The Veil (19 page)

“Have you lived in the city all your life, Lightwarden Larone?” I asked in an effort to spark conversation.

The warden raised his head. “For as long as I can remember. I was still a child when I came here with my family.”

“Are they still here?” I asked.

Vendal gave a slow shake of his head. “Sadly, I lost my family and my three siblings in one of the great battles that took place here some two hundred years ago.”

Gabriella shook her head in sadness.

“What happened?” I asked.

He ran his hand down the side of the boat in a movement of self-reassurance. “Fenodara was…different back then. More at peace. The war hadn’t spread as far as it has these days, and for the most part the Lightwardens were used simply to maintain order in the city and give support to refugees. We…we just weren’t prepared when the Umbra attacked. They took us by complete surprise and many of us lost people we loved.”

I could feel the emotion of his words swimming just below the surface. It was a subject that clearly still felt raw for him, even after so long.
So much for small talk.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Gabriella. “I lost my parents, I know how tough it is.”

“Thank you for your kind words, Huntmaster De Luca.” He shifted in his seat, straightening up as if trying to maneuver out of his memory. “I was watching the Lightwardens as they tried their best to save everyone, and I wanted to help, but I was young and inexperienced in battle. It was the bravery of the Lightwardens that made me sign up to become one as soon as I came of age. I wanted to help just as they had.”

“That is very admirable,” Gabriella said. “But can I ask, do you still feel the same about being a Lightwarden now?”

He squared his body, as if preparing himself. “Admittedly the role we serve has changed a lot over the years,” he said. “We still protect, but we have to be far stricter about the way we do it. That is something that has taken me some time to come to terms with. A lot of the other wardens are hardened, shaped through the misery that this war has created. They despise the Umbra and became Lightwardens almost out of spite. They know that on the battlefield they are merely one of many expendable thousands, a nameless death that can be added to the Umbra tally sheet. However, here they are
more,
they are the ones who stop the Umbra from claiming the final victory. In their eyes Umbra are pure evil, and they will never be at peace until every single one of the class is buried.”

“Is that not how you view the Umbra?” I asked. “You said yourself that they killed your family.”

“That is true, but no, I don’t view them that way. Of course, I’ve heard the stories of Hades and his cruel Highguards, and I have no doubt most are true – there are some very twisted individuals in this world. But that corruption does not spread to every single member of a class. As Guardians you know this well, as many Umbra fight and die at your side.”

His eyes glazed over slightly, glistening with emotion. “I remember the day of the battle, when the Umbra stormed the city, slaughtering and killing. Some of them relished the murder…but others…I remember the tortured expressions on their faces as they were killing people. It was as if every Luminar they cut down also carved away a piece of their soul. A lot of them were barely adults – their mind still in their mother’s womb, as we say, and they were as terrified and confused by what was happening as we were. The moment that sticks out for me the most is a young Incubus, bleeding out and missing limbs as the result of a Whiteore grenade. He was crying out for his kin. Weeping and saying their names over and over. I remember standing there and watching him in shock as he slipped into the next life. That Incubus wasn’t evil. He was simply an innocent tool used by those in charge.”

I could feel a knot twisting in my gut, as if Vendal’s words were boring into me. My mouth went dry as I thought of the countless Pandemonians I’d mown down without so much as a second thought, seeing them as my enemies and nothing more. There was no doubt many of them were truly committed to their cause, but at the same time, they all had stories – they had all lived lives and been shaped by their experiences. They had been children who had grown up and moved down an infinite number of paths, making choices and decisions that had ultimately drawn them to the edge of my blade. I doubted many of them had picked up a weapon as a child and vowed to be evil.

I knew this insight wouldn’t change much, though…how could it? I was a Guardian and I would fight for my cause, to protect those I loved and those who couldn’t protect themselves. But it was certainly enough to give me pause for thought.
At what point do the lines of good and evil blur, and how can you be sure which side you’re standing on?

Gabriella broke the silence that had descended. “Vendal, can I ask you another question?”

“I expect several.” He gave a nod. “So, of course.”

“Do you agree with what Aegis? What he does here?”

He was silent for a moment, as if struggling with an internal dilemma.

Gabriella leaned forward. “On my honour as a Huntmaster, I promise that anything you say will be kept between us. Please, just help us
understand.”

The warden parried with his internal conflict for a while longer and then seemed to reach a decision.

“I know you disagree with the things that Highwarden Caria does, but he is a great man. Do not think that he condones what he does without thought. I have worked under him for over a century, and I have seen the toll that his position has taken on him – on his relationships. He does what he does purely because he
must.”

“So you agree with it?” I said in surprise.

“No not agree…I accept. I wish things could be different, I
truly
do, but we didn’t create this situation. We had it forced on us by our ancestors, and we are simply doing what we must to keep alive.” Vendal leaned forward. “There is a Luminar fable called
The Horn of Mantis
that might help explain better. It says that millennia ago, when the Ageless War first broke out, there was a powerful Fae called Mantris who was the lord of a vast township. He was stern but fair and cared greatly for his people, and above all would do whatever needed to protect them.

“He lived in a stronghold that acted as a protective barrier, and it encased his entire empire with walls two hundred feet high, stretching as far as the eye could see. His world was impenetrable…or so he thought. At the very top of the stronghold, in the uppermost turret, was a great horn, supposedly ripped from the forehead of one of the Six Dragons during a fierce battle. It was so powerful, they say it could be heard in every corner of his township. It was the
only
way that a message could be passed around quick enough to reach everyone and was only ever blown if there was a serious threat from outside forces. Every home had a secret exit built within that would allow his citizens to escape in good time should it be blown.

