The Last Human Ch. 52: Conviction of the Guilty

It was as if the passing of a dream, how forever in the moment and how quickly gone in the blink of an eye. The Shayk did not turn his eyes to Ingrish nor to Amon but to me. His—perhaps its—expression was entirely unreadable. The eyes stared unblinking, and behind the gold mask, I was unsure that there was any face at all. He wore a simple pale cloak that nevertheless obscured every inch of his skin. He wore three-fingered gloves and his feet were hidden by folds of cloth. I did not so much hear a voice as a chorus, both male and female, young and old, human and alien, and still something more that I did not recognize. Again, a thousand technologies could have accomplished this. I was more than familiar with uncountable stories of the past, how aliens would use their great sciences—handed down by us—to pose as gods to still lesser races.

And yet, he had somehow taken a whole fleet and armies of his followers across the galaxy with means beyond even humanity at its height. If that wasn’t evidence the Shayk was approaching some kind of divinity, I didn’t know what was.

“I have anticipated this moment for many years. It is an honor to meet you, Vas Du’Kaal, my dearest kinsman. In all the millennia of this galaxy, there have been scarcely three or four encounters such as this, where two Chosen of the Aeons can converse. Tell me, you must know more surely than I. Have you come here to assert your claim, or as an advisor to help me ascend the final steps?”

Both Amon and Ingrish made to speak, but with a wave of the Shayk’s hand, they were forced to their knees and their mouths bound by some invisible force. I assume Ingrish tried to communicate telepathically, but she was held silent by that same mysterious power.

“What is your answer?” The Shayk gripped the armrests of his throne.

My eyes fell down to the portum, the same smoky boundary, the same black abyss. Seeing it here made me sick to my stomach. In a sense, I had always known I had never escaped the palace of the Xurak Queen. However, standing here, I now realized how true it was. I had left with the Aphelion, but I was just dragged back here again, the invisible fingers of destiny—no—the machinations of those who had plotted all this. I heard the Whispers once more, and I stepped back fearfully.

I couldn’t see the Shayk smirk, but I felt it in the air. “An answer surer than any spoken word. I see the Aeons have contrived our meeting for me to ascend the final steps. Welcome then! To the Beginning of the New World! Soon, I shall go ahead, but fear not! I shall prepare a crown for you in the coming universe. Rest now! One of the Three shall prepare you for our audience.”

I felt the palm of the galaxy press against my mind, and unlike before, I could not resist as I was dragged to sleep.

…

I awoke in a familiar chamber, not to me, but to Ingrish. It was the room in the tallest spire of the Golden Court, so that the blood of the initiated acolytes may flow from the highest observation deck to the lowest hull panel. The temple was of white and gilded metal and etched on them were the lines of succession, names tracing back nearly a thousand years. Ghastly fires which needed no kindling lit the steps, leading down to the center of the room. There stood the raised basin of water where the blood of the children of murderers is spilled for the Golden Court.

My training kicked in, and I searched the room for avenues of escape. However, unless they were concealed by some inordinately clever trick, I could see no ventilation for life support. The only entrance and exit were a set of locked doors delicately carved as the entrance to a holy place, though no doubt strong as any spaceship’s.

There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to flee. Just like last time.

I wished more than anything for windows, to at least look upon Sanctuary. We were so far away that it wouldn’t matter. I wouldn’t be able to see if anyone was all right. But I was hurt by the thought that Leah might’ve been somewhere, a balcony perhaps, looking at the citadel of The Golden Court, meanwhile I wouldn’t be able to look back.

Pushing myself up against one of the walls, I sat down, numb at everything. Again, my thoughts threatened to spill into terror and despair. I suppose it was all just like last time, just as Amon had warned me about. It would be easy to collapse back into that child under the thrall of the Xurak Queen. Too easy. I could let myself become that victim again, the one who could only simply endure until help arrived. Except this time, I had a feeling that there was no help coming. I could not even count upon one man in the Carapace Armor.

And yet, as much as those thoughts teased me, this was also entirely unlike last time. I wasn’t that meek victim anymore. I still remember how easily I cut through several Bakke assassins. And more than that, Amon had spent the past seven years training me. Of course, a dark thought argued back that all the gunplay in the world wouldn’t save me from the likes of these opponents, but… wasn’t that what he had been trying to teach me all along? To find the way out of the impossible?

It was a thought that went quite against my usual habits, I admit. But this time instead of terror, an unquenchable anger filled me. I wasn’t that child anymore, and even if it went against the scheming of the Whispers, I was still a participant in all this. I still had the power to choose—to fight, to claw my way out instead of laying down and taking it.

And so, that was what I resolved to do.

I first searched the room for anything I could use as a weapon, the smallest fragment of scrap metal that I could use as an improvised blade. There was none. After an exhaustive search around the chamber, I finally turned to the basin in the center. I thought the material had been metal, but instead it appeared to be a dark glass. A smile slowly tugged at my lips as a plan took shape.

