Bane of the Dead (Seraphim Revival Book 1) (14 page)

For a pilot of such seniority and importance, his quarters were quite mundane. It was a single room in the common Aktenai fashion, combining sleeping, eating, and relaxation areas without the need for Earther walls in the way. It was clean and utilitarian. D-scrolls proclaiming the Litany hung above the door and the futon.

Only one object seemed out of place. A roughly made model seraph floated above the dinner table, displayed with the prominence of a treasured possession. The purple runes along its black limbs were painted by a clumsy hand, the letters uneven and blotchy.

An eight year old Quennin had given it to him.

Seth linked to his wall screen. He opened the feed from a pebble-sized probe left at the Grendeni schism. Its hypercast link was still active.

Good. The Grendeni didn’t find it,
Seth thought.

The schism was still present, but several ships had folded out. The probe had relayed those fold coordinates to a waiting squadron of stealth exodrones.

Grendeni warships rejoined other known fleet elements, but the archangels folded space to a vast nebular facility near a white dwarf star. One exodrone spotted a carrier fold in near the nebular facility and two seraphs launch from it.

Seth watched the archived visual. Jack and that mysterious black seraph flew up to one factory among a vast ring of hundreds. Seeing Jack once again made him realize, with absolute clarity, what he had to do.

Jack, I’m going to kill you.

Seth reactivated his neural link and informed the Choir he was ready to be debriefed. Normally, the Choir spoke in a tossing cacophony of voices. Sometimes a single voice would fight to the top and become dominant. Even more rarely would the individual manifest before Seth in person.

So it surprised him when two holograms appeared, a man and a woman. Seth recognized both as members of the Original Eleven. He immediately fell to one knee and bowed his head before the dead founders of the Aktenai.

Every child of Aktenzek memorized the names of the Original Eleven, and Seth could put faces to those names. The tall man possessed handsome, chiseled features with neatly trimmed black hair. He wore a white suit with black heraldry that looped around his waist and ran up his arms. The heraldry consisted of an interlocking pattern of circles, semi-circles, and arches.

His name was Veketon: architect of the Choir and First among the Eleven.

The woman was fair-skinned with short, white hair and unusual silver irises. Her dress was split down the middle, half white and half black, with gloves of the opposite color. She was Dendolet: the scientist who created the Bane and chief executor of the Great Mission to destroy that abomination.

The Original Eleven only appeared when the Great Mission was in peril, and his mind searched for the trigger that brought these personalities to the Choir’s forefront.

Seth kept his eyes downcast. “Venerable masters, how may I serve you?”

“Rise, pilot,” Veketon intoned.

“We wish to discuss certain elements of the ambush with you,” Dendolet said.

Both founders spoke in the Aktenai tongue, but their unusual accents were full of harsh consonants. Seth had to focus to understand some of their words.

“Of course, venerable masters,” he said, rising. “What in particular do you wish me to elaborate on?”

Veketon walked across Seth’s quarters and gazed at the wall screen. He gestured to the image of the Grendeni nebular facility. “An interesting find. A pity we cannot bring the drone any closer.”

“Resolution is poor,” Dendolet said, “but evidence suggests at least some of the archangels were produced here.”

Veketon snorted. “Pathetic imitations of a truer weapon.”

“They are quite formidable in numbers, venerable masters,” Seth said.

“No matter,” Veketon said, his back to Seth. “It was inevitable the Fallen would eventually learn our secrets. In fact, their efforts seem to have produced unanticipated rewards.”

“Your pardon, venerable master?”

Veketon turned to face Seth. “Those swords. The technology is quite impressive. I’m disappointed you didn’t claim at least one for our study. There were certainly enough floating around during the battle.”

“The few of us that escaped were fortunate to do so.”

“And what is the purpose of your life,” Dendolet said, “if you do not serve the Great Mission?”

“Yes, of course, venerable masters.” Seth bowed his head. “My apologies.”

“There will be other opportunities to claim the sword technology,” Veketon said. “But enough of these mundane matters. It is the black seraph that concerns us.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about her?” Dendolet asked.

Veketon shot her a sharp look.

“About
her
,
venerable master?” Seth asked.

“Or him, I suppose.” Veketon made a dismissive wave. “It’s an easy conclusion to mistakenly jump to. We’re so used to dealing with pilots in male-female pairings.”

“Ah,” Seth said.

“For now, let us call this one Azeal until we know more,” Veketon said. “Hmm, yes. I think that will be an appropriate name.”

Seth had to use his neural link to pick up the reference. Azeal was a very old Aktenai word for darkness.

“But the question remains,” Dendolet said. “Did you notice anything unusual?”

“The pilot, Azeal, was incredibly powerful, venerable masters. Perhaps even stronger than Pilot Donolon, though I have no way of being sure. I could not accurately measure Azeal’s coefficient. Also, Azeal’s seraph appeared featureless, but I believe this is a result of an extremely intense barrier.”

“Pilot, do you think we are blind?” Veketon sighed and shook his head. “All this we already know.”

“Then what, venerable master, should I elaborate on?”

“You came into contact with Azeal,” Veketon said. “Your blade touched that seraph’s barrier. There is no way to quantify the data you felt, that you alone experienced. So I ask again, did you notice anything unusual?”

“I… I don’t know.” Seth tried to recall the actual strike. With death and destruction all around him, how did they expect him to remember a single blow? And why the focus on only one pilot? Was the Choir not even concerned about Jack’s betrayal?

“Think harder, pilot,” Veketon said. “Was it any different? Yes or no?”

“It was…” Seth raised his arm. He looked at his open hand, clenched it, then relaxed his fingers. “It felt… cold, I think. But only for a moment.”

“Did you hear anything?” Dendolet asked.

Seth gave the founder a confused look. “No, venerable master.”

Dendolet leaned next to Veketon and whispered in his ear. “It may not be her.”

Veketon held up a hand. “Let us not jump to conclusions.”

“Venerable masters, do you know who this pilot might be?” Seth asked.

“It would be unwise of us to voice a mere theory at this point,” Veketon said. “We will wait for more data.”

“But even a theory may help us face this new enemy,” Seth said. “Surely you must share it.”

“It is not your place as a mere soldier to question us,” Veketon said firmly.

Seth bowed his head. “Of course, venerable master. Please forgive my rudeness.”

“We can leave the mystery behind this Azeal for another time,” Veketon said. He gestured to the image of the nebular facility. “For now, we will send your forces back into combat. One of these factories may be a source of archangels and their swords. You will claim examples of both.”

“Such a base would have extensive defenses, and we have taken heavy losses.”

“We will dispatch the Renseki to reinforce your depleted strength,” Veketon said, “and give you command over a larger fleet element.”

“Is it wise to have the Renseki leave Aktenzek unprotected, venerable masters? Has Sovereign Daelus approved their deployment?”

Veketon grinned ever so slightly. “The Sovereign and the Choir will obey our wishes.”

“But the Sovereign—”

“Will do as he is told,” Veketon interrupted.

The statement gave Seth great pause, but he bowed his head and said, “My apologies, venerable masters.”

“You have much work ahead of you. See to it.”

The two holograms flickered and vanished. Seth found himself alone with many disturbing thoughts and more questions than before.

***

Seth stayed in his quarters and brooded over what Veketon and Dendolet had said. It wasn’t unusual for elements of the Choir to hold secrets. Naturally, some information was too sensitive to be discussed outside the ruling circle of the Choir and the Sovereign. But why would the Original Eleven hold secrets in the face of such an obvious threat?

He agonized over the situation so intensely that he completely forgot his other obligations.

Quennin walked into the quarters.

Seth looked up apologetically, the passage of time suddenly registering. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Quennin waved away the apology, her eyes red from tears. She collapsed next to him on the couch. Her hand found his, and she squeezed.

“Yonu will live,” she said, her voice steadier than before.

“That’s good.”

“She was lucky,” Quennin leaned her head against his shoulder. “There wasn’t any permanent damage.”

Seth nodded thoughtfully. Aktenai medical science could repair almost any physical damage and extend human life until it was measured in centuries, but pilots who suffered head injuries often lost their talents permanently.

“The Choir questioned me,” Quennin said. “Probably after they questioned you.”

“Veketon and Dendolet?”

“Yeah.”

“They should not have bothered you,” Seth said.

“They are the Original Eleven. They can do whatever they want.”

“I don’t care who they are. They should have waited.”

Quennin closed her eyes and nestled against his neck. “Veketon kept asking me questions about that black seraph we’re calling Azeal. He kept pushing and searching, like there was a particular answer he wanted me to give.”

“I had a similar experience with him.”

“I don’t
care
about that other seraph. What about Jack? Why did he turn?”

Quennin took a deep halting breath.

Seth squeezed her hand tighter. “Before he left, there was no one in this cursed universe who knew him better than we did. If we don’t know, no one does.”

“Maybe he finally snapped,” Quennin said. “He was always close to the edge after… after he merged with his seraph. We should never have let him go. We should have gone with him.”

“He asked us not to follow.”

“We should have gone anyway.”

“But we couldn’t do that, Quennin. The Alliance needed us back then.”

“Well, we should have done
something
,” Quennin said, tears returning.

“Perhaps, but the opportunity has passed us. He has chosen his allegiance. All we can do now is face and defeat him in battle.”

“Seth, please don’t say things like that.” Quennin leaned into him. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

The two pilots sat in silence holding each other, sharing their grief and pain.

The Choir chose that moment to request another audience.

“Not again,” Seth said. “We should just ignore them.”

Quennin sat up on the couch. She rubbed her eyes and stood up.

“We have our duties, Seth,” she said.

“Yes, of course.” He stood up and linked an acknowledgement to the Choir.

A familiar hologram appeared before Seth and Quennin. The young man stood tall and slim with an oval face, prominent nose, and dark brown hair. But despite this appearance, a certain sparkle in his hazel eyes betrayed the depth of his age and experience. Though the man had been a withered shell when he died, his elevated existence within the Choir allowed him to take on this youthful visage.

He wore the uniform of a sovereign: storm-gray with gold trim and the white-stitched hawks of a full seraph pilot. The man was Taen Elexen, adoptive father of Seth Elexen, biological father of Jack Donolon, and former Sovereign of Aktenzek.

Seth and Quennin kneeled before him.

Taen motioned to the couch. “Please be at ease. Sit. There’s no need to be so formal.”

Seth and Quennin sat on the couch. Taen dropped into the chair opposite them. His hologram sank back into cushions that did not give.

“What brings you here, Father?” Seth asked.

“First, I would like to offer my most sincere condolences for your loss. I followed Tevyr’s career with great interest, especially after he chose our shared surname upon coming of age. It saddens me to see such a bright star snuffed out like that.”

Seth bottled up his grief and nodded. Quennin rubbed her eyes.

Taen leaned forward in his seat. “Now, I know you two have much on your minds right now, but I felt I must warn someone.”

“Warn us of what, Father?”

“The Original Eleven are hiding critical knowledge from the rest of the Choir.”

“Is that even possible?” Quennin asked.

Taen smiled grimly. “They designed and created the Choir. Anything is possible to them. Now, we may be overreacting. The Original Eleven do love to horde their secrets, and it may be nothing more than that. Everyone in the Choir hides something, even me.”

“They know something about Azeal, don’t they?” Seth said.

“Yes, I’m certain they know who this pilot is, but they have refused to share his or her identity with us.”

“Why would the Original Eleven want to hide anything?” Quennin asked.

Taen gave her a sly grin. “Don’t be too trusting of the official histories. After all, the Original Eleven are only human. I am sure they’ve many mistakes they do not wish the masses to know.”

“And Azeal could be one of them,” Seth said.

“Precisely.”

“What about Jack?” Quennin asked. “Do they know anything about him?”

“Yes, but they won’t share that either,” Taen said. “Did you know that Veketon was the last person Jack spoke to before he decided to leave?”

“No, I didn’t,” Seth said. “Jack never shared his reason for leaving.”

“Veketon refuses to divulge the contents of that discussion,” Taen said. “But I do know it was the Original Eleven who gave him the carrier. I think they wanted rid of him. Perhaps they even feared him.”