Dominion (52 page)

And the Beast exploited her fear, and turned it upon her.

•  •  •

Ani stared in horror as Syl exposed herself to the One, and was powerless to prevent her from being yanked from the floor of the Marque so that she now hung suspended above it, dangling from the end of a mass of tendrils that covered her head to the shoulders. Ani didn't know how to react. Was this what Syl had intended? Did she know what she was doing?

Suddenly Syl's body began to jerk and thrash, and her arms flailed uselessly at the air. This was wrong. Syl was in trouble, and if Syl was in trouble, then they all were, but Syl was also her friend. Syl had always been her friend.

Ani took a deep breath, and removed her own mask. She stepped forward, and touched her hand to the nearest tendril. It curled almost delicately around her arm, and was quickly joined by others that wrapped themselves around her young, fresh body, her head, her face. She closed her eyes as her lips were forced apart, and then all was redness.

•  •  •

Syl was dying. She was drowning in blood, suffocating in spores. She tried to concentrate, but the Beast was tormenting her through the One, using it to inflict pain upon her, distracting her while it tried to sever the link with her. The Beast now knew that it had been mistaken. It could not take Syl Hellais's powers and absorb them into its own. She was too strong for it—for them—yet not so strong that she could not be killed. The Beast would destroy her, and then wipe out her species. There would be others, and the Beast was old enough to have learned patience. It felt the psychic connection with the girl slowly disintegrating, tendril by tendril. Soon it would be gone entirely, and then—

There was a new consciousness. It intruded upon the Beast, drawing its attention away from Syl before it could finally purge itself of her. It was another girl, linked to Syl, but not like her, not as powerful or as strong, but with such force of will: Ani, the Archmage, the one who had sacrificed the younger for the five ancients. As she appeared, so too did the previous Archmage, the being named Syrene, and the Beast felt her presence twisting inside its thoughts like a thorn. It sensed hatred from her—for Ani, for Syl, for all things, but most of all for the Beast—and in her dying Syrene also unleashed herself upon it, ripping at it in her death throes just as Ani clouded its vision with mist, but not so much that it could not find her, could not lash out, could not—

Kill her.

•  •  •

Syl felt the moment of Ani's death. She experienced it as a rush of fire through her being that scorched her raw, and a darkness that consumed her as her friend's light was extinguished. She heard Ani cry out, an exclamation of surprise as much as pain, as something deep inside her body, some vital part of her, was punctured by the One. Syl sensed Ani's consciousness searching for her, reaching like a hand stretched out by one who is drowning.

•  •  •

On his moon of exile, Lord Danis woke to the sound of his daughter calling for her father, and he shouted her name in turn, over and over, as a great wave of love and regret washed over him, leaving him broken by its passing.

And then she was gone.

•  •  •

The
Revenge
was crippled. It had taken a shot to port that had disabled its engines, and its weapons system was fried. The
Varcis
had stayed with it, a bird trying to keep the predators from its stricken mate, and had fended off two attacks, but now the hunters were converging. Steven counted two Corps cruisers approaching, and most of a squadron of fighters from one of the carriers. Beside him, Alis had accessed the
Revenge
's workings, and was trying to bring the weapons back on line at the very least, so that it might be able to defend itself, but Steven saw now that it was too late.

“Meia,” he said.

This time she appeared before him as a hologram, just as his face was before hers on the
Varcis
.

“I see them,” she said.

“You have to leave us.”

“I won't.”

“Meia, I'm ordering you to go. You won't survive against them.”

“I don't take orders from you, Steven.”

“Please.”

Meia stared back at him.

“What would have been the point of all we have gone through if I were to desert you now?” she said, and he had no answer for her.

Meia smiled. “I will see you again, Steven. There is another world beyond this one.”

And their enemies descended upon them.

•  •  •

Syl was no longer herself. She had no name, and she had many names. She was a being created by the universe, forged from the light of a strange star, for this moment, and for this purpose: to undo the error of creation that had spawned the Others. She was within the Beast, and of the Beast, and so she tore it apart first, taking its consciousness to pieces, psychic agony becoming physical pain. Its primeval hide fractured and burst, its hearts exploded one by one, and the spines from which it spewed forth its spores forced themselves back into its body, piercing it straight through and impaling it in the dust and stone of the dead star that would serve as its mausoleum.