Cupping the water with my hands, I tossed it on the flames lighting the rooms. Easily, the little lights extinguished one-by-one until the room was in near total darkness. Once I could barely see, I gripped the basin with both hands and threw it off the pedestal. The large bowl shattered into a hundred pieces, spilling the sacred water all across the floor.

Ripping part of my shirt, I tied a piece of thick cloth around my hand. And finding the largest, sharpest jagged piece of glass, I picked it up, careful to squeeze it not so tight that it would cut through my hand. I went over beside the door and crouched low, the preparations of my ambush complete.

Perhaps it was futile. Perhaps the telepaths would assault me again, restraining me before I could attack. But then that would put the battlefield on my advantage, and I would take my fill of blood regardless. Giddy in my plans, I imagined I would escape the room. And while I waited, I entertained myself with schemes of what I would do next. I’d make a break for it, run as hard and fast as I could. Maybe I couldn’t save Ingrish and Amon, but maybe I could hijack a shuttle. The Shayk seemed to want an audience with me—perhaps I could buy some time. Maybe Amon could make his own escape. Maybe Ingrish—

There was a hissing noise as the locked doors clicked open. I snapped back to my senses as a pair of footsteps hesitated in the doorframe. Seizing my opportunity, I rushed the Bakke. Just as I remembered from Ingrish’s memories, the hooded figure’s eyes were stitched shut. Still, he made to flee before he found my arm and a jagged shard of glass at his neck.

I wasn’t tall nor particularly strong, but even so, the male Bakke were no larger than the females of their species. It was not hard for me to wrest his frame back, and I was a moment’s away from killing him on the spot. But then, it seemed a hostage would be presently more useful.

“I—”

“If so much as one of your assassins brushes my mind, I will slit your throat,” I angrily told him.

“No... no one is looking for you. You’re supposed to be the Shayk’s honored advisor!” The Bakke whispered back.

But just as he was contemplating this sudden turn of events, he froze in my grip as he saw the shattered basin and the water spilled across the floor. “What have you done? The Well of Lineage is broken! Without it, we can never again—”

I pressed the shard of glass, just enough to draw blood. “You’re coming with me, and you’re going to answer my questions.”

Nevertheless, the Stitched One seemed utterly spellbound, and he spoke in a muffled voice as I dragged him away.

“It must be an omen from the Shayk. He has foreseen this. The Golden Court will soon be no more.” The elder’s ears pressed against his head, the only thing he could do as he could not weep.

“I don’t care.” I snarled as we walked quietly down a long, marble hall. Columns holding up a wall and ceiling of glass casted long shadows in the afternoon of Sanctuary’s sun. And below us was the entire city of the Golden Court, towers of bleached metal that had spent eternities drifting through space. I realized that I had no idea how long I had been out. A day, maybe more. But I didn’t let this development distract me.

“Where’s Amon. Where’s Ingrish?” I hissed, checking back to make sure no one had noticed or was following us.

“Ingrid? I—”

“Ingrish.” I drew more blood from his neck unintentionally, angered at the Stitched One.

The hooded Bakke was about to speak something but thought better of it. “She’s being kept in the excruciation cells. Same with Amon Russ.”

“Take me there.”

The Stitched One pointed down the corridor, and so we walked, the elder of the Golden Court offering no resistance. “I do not understand why you are doing this. The death of the Traitor will bring about the new universe! This is a joyous day!” he desperately pleaded.

I scowled. “You truly all are insane, aren’t you? You will not lay a hand on my mother.”

“Your… why would you take the lineage of a murderer?”

“I thought you all were murderers?” I snapped at him as I pushed him on.

“No! The blood of all sin is cleansed once they join The Golden Court. To leave, to disobey the Shayk is to become guilty,” the Stitched One insisted. “And a million million crimes you must bear!The weight of profaning the work of your ancestors is immeasurable! You defile every last—”

Finally, we came to an elevator, or at least, a telepath’s one. There were no buttons or mechanisms. Indeed, the round doors looked completely unworkable for a conventional species. I was about to order the command, but the marble rolled back, revealing a circular, gilded interior that could hold up to twenty.

We stepped aboard and the doors rolled shut. I could hear nothing, but I felt a slow pull downward as we descended.

“It is all the Shayk’s will,” the Stitched One breathed in terror, and he began praying softly in alien language.

“Shut up!” I yelled at him.

This caused the elder to shrink in his robes. Meanwhile my thoughts were racing of what to do next. Once the doors opened, I presumed there would be guards. But Ingrish had shown me how important the Stitched Three were. They were their seers, the ones who chose the targets. The basin was apparently one blow to their religion, but I was sure that the death of one of their prophets would be even more so.

The adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I was thinking a million thoughts a second, not good to try to remain undetected. But at this juncture, I couldn’t help it. Everything had gone better than I dreamed of so far. And that if no one was looking for us, maybe I could get us all to a shuttle. Maybe we could run, find a way out of the solar system. Maybe—

The doors opened, and I saw we were not at the excruciation cells. We were in the other room—another one that Ingrish had shown me. Except this one had seen some renovations since her time.

