The Human Experience

Quarter P, day 12, 3418.

I’ve learned a lot about Akkút in the days I’ve been here. People are not hesitant to share their history, the old hurts of their beloved land. The Akkútians do not keep the Star-Gods, though celestial worship first appeared in Akkút and those of its dependencies that border the desert, like Yarda and Üfta. I learned that Neoma herself was born an Akkútian princess. Eager for expansion, she raised an army and appealed to Inaultis to let her and her men through the mountain pass into the west. Inaultis refused, so Neoma made a barter: if she could find her way safely through the mountains, with nothing but a donkey and a pack of provisions, Inaultis must swear to open its gates to her army.

Knowing such a feat was impossible, Inaultis agreed. In three-quarter P, Neoma succeeded, emerging into what is now Van-Tillis. As promised, Inaultis allowed her to lead her people safely through the mountains and into the unexplored western lands, with one catch: they would never open the gates for the return journey.

Thus the Vangardian Empire was born. Neoma never returned to Akkút, but conquered and united the wild tribes of Ferrall, Tillis, Rath, and Doth. To the Akkútian king’s despair, much of the population followed her, abandoning the desert lands they called home for fertile plains, marshes, and hills.

Akkút, not an empire at that time, felt abandoned by its princess. King Jirrek disinherited his daughter when he learned she’d taken the name of ‘Amaris’s daughter,’ believing her struck by a form of moon madness. He outlawed celestial worship, and Akkút returned to its pagan war-gods.

It wasn’t until Irhaap the Conqueror started his own empire, several generations later, that Akkút recovered from the blow of losing its entire army and a number of its people to Vangarde. But the hostility between Akkút and Vangarde never cooled. It simmered slowly for three millenia. Some say it came to a boil when Orcadis Durant, Akkút’s most promising young scientist, followed in Neoma’s footsteps and abandoned Akkút for Vangarde.

The Akkh’s Temple wasn’t a shabby inn. In fact, thanks to Lady Thyra Hemmer, duchess of who-the-fuck-knew-what and mother of the most arrogant cripple on earth, they were staying in the lap of luxury. Lykus strolled through the inn’s grounds, enjoying the perfume of honeysuckle and roasted hazelnuts that drifted on the breeze. Dusk left only a golden strip on the horizon, and the stars were dazzling beacons. Amaris and Delmira inched ever closer in preparation for the Alignment, their rims almost touching.

Kaed had taken the invitation to walk with him, but he hadn’t said a word all evening. He seemed to have sensed Hector’s transformation into Lykus some hours ago, and had avoided him since.

“It’s your face,” came Kaed’s voice from the depths of his hood. They stopped by some potted palms and Kaed turned to him. “That deadpan expression. Looks like all your facial muscles went numb.”

“Huh.” Lykus twitched the corners of his mouth up. “How ’bout now? Do I look normal?”

Kaed scoffed. “That’s fake. You have to crinkle your eyes. Like this – no, not that, this – oh, forget it, you’re hopeless.”

He chuckled. “You like Hector better, don’t you?” Finally someone does. Hector will be glad to know – even Hector likes me better.

The boy squinted at him, honey-coloured skin glowing in the moonlight. They walked in silence until they came to the sandstone wall at the end of the grounds. Lykus stood on his toes to peek over it. The real Akkh’s Temple spread over the horizon, flanked by a pair of obelisks that rose like spears into the night. Clean cut, simple – a long and flat-roofed structure with harsh angles and straight lines. There were no towers or spires or black gargoyles like the ones that roosted atop the Iron Keep’s balconies. No wrought-iron exoskeleton or stained glass. Just clean limestone.

They’d visited the Temple that morning to ‘feed their Voices.’ Some part or other of the place was made of the silver-flecked stone the Infected so coveted. Lykus remembered seeing the obelisks up close. Sunlight had flashed off their polished rose-quartz as he’d studied their chiseled inscriptions. He couldn’t read the Akkútian markings for the most part, but some symbols he’d recognized.

“What do the obelisks say, Kaed?”