And as the Beast trembled in the moment of its dying, Syl Hellais—Syl the Destroyer—turned all her rage and grief at the loss of Ani Cienda on the offspring of the Beast, and on all those who would have used them to further their own ends. She saw the Diplomatic armada above Illyr, and one by one she crushed every ship—every carrier, every cruiser, every destroyer—until only fragments of them remained, and the dead floated before what was left of the Military fleet. Then she turned her anguish on those on Illyr and its dominions who carried the Others inside them, and even as the parasites inside them began to perish along with their sire, she snuffed out their lives, so that thousands upon thousands fell in an instant. It was Armageddon. It was apocalypse. It was a new plague of her making.

•  •  •

On its distant world, the Beast shuddered and died, and in the Marque, the One curled in upon itself and ceased to move. Its tendrils withered, and its web collapsed beneath it. Freed from her bonds, Syl fell to the floor, and the chamber echoed to her screams of rage, for she wanted to keep killing and never stop.

But in time she grew still and silent. She turned and stared into the lifeless eyes of Ani Cienda, whose remains lay crumpled and broken beside her. She reached for her friend, and drew her to her breast, and only then did she weep for all that she had lost.

W
hen Paul Kerr finally awoke, it was from a dream in which he was dying in a wormhole, although that had simply been the conclusion of a longer dream of aliens, and parasites, and war, and a girl with golden eyes and bronze hair whom he had loved like no other.

Now he opened his own eyes, slowly, carefully. He was in a white room, dimly lit. There was some pain, but it was tolerable. He stayed very still as the memory of the dream faded. In time he heard a door open, and he looked in the direction of the sound. A woman in white robes entered and began fussing with his pillow, followed by the girl with the golden eyes, and then a boy like himself, but younger. Others were behind them, and he searched for their names and found them: Steven, Thula, Meia, Alis.

“Syl.”

He spoke her name. She took his hand.

“Did we win?” he asked.

“We did,” she said. “But we lost so much . . .”

•  •  •

They laid Ani to rest in the Marque. A line of Sisters stretched from her chambers to her tomb, and each one took her turn to help bear the Archmage on her last journey. Syl and Meia, along with Cocile and Toria, carried her bier for the last steps. They placed her shrouded form in the glass tomb below a great dome that looked out upon the universe, so that her resting place would always be filled with light, as befitted a child of the stars.

T
he calls for Syl Hellais to be made President began almost as soon as she set foot on her homeworld of Illyr for only the second time in her life. Krake was under arrest, and the Military authorities were anxious to restore the normal functioning of Illyri society as soon as possible. The Diplomat voices that might have dissented against such an elevation for Syl Hellais had almost all been silenced, for few had survived her wrath, and those infested by the Others were now all dead, annihilated along with the parasites inside their own heads.

Yet there were some, even among the Military, who feared her too, and whispered quietly of the threat posed by one so young and powerful, even as more devious minds wondered how her abilities might be harnessed and used to serve a new Illyri Conquest. What, Syl thought, might they have said had they known that it was she who had been responsible for the deaths of so many? It was assumed that those Illyri who had been carrying Others in their heads had died because the Others inside them had died, a consequence of Syl's annihilation of the Beast, but that was not the case. They had died because Syl had willed it. The Military knew that she had destroyed Corps ships, and their crews along with them, but that could be glossed over as a necessary act to bring a brutal conflict to an end. But if they learned that she had, in her rage and grief, targeted all those who had colluded with the Others and ultimately contributed to the death of Ani Cienda, they might not be so understanding. Syl did not fear those who were already plotting. She was more extraordinary than any of them could ever guess, and could snuff out any threat before it was even spoken aloud.

She was just tired of death.

But Syl did not wish to be President, and the more they pressed her, the more she resisted. She found herself repeatedly drawn back to the Marque, where she would spend hours sitting by Ani's tomb, speaking with the ghost of her friend. Sometimes Meia would come to her, or Alis, for some of the Mechs remained concealed in the Marque in the guise of Sisters, while the rest had gone into hiding. The Illyri had turned on the Mechs once before, and Meia was unconvinced that they would not do so again. Cocile was being spoken of as Archmage, which surprised Cocile almost as much as it might have surprised Ani—and left the lovelorn Rent Raydl concerned at what this might mean for him—but others, hearing that Syl had rejected the presidency, had begun to wonder aloud if she might not consent to become Archmage instead.

Syl wanted none of it. She had no place here. She told Ani so, as she whispered to her beneath the stars.

•  •  •

Paul was waiting to meet Syl when the shuttle from the Marque landed in Upper Tannis after yet another of her sad-eyed trips to Avila Minor. They were living together in a lovely apartment in one of the older sections of the city, and Paul was enjