The empty sword is placed in an empty hand, lifeless fingers curled around the hilt.
When all is ready, she climbs onto the scaffolding and raises her metal arm. The iris in her palm opens, and she places her hand over her creation’s eyes.
Drawing deep, Massassi directs her will. Her aim is perfection, a being that will have no equal, that will have the power to do whatever is necessary. Essence surges from her, infusing the shell with light, with life. Some of this plays through its arm, flowing into the sword and back again. Like a child in the womb, the shell draws sustenance from Massassi, taking on aspects of her nature. She tries to hold back the regrets and the doubts, projecting only the strongest parts of herself.
The essence within the shell takes shape, harnessed through lenses and cables, flowing like water through internal channels. It finds its own rhythm, becomes self-sustaining.
Massassi releases her hold, falls hard against the scaffolding. All of the late nights, the long hours catch up with her in a rush. Bones suddenly feel their age and it is all she can do to wheeze, more human sack than godlike empress.
As she exhales, the figure in front of her inhales and the air crackles with energy. Three eyes open together and Alpha is born.
A silver hand reaches down, offering its support to Massassi. She has never accepted anyone’s help before but without hesitation she takes it, is lifted gently to her feet.
For the first time, she is not alone.
Looking up, she sees eyes of clearest blue, like the sky on a perfect flying day. They gaze at her in wonder, full of love.
She checks Alpha for cracks, faults and essence leaks, finds none. ‘You’ll do,’ she says.
Alpha’s chest swells, picking up on buried praise. He speaks and his words reverberate through the workshop, making metal chime and blood sing. ‘I am ready, creator. Shall we begin?’
‘Oh yes,’ she replies, ‘you’ll do nicely.’
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_2f9a7999-fa9c-54fb-9cb5-d50d0b7c0803)
The Commander’s Rest skims across the sea, trailing a tail of light. Vesper’s special unit of knights, the Order of Broken Blades, pack the space above and below deck. They have seen much over the years, endured much, and now they are bonded by experience and respect. Though old prejudice runs deep, their time with Vesper has stretched their minds somewhat, enabling a grudging acceptance of the ship’s pilot.
Samael is at the wheel. Like the other knights he wears armour but his is a battered collection scavenged from an old battlefield. A mish-mash of pieces, a mess, functional. Entirely appropriate. For Samael is a half-breed, unique, changed late in life, his human essence mixed with that of the Knights of Jade and Ash’s commander. Once a great man, the commander was corrupted, his soul near burned away by a fragment of infernal essence, making him a slave. And like many who have suffered, he passed this suffering on, binding Samael to his will.
And Samael served, mindless, until the commander was destroyed. Since then he has wandered, sometimes serving others, sometimes himself. Now he serves Vesper, and for the moment this pleases him.
A descendant of the Usurper itself, Samael has little love for infernals, save for the one joined to him by an essence thread. Invisible to most, this thread connects him to a Dogspawn, red-furred and mangy, one ear torn off in its prime. The Dogspawn goes by the name of Scout and one of Samael’s eyes is in its skull, just as one of its eyes is in Samael’s. The exchange of eyes is a bond, permanent, allowing them to share vision and sensation.
At this moment Samael is aware of his hands at the controls of TheCommander’s Rest,but he is also aware of Vesper’s hand scratching a spot on the back of his neck, and a tummy that needs feeding.
Vesper stands at the prow, the wind making streamers of her hair. Scout sits next to her on one side, the buck on the other. All three seem to take equal pleasure from the feel of the breeze on their faces.
She raises an eyebrow as Samael joins them. ‘Not like you to step away from the controls.’
‘No,’ he replies, his voice dry, cracked, like a man in need of water. ‘But we are here.’
Vesper looks over her shoulder, sees the light drive powering down, feels The Commander’s Rest slowing to a gentle drift. Frowning, she turns on the spot, searching the horizon until she has gone full circle. ‘Are you sure? It’s kind of quiet.’
‘These are the coordinates. Do you think the First is going to come?’
‘Why bother to go to all this trouble and then not show up?’
Samael makes a dry rasping sound. ‘Lots of reasons. To draw you away from the Empire so that it might strike elsewhere. Or to attack you in a place where you cannot bring the Malice to bear.’
‘Well, when you put it that way …’
Scout whines softly and Vesper looks down. ‘What is it?’
‘He was enjoying your attention,’ replies Samael, ‘and that itch still isn’t quite satisfied.’
‘Sorry, Scout,’ she says, resuming her grooming duties. ‘The thing is, I know the First has every reason to want me dead. My knights aren’t exactly pleased about the situation, and if the people back home knew I was out here,’ she shakes her head, ‘I’d never hear the end of it.’
‘They don’t know?’
‘Well, they know the broad strokes. I’ve told them I want to make a lasting peace and that we need to think differently about infernals.’
‘But you haven’t mentioned the First by name?’
‘No. I don’t think Obeisance, or the people of the Shining City,’ she grimaces, ‘or my father are ready for it.’
Samael nods, slowly. ‘I agree.’
‘At the moment, they can’t even imagine the changes I want to make. I’m hoping that if I can pull this off, they won’t need to. It’ll be there for everyone to see.’ She looks directly into Samael’s mismatched eyes. ‘I’m going to do this, whatever it takes.’
‘And the Malice is happy with your plans?’
Vesper touches the sword’s hilt and it hums beneath her fingertips. ‘I don’t know if the sword can ever be happy. But we’ve talked about it and we’re of a mind.’
They fall to a companionable silence. Time passes, the knights talking quietly amongst themselves, Vesper playing with Scout while the buck and Samael watch the waves.
Then, around them, the water begins to darken.
Samael looks up but there are few clouds in the sky, and none of them block the sunslight. He and Vesper move to the rail and lean over.
The shadow is beneath them, growing rapidly as it ascends. Though the taint has made denizens of the deep big enough to match what comes, it is too solid and too static for a life form. This is a ship, made in the Empire’s glory days: a Wavemaker. True to its name, it sets the water around it to motion, rocking TheCommander’s Rest. Under their feet, the deck shakes, then a dull boom sounds, and Vesper’s boots lift briefly into the air. She grips the rail tight while the knights wait, stoic, strapped into their positions.
Magnetic locks activate within the Wavemaker, attaching it to the smaller vessel. Untroubled by the extra weight, it continues to rise, until the blunt nose breaks the surface, pushing itself and the smaller ship into the air.
Foam sprays in all directions, and the rocking falls into a steady rhythm, decreasing as the two ships and the water around them settle.
A hatch opens in the Wavemaker’s side and a black-clad figure emerges, its loose robe flowing easily over fitted armour. With a single leap it sails up, twenty feet, to land on the rail, a boot either side of Vesper’s hands.
Knights detach themselves, rushing forward to support her. Samael draws his battered sword, and, at Vesper’s shoulder, an eye springs open, angry.
‘Wait!’ she shouts, holding up her hands. ‘All of you, wait! Stand down.’
Immediately, they stop, though all remain prepared. Samael’s sword returns to its sheath.
The First looks down at them. ‘I see that your natures remain … violent and I am unsurprised.’
Vesper takes a step back from the rail. ‘You haven’t changed either.’
‘This is true. I remain … reasonable.’
