you really think the Untouchable is just going to stop, Saryn? Bryt chimed in. Is that your best case scenario? You aren’t that naive."

Fine, let’s say the best case is still a five-percent loss. Let’s say that within a few months or a year, I get my procedure to a ninety-five percent success rate. Maybe ninety-eight. Then what?

Then we adjust our untethering schedule when—and if—that happens, said Lim Nephil. But for the moment, you’re not at a ninety-five or ninety-eight percent. You’re at ninety. Which is good enough.

I won’t do it, Saryn said, crossing her arms over her chest.

We never said that you had to. Your objections have been noted, and while you developed the procedure—and we thank you for that—you are certainly not the only Scholar onboard this ship, Roman said. We have plenty of other people who are capable of returning to Erlon and snipping a few quantum threads.

Saryn blinked. That’s the only thing she could make herself do. They were cutting her out. The council was cutting her out of her own research.

She had spent ten years working on this project, ever since the Untouchable Returned and set himself up like a god. He told people he could make them live forever if they believed in him.

That was too good to be true, obviously, and Saryn figured there was some kind of ulterior motive behind it. She found that the Untouchable was essentially Riting to the general population of Erlon into full Charons—their blood was being drained and replaced with nanites.

When she dug deeper into it all, Saryn had found a difference—a subspace tether that connected those nanites to the Untouchable. It was a two-way flow of information and energy that let him control them and keep them docile. It essentially let him turn their faith into enslavement.

Saryn had spent the better part of ten years figuring out how to sever that connection. And now, she could finally help those people. Well, ninety percent of the time.

And the Charons were cutting her out of it.

You’re not cutting me out of my own research, Saryn snapped. "No one else will have even remotely the success I have."

Well, then, Nephil said. I suppose you have a choice to make. You can either go to Yagh tomorrow morning and begin the process of freeing Erlon from the Untouchable, or I can send a team of Scholars who will.

Saryn’s eyes widened. Her jaw clenched. She could feel her cheeks redden as her anger and frustration peaked. But instead of replying, she stood up and walked out of the room.

Just let us know! Roman called behind her as the door slid shut with a hiss.

***

Where are we going in Yagh? Chuckie asked her. Saryn was standing beside a counter in her lab, and Chuckie had come to visit her to see how her meeting had gone. She unloaded on him, telling him what the council had said. In response, he walked over to Saryn and put his hands on her shoulders.

She shrugged him off with a grunt. It doesn’t matter where, Chuckie.

I guess you’re right. I mean, far as I can tell the whole damn place looks the same anyway. All I’ve ever seen about Yagh is that it’s just one, big, grey expanse with a few trees near the mountains. I’ll be damned if I can tell the different villages apart.

When Chuckie was finished describing her home, Saryn spun around. What the hell is wrong with you?

Chuckie held his hands up. I was only kiddin, Saryn. Jeez. You know that. I was just tryin to cheer you up.

It didn’t work.

I see that, he put his hands on her shoulders again, and this time, she didn’t shrug him off. Look, what’re your options here? I mean, really. You can either go run your tests and save a few folk, or you can let Roman, Nephil, and Bryt have their way—and save a few less.

"I think you mean kill a few more, don’t you?"

That ain’t fair and you know it.

Yeah, Saryn said. "It’s not fair. To me. To have to choose like this. To be forced to decide if I want to be the one responsible for killing ten percent of my people, or if I want to risk someone else killing even more than that. You’re damn right that ain’t fair."

When do you have to decide? Chuckie asked.

Now, Saryn said and sighed. They’re going in the morning, with or without me.

Then you just gotta do what you feel’s right. If you wanna go, I’ll support you. If you don’t feel like you can... I’ll be here for you then, too. You’re the only one who can make this call, darlin. But I’m with ya, regardless. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

I know, Chuckie. I know that. She hugged him. That’s why I married you.

I thought it was because of my ruggedly handsome face and razor-sharp wit.

Saryn crinkled her nose and pretended to scowl, but she could barely keep a smile off her face. What was it about that man that made her want to smile even when she had to make the hardest decision of her life? She stopped fighting it and hugged him just a little tighter. That might have had a little something to do with it, too.

Chapter Two

Whuff-pop.

Saryn, Chuckie, and their team of Agents stepped out of the portal. They emerged from the enclosed hallways of the Inkwell Sigil to the blue skies and wide-open space of a forest clearing.

Immediately, Chuckie made a few hand signals at his team and they dispersed to make sure the area was secure. Saryn found the nearest structure she could hide behind and waited for her husband to give the all-clear. It wasn’t that she was a coward or scared of what might be out there—or even less capable than the rest of the team.

She was a lab jockey and a Scholar. Not a Soldier. She would leave the fighting and perimeter securing to them, and they would leave the physics and quantum mechanics to her.

It was a fair trade.

We’re good, came Chuckie’s voice, and Saryn stepped out from behind her tree. Where to, Saryn?

She winked her right eye twice to Conjure a black coating over it. An overlay HUD appeared in her vision. Over the last ten years, it had become second nature for her to Conjure the nanites in her blood to create complicated pieces of technology.  She saw that they were on top of a hill, and the path that led down was highlighted in her display. Well, if the shiny, yellow trail in my HUD is any indication, I’d say Roman wants us to go down the hill. She widened her eyes, then relaxed them and pursed her lips.

Chuckie Conjured his own HUD and said, Good enough for me. Tell me, though: how you planning on doing this, anyway? I mean, you got the technology to break these folk away from the Untouchable, but how are you gonna do it?