“One night a fierce attack unlike any the township had ever seen took place – great Ogres ridden by Umbra scaled the walls, or simply tore through them. The damage was so severe that the stairs to the horn crumbled, and they were consumed by a deep magic fire that prevented Mantris from reaching the top. The Umbra tore through the township, slaying everyone in their sight. As bravely as he fought, Mantris knew that if he didn’t blow the horn, every single person in his township would die. So he made a difficult decision. He threw those around him – including his own wife and children – into the fire. Some screamed and fought, but others lay down willingly, knowing what he must do.

“He kept throwing bodies high on top of one another until the mound was tall enough that he could climb them and reach the horn. He blew it and then – consumed by the grief of what he had been forced to do – fell on his own blade. The city was razed and several hundred people died along with Mantis, but his action of blowing the horn saved countless thousands. In history it has been debated over and over whether what he did was cruel, but the way I see it he simply did what needed to be done to keep as many safe as he could.”

“Sacrificing the few for the greater good.”

“Yes.”

“But no single person should have the right to decide who lives or dies,” said Gabriella, folding her arms. “It isn’t up to one man to play god.”

“Sometimes that is exactly what the world needs.”

The vibrating of the Valoon’s rudders died away a moment later as the Waterwalker switched off the motor. We glided across the last few meters of water and then he threw a large rope over one of the glass-like posts with expert precision and pulled the boat close to the dock.

Vendal swiveled in his seat and pointed ahead of him. “This is the Epicentre of Fenodara. There’s the Great Clock.” I followed his finger and saw a towering structure that resembled a triangular needle sweeping so high into the sky that its spire was lost in the clouds above. It winked a dazzling number of colours as the water that ran down its colossal sides caught the sunlight. Four vast hands that looked like strands of silver hair moved at different speeds around a bright face that was filled with eighteen Qi’lern symbols.

It was as confusing to behold as it was beautiful. I could understand the languages, but Pandemonian timekeeping was well out of my grasp. Faru had explained that time worked differently over here – something close to one hour being equivalent to three Earth ones. So that meant that every day we spent over here was around three back home. I suddenly thought of my mum and John, charmed into thinking that Mikey and I had never existed, and it tore a chunk out of my heart.
Every day we spend over here is three that my family is living without us.

I wanted to get it done and get home.

Vendal took us across the sweeping courtyard area of the Epicentre, filled with large, intricate water features and towering corporate buildings that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a futuristic New York skyline. For what seemed to be the main hub of Fenodara, the area was pretty empty, with only a few strolling couples and what could only have been businessmen – all dressed in similar blue robes and adorned with carry bags, all moving under the watchful eyes of patrolling Lightwardens. Most of the grand, majestic buildings around us were closed, with the same Qi’lern ‘out of business’ signs attached to their glass-front entrances.

Several were covered by colossal posters of Luminar soldiers standing together in poses of solidarity, dressed in white combat armour and armed with a multitude of weapons.  Slogans like “Protect the Luminar way of life” and “Serve to Save” swept across the bottoms of them in bright electronic letters.  The buildings that had once represented a culture at its apex now only stood as empty monuments to a falling civilization – one that had been forced to adapt to survive.

We drew closer to the Great Clock and caught sight of Highwarden Caria. He stood like a statue in front of the vast arch that led underneath the clock tower, his shadow splitting out into two dark doppelgangers behind him in the brilliant light of Capis and Soren.

“Lightwarden Larone, thank you for bringing the Guardians to me. Please head to the Shopping Ziggurat and join Lightwardens Udan and Elissa on patrol,” he said.

Vendal gave a deep bow. “At the quickest step, Highwarden.” He turned to us and gave a slightly shallower bow. “It was good to make your acquaintances, Guardians. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“You too, Vendal,” replied Gabriella with a genuine smile, which I echoed.

The Highwarden cleared his throat and Vendal gave a quick nod before hurrying back through the Epicentre, shrinking until he was gone from view.

“Good morning, Guardians. I hope you rested well.”

“Not really,” replied Gabriella in the same flat tone she had used with the Highwarden the previous night.

The Highwarden gave a sigh. “I expected you to still be angry. However, I also wished to apologise. My attitude towards you last evening was somewhat brash considering what you had witnessed. It was my hope that you would allow me to show you something else before we head to the Tower of Ascension. Would you be willing to accompany me?”

Gabriella glanced at me for a second, a glimmer of suspicion in her face. “Okay…”

“Thank you. Please follow me.”

We walked behind the Highwarden as he swept underneath the huge clock tower and through the northern section of the Epicentre. As we walked, I noticed that every Lightwarden in the area, from rooftops posts to passing patrols were watching us, their hands clasped on their gunpikes.
We make one wrong move and these guys won’t hesitate to unload everything they have on us,
I realized. I rubbed a hand against the area of smooth skin where the blast had grazed me
. Superchosen or not, I don’t really fancy getting hit with those again.

Aegis Caria led us up onto the station platform of the Epicentre’s Railport. We caught the next Lightshuttle and rode two stops in silence, whilst the warden was stared at and talked about in excited hushed tones by those riding in the carriage with us, as though he were some kind of celebrity.
I guess he doesn’t use public transport all that much.

“It might not matter to you,” said Aegis as the shuttle swept along the suspended rail, giving a spectacular view of the sunbathed city around and below us, “but those three Warwardens you hospitalized have been handed immediate sentences. As soon as they have recovered, they will serve six months each in the belly of the White Keep.”