“Nothing,” Kaed shot, defensively enough to give Lykus the impression he’d read his thoughts. “I mean, nothing important.” Lykus waited until he finally sighed. “Just names. The names of the most renowned Akkútian citizens. Scientists, politicians, artists – it’s an honour bestowed on anyone the Akkh thinks is worthy.”

“Know what name I saw chiseled in big symbols?”

“Shut up,” Kaed warned.

Lykus didn’t shut up. “Orkaedis Durant. Spelled with ‘k-a-e-d.’” His grin broadened until Kaed’s cheeks blazed. “That’s the Akkútian spelling? Your full name is Orkaedis junior?” And he erupted in laughter before Kaed could say anything. The boy turned to leave, but Lykus grabbed his arm and spun him around, turning serious again. “It was scratched out. Why’d the Akkh gouge Orcadis’s name off the wall of fame, I wonder?”

Kaed pulled away. “Father’s science became wizardry in Akkút’s eyes. When the Akkh refused to fund his research, he took Jesreal Padon’s offer of a laboratory and research team in Vangarde.”

“Why wouldn’t the Akkh back his research?”

“Father was investigating the silver stone’s properties, testing its radiation on himself. The things he discovered frightened the Akkútians. Everyone gives off a barely distinguishable amount of the same radiation, he said. He hypothesized that the radiation is responsible for our consciousness – the string that ties our senses together into a unified experience of ourselves. Without it, the human brain loses its initiative. That’s why the Voices can feed off of human thoughts. They consume the radiation the brain naturally produces. When it’s gone, you can’t produce thoughts anymore.

“Too little radiation turns you into a vegetable, but it’s what Father discovered about too much radiation that had the Akkh shitting his robes. Exposure to high concentrations of radiation gives the ability to sense the energy released by thinking. It lets you interpret others’ thoughts. The Akkh thought this ability would give Father too much power. He banned everything to do with the research. Father left, and that was it.”

Lykus thought on this. He didn’t hinder Kaed when the boy saw his distraction and took the opportunity to start back toward the inn. Who was Jesreal Padon to offer a poor Akkútian irrigation farmer a team of elite Vangardian scientists? She’d built his memory-altering and thought-sensing machines alongside him. What did this woman know about the radiation?

Better find out. And who better to interrogate than Padon’s very spy? There Avalyn was, sitting by the edge of the inn’s pool with her nightdress bunched around her knees as her feet waded through the water.

He swept up behind her, silent as a ghost. Only when she saw his reflection in the pool did she turn and gasp. Her lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. “Go away,” she huffed, “I hate you,” and twisted back to face the pool.

Lykus sat beside her. “Oh, you hate me now? But I left my girlfriend so we could be together.” He slid an arm around her bare shoulders and pulled her roughly toward him. “Isn’t that what you wanted? There, we’re together.”

“You’re heartless and cruel,” she whined, squirming in his hold. “Here I am, totally in love with you, and you don’t even care! What if I killed myself, Hector? What would you do if I killed myself?”

She turned puffy red eyes to him. Lykus smiled. He’d never understood why smiling symbolized approachability in humans. In the animal kingdom bearing one’s teeth was a warning.

And Lykus was no better than an animal.

He threw Avalyn into the pool, casually sliding in after her as she spluttered all tangled in her clinging silks. “What would I do if you killed yourself?” He plucked her to her feet by her arm, parted her hair from her eyes with his free hand, and smiled. “What would you do if I killed you first?”

Ava’s face screwed up, her breast heaved like a wounded hummingbird’s, and tears fell from her lashes to join the water dripping from her nose and chin. “Why are you so horrid?” she cried. “Ow! Let go, you’re hurting me, you beast!”

Lykus’s fingers gouged deeper into her arm, grinding between bone and tender flesh until she choked a cry. “Tell me what you know about Jesreal.”

“I s-swear, I never overheard anything a-about a-a Jesreal!”

He grabbed the scruff of her neck, dunked her underwater, counting to ten before letting her up. Speaking over her rasps for breath, he repeated, “Tell me.”

Lykus waited a few moments for her to calm down. Between sobs and wheezes, she was nonsensical. The girl flailed, elbows flying and the waters churning around her as she tried to get loose.

“No,” Lykus sighed, twisting his fingers in her hair, “we’re together now, remember? You said so.” And he plunged her head underwater.