From this great hall, red banners hung from the ceiling. Statues of previous prophets lined the room, their faces hewn off. The fountain was now dry of its water, filled instead with the blood of the other two Stitched Ones. The Shayk stood between them, his seven eyes watched us, patiently awaiting our reaction.

The Stitched One was horrified at the scene. His eyes were closed, but I could feel the despair of one who is forsaken by his god in his shaking movements.

I saw that I had been caught, and my hostage was clearly useless.

The Stitched One realized my intent as I tightened my hand on the glass.

“Wai—”

Before the Shayk could stop me, I ran the shard of broken glass against my captive’s neck and dropped him to the floor. The alien who had commanded a thousand deaths choked on his own blood as I stepped over him.

…

“Just get it over with,” I told the Shayk, numb at my failure. I dropped the jagged piece of glass, knowing it was useless.

“On the contrary. It is not even begun. I could not be assured Ingrid has taught you of the nature of things. But now, by the sacrifice of the Three, we have avenged the deaths of a million. One would think the universe would become more just by the elimination of this great evil. But no, just as the Eternal Three wiped their hands with the blood of countless monsters, things shall carry on no better than before. More shall take their place, and we slide further into entropy.”

I stared at the false god with contempt. “I have no wish to talk.”

“Then listen and I shall tell you the secret of The Negentropic Principle. You must have some knowledge, since the Aeons have drawn you so close. You are one of the select few in the universe who can possibly understand my position.”

“They commanded you to kill Ingrish?” I stared at the Shayk with hatred beyond hatred.

“No, but I have foreseen what they will make of their Incarnate. A god possessed by dreams. The unwakened will rouse while the mortal shall be put to rest. Be assured, I have no intention of letting such a thing happen. The holy ones have led us here, but they will fall to temptation once they come in contact with the mortal realm. It is time to defy the spirits themselves.”

“I hope they make you suffer for eternity.”

An exasperated groan came with the Shayk as he paced the fountain. “As my equal, I shall inform you of my plans. And since you are so set against me, I pray you shall find the flaw that eludes me.”

I spat but said nothing else.

The Shayk continued, “it is a farce. My followers do not know this, but I do. Centuries of washing the galaxy with blood, and yet the whole universe is just as stained as before. My followers believe the death of the Traitor is the last one to enter paradise. I do not believe for one moment that a drop of Ingrid’s blood will change anything. But bereft of any other foundation, we must proceed anyway. I must seize this power, surely you understand that much?”

“I don’t want to understand you.” I snarled.

The Shayk did not seem to care. “This is our last, best chance to escape the destruction of everything while we still have strength to act. You as a human know this more keenly than anyone else in the universe. What has the galaxy become since the departure of your species? A billion billion squabbling powers, all trying to outcompete each other in the monstrosities they can create. The ancient powers believed that washing our creators away would give us freedom, but we all share in the guilt. Since that sin, no one has done anything but keep their eyes fastened on the dirt. What do you expect for the next ten thousand years—the next million? I tell you, entropy will not have to take the stars before all crumbles to dust. I loved Ingrid. Truly, I did. Even one such as me has favorites. It broke my heart when she departed My Court.”

“Ingrish,” I demanded. “Her name is Ingrish.”

This time the Shayk tilted his head, as if considering my words. “My kind believes in the shadow of blood. Your name is the one who made your bones, not these words which we use to describe a wordless thing. But very well, since you so insist, if this will help my dilemma.”

“I’ve met your gods!” I finally snapped at the Shayk. “They say I’m their Maschiah! Not you. They’ve tortured me across half this galaxy! And I’ve met others exactly like you! The Xurak wanted the same thing! You’re a lunatic! I wish I had the words to describe what this is! It’s evil!”

“Mashiach?” The Shayk paused at that word, seemingly hearing nothing else. “We have another word. The Self-Originate. Ah well, they all describe the same thing in the end. But now you’ve heard my logic in full, now is your time to convince me from this path. If you are so desperate to save Ingrish.”

From the folds of his cloth, the Shayk pulled out a thin blade and my eyes widened in recognition. The black blade was unmistakable, with the ringed hollow just at the center that would flare to life with a piece of a black hole.

My eyes widened in horror. A zero-sword.

“I must cast Ingrish to the outer darkness, depart from the last temptation the Aeons can use to deceive me. Once I see the universe with an eye free from all attachment, I can remake it as it finally ought to be.”

I opened my mouth but no words came.

“Voice your objection and do it shortly. I must make this quick before the powers have a chance to intervene.”

I choked, unable to do much of anything to prevent the tears streaming down my eyes. “D-Don’t do this, please.” I barely whispered, my lungs betraying me.

The Shayk sighed. “Then I have no choice.” He turned his back to me and left the room before I could utter another word.

Link to Next Chapter