Those Below: The Empty Throne Book 2 (44 page)

Eudokia did not go towards the Conclave. She had seen it already, in its full splendour, had no particular desire to visit a second time. In fact there was only one portion of the Roost with which Eudokia remained meaningfully unacquainted, that sliver which was set aside exclusively and without reservation for the sacred use of Those Above. What was it that turned her steps northward, towards the Cliffs of Silence? Did she have some inkling of what she would find there? Or was it simply that, having made conquest her lodestar and defining point, having burned incense and slaughtered men at its altar, she could not leave even this last remnant unconsumed? Forty minutes of walking took her to the far corner of the First, saw them promenading along a broad expanse of stone.

The cliffs were perhaps the only portion of the Roost that the Eternal had not fundamentally altered, reshaped to suit their particular aesthetic, had left untouched as memory or memorial to a distant past when they had still wandered free about the world. A wild stretch of mountain peak that jutted out over the bay below, weathered by the storms and the wind, open to the sky. It might have been any length of high coastline along the coast – save for the collection of creatures that crowded the edge.

There were few of them, these last remnants of a species that had once owned the planet, these things which were near enough to gods to sometimes confuse the two. All who could shoulder weapons, the vast majority, were dead or dying at the foot of the mountain. Here at the summit were, so far as Eudokia could tell, only those unfit for combat, made so by youth or age or illness. Strange-looking children, the height of adolescents but with the same ageless eyes as their parents, hobbled elders assisted by or assisting them, here and there the swelled belly of a pregnant female. A line of them but not a long one, a hundred or perhaps a few more, their attention fixed exclusive and entire on the sea below. Extinction, like every other event in the long but not eternal lives of Those Above, was an artistic act – even from a distance Eudokia could see their costumes were elaborate and colourful, flowing prismatic robes, trailing silk and peacock feathers.

How long had they stood like that, Eudokia wondered? Greeting the sun one final time, bidding goodbye to existence? And then without any signal, verbal or visible, with that same curious synchronisation of which humans were incapable, like a skein of geese wheeling in flight, they began to move. Eudokia could not tell the sex of the creature or determine much detail, could only make it out as a member of its species, as a silhouette against the sun. It spread its arms, as if to engulf the enormity before and below, or as a baby bird takes a running start before throwing itself out into infinity, before its wings catch the wind and carry them off into the blue expanse ahead.

It did not fly. Male or female, child or elder, it did not fly.

The next came a moment behind, and the next just after, an unbroken chain of flesh, each dropping in an even rhythm, and then far below, too far for Eudokia to hear, the crash of bone against stone, blood diluting the seawater, a slick sheen of crimson atop the blue and white crash of foam. Though not for long, the sea taking everything, in the end.

Eudokia did not speak, but she watched, she kept her eyes open at the ongoing tragedy – or triumph. They were owed that much, these beings who she had driven to slaughter, this sacrifice to the new world she had built. She would bear witness to this thing she had caused.

And then it was over, the last pitching itself into oblivion as smoothly as the first, without a stutter of hesitation, one last bright spray of colour and then the void. A lifetime spent in service of this moment, endless laboured machinations, nations raised up and brought low, an unknowable quantity of corpses, all put towards this end. There were none alive now who could dispute it – she was triumphant, supreme, matchless. A barren mother on an empty throne.

When the first book came out, I was all like, ‘man, acknowledgments, awesome! I get to mention all of my friends and acquaintances and the girl I’m dating and make cute in-jokes that only they get,
hahaha
.’ But from there on out it was like, ‘right, acknowledgments, make sure you don’t leave anyone out or they’ll get offended.’
Anyway, here goes. Business wise; thanks to Chris Kepner, Oliver Johnson, Anne Perry, everyone at Hodder who keeps believing in me. Family wise, Mom, Dad, Dave/Alissa/Julian, Marisa, Mike, my grandmother, my aunts and uncles on both sides, my first cousins, my second cousin Jacob who gets a special shout out because he’s adorable and loves my tattoo. Thanks to Sam and Elliot. Thanks to Will, John and Alex; you guys will get the next one. Thanks to Lisa for being the best British sister anyone ever had. Shout out to Will for marrying her. Andy Keogh for being an odd-looking Englishman. I’ve learned by this point not to thank any particular girl because by the time the book comes out you usually aren’t talking anymore. Thanks to everyone who bought this and bothered to read it, not expecting their name to be here at the end. Cheers.

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