I don’t actually know, Saryn said. Roman and the others didn’t exactly give me a lot of time to plan this out. It depends on how people act and how many of the Untouchable’s goons there are around. It’s not exactly like I can do this to the whole village at once.

"Wait, what? Seriously? How many can you do at once?"

One.

Oh. Chuckie started to smile. I got it. Just walk up to somebody, tap them on the shoulder, and say, Chuckie’s voice rose into a falsetto, "Excuse me, sir, do you have a moment so that I can either sever the connection you share with your god or disintegrate you?"

That’s actually exactly what I had in mind, Saryn said. Thank you for reaffirming that it was a good idea.

That’s what I’m here for. Chuckie looked around. But for real, if you can’t do but one person at a time, what do you need from us? He waved his hand to indicate the rest of his team. Five other Charons—all Soldiers like Chuckie—stood just inside the tree line of the clearing, facing outward, their expressions unreadable beneath the bug-like goggles and face masks they had all Conjured.

If you and the guys can just secure a little area that I can have to myself, I’ll be okay, Saryn said. The procedure itself is relatively quick and simple. I just need somewhere I won’t be interrupted.

You got it, Chuckie said. If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s to not bother people.

Saryn snorted and walked toward the path highlighted on her HUD.

***

An hour later, Saryn had her workspace. Chuckie and his team had noticed a fairly large garden just outside of the village itself, and they had set up a space for that was within sight of that, but hidden inside the shadows of the forest.

There was a steady stream of villagers coming and going from the garden, probably picking whatever vegetables they’d be using for that night’s dinner. Saryn watched them come and go.

Chuckie walked over to her and leaned against a tree. Kinda fitting, ain’t it?

What is? Saryn asked.

All this started with a garden. The only reason either of us is standing here right now is because Ceril found that damn sword in the ground with his grandpa. He huffed and put a hand on Saryn’s shoulder. If he hadn’t, I wonder where we’d be.

Leading happier, more fulfilling lives? she asked.

He looked down at her and grinned. You probably would, yeah. Not me. I’m awful happy and fulfilled.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Whenever Chuckie Tidwell was sweet, it meant he wanted something. Yeah, that’s probably true, she joked and elbowed him in the rib. I’d be much happier. So would Ternia, I bet.

Chuckie’s grin faded when she mentioned their old friend’s nickname. Saryn, I didn’t mean to...

It’s fine, Chuckie. It’s been ten years since he died—

We still don’t know he’s dead, Chuckie offered.

He’s dead Chuckie. If there was one thing you could count on about Ceril Bain, he was dependable. We haven’t seen him in ten years. That means he’s dead. She sighed and looked out at the garden and the people picking vegetables. But you’re right. It all started because he found his grandfather’s old Flameblade in their garden. I do wonder where we’d be if he hadn’t.

She looked up at him, and when she saw that his grin had turned into a grimace, she added, Not that I’m in the least bit unhappy with the way things have turned out. I don’t want you to think that.

Nah, I don’t. Things are the way they are. Ain’t nothin we can do to change em. He coughed. Not that I’d want to. I mean, outside of Ceril still bein alive.

She put her arm around him and said, Chuckie, I am just sick about what we’re about to do here."

I know, Saryn. I am, too, Chuckie said. But what other choice do we have?

I don’t know, she said. They’re just people. They’re picking tomatoes and carrots to cook their families’ dinners. And here we are, interrupting that, ruining that, she swallowed and almost choked on her own saliva. And we might even kill some of them. And they’re innocent.

Maybe. I doubt they’re too innocent, though. They worship the Untouchable, and that let him brainwash or mind-control em or something. Not sayin that they’re bad people or nothin, but I doubt they’re totally innocent.

Mmm, she said and watched the villagers in the garden. There were six of them hunched over the plants, each one holding a basket. No one’s come or gone for a couple minutes, so I guess it’s now or never. If you guys can grab those people and bring them back over here, I can do this pretty quickly.

Chuckie didn’t waste any time. He signaled to his team, and the six Soldiers hustled from their wooded hiding spot and into the garden.

Watching them was mesmerizing—the Soldiers each moved to their targets, secured them, and brought them back to the wooded base. They even brought the baskets of vegetables, too; all without saying a word or letting the villagers make a sound as they were abducted.

Under a minute later, six Yaghian villagers—four women and two men—sat in front of Saryn, surrounded by Chuckie’s people.

Hello, said the woman in the middle. Her voice was monotone.

Then the other five villagers each said, Hello, too.

If that ain’t the creepiest damn thing I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what is, Chuckie said.

I know, right? Saryn said, despite having been in lots of situations that were actually much creepier. She turned her attention toward the villagers. Hello to you, too.

I was not speaking to you, said the first lady.

Whuff-pop.

A screech sounded above Saryn’s head, and she was pushed forward. She toppled toward the villagers, who remained sitting as she sprawled on the ground in front of them.

With her face against the ground, Saryn saw what had hit her. A Jaronya that was easily seven feet tall folded its gigantic wings as lorded over her. Somehow, the creature had portaled in directly on top of them.

From the sounds around her, this particular angel hadn’t come alone, either. She pushed herself off the ground and saw Chuckie and his Soldiers attacking three more of the giant purple beastmen.

She really hated these guys. In the past ten years, she’d been part of various missions that fought the Untouchable’s goons. Any day of the week, she would prefer