This time he waited longer. Avalyn’s arms flapped wildly above the surface. Her stiff fingers fumbled to loosen his grip on her head. Bubbles broke the surface, then audible gurgles, her body seizing. Lykus pulled her up. “Tell me, or we’ll be together for a long time.”

Avalyn didn’t seem to hear him. She retched and water sprayed from her nose, body still convulsing. Her strangled gasps echoed in the night.

For the first time Lykus looked around, realizing how exposed they were. He dragged the spluttering Avalyn from the pool, made for the garden, and cast her down at his feet under the umbrella of a wide-leafed tree. She rolled to her back, trembling, blond tendrils of hair sticking to her face so he only saw her deer-like blue eyes.

Lykus crouched on his haunches over her. Waited. He pulled a dagger from his boot.

“P-Please,” Ava hiccoughed in a gravelly voice. “Don’t. I k-know you can’t. Y-You c-can’t do it. I swear on Delmira’s love I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking a-about! I’ll g-give you the footage I took. I w-won’t tell anyone what I-I s-saw! I...I just wanted you to notice me.”

She cupped her face in her hands and broke into wild sobs.

Lykus tested the point of his dagger against his palm. The sharp bite of its tip drew blood. He sighed. The woman wasn’t giving in. She played the dumb whore well, curse her. So he had to grab her hair again, pull her head back to expose the quivering lump in her throat. Her whimpers grew louder, but her breaths came too spastically for her to scream. “Avalyn,” he whispered, “what’s more important, your life or your secret?”

“Hector, I k-know you’re not c-capable o-of this! S-Stop, please!”

“I’m not Hector.”

She opened her eyes wide, gazed through the watery barrier into his. Her pupils dilated. Must have been the soulless gaze everyone kept talking about. “Who a-are you?” she breathed.

“The Iron Wolf.”

And he dragged the blade across her throat, the dagger’s jagged teeth ripping through flesh and windpipe. Blood oozed hot down Lykus’s knuckles, trickling between his fingers and making the dagger’s hilt slippery. Avalyn’s eyes flitted desperately, finally focusing on the thick black blood waterfalling down her nightdress. Her mouth opened and closed in agony, making no sounds save a gurgling, and her torso jolted as air hissed through the open skin folds of her neck, making them flap idly.

She looked to Lykus as if for help, now up to her elbows in blood from her attempts to staunch the bleeding. Lykus, having finished wiping the dagger on the hem of her nightdress, lay her down on the grass to die. He stood over her, watching the blood bubble down her lips. “People can betray Hector, Ava, but not Lykus. I am his avenger. Nobody else is going to be.”

The last of the air fizzled through the neck-wound and Avalyn stopped convulsing. Her eyes goggled open, reflective and opaque as Varali’s had been.

The grounds were silent. Lykus dragged the body out of the trees and dropped it into the sand far from the courtyard’s pathways. He found a gardening shovel and dug her a grave, covering the reflective staring eyes with shovelfuls of sand. His blood-stained shirt went in with her, and he carefully scrubbed the blood off his hands and arms with sand. What remained Lykus washed off in the pool. Murder was easy in Akkút, he thought – no cameras. He’d pulled off much harder gigs in Vangarde, in places where men with hydraulic guns had had him surrounded within ten seconds of ripping some Infected politician’s guts out.

This would be simple. He’d convince his group to set off before dawn the next morning (when the suns came up the body would start stinking), and tell them Ava’s Voice had led her in a different direction. Nobody would bother looking for a nameless, faceless Infected.

Later, in his room, Lykus poured himself ample brandy to soften the blow of Hector’s coming. As he sat with his feet up on a table, taking savoury sips from his glass, he planned.

Yes, Lykus planned. Jesreal would be next on his list. He swirled the liquid in his glass. And Orcadis. Orcadis would be last.

But he wasn’t sure what he would do with Delia. She belonged to him. The idea of someone else having her was enough to make him consider taking her life, too. She’d betrayed him as well. She’d lied. Enough was enough.

Let Lykus do the things Hector was too weak to do. Let Lykus destroy the things that made Hector weak. Delia made him weak.

He’d think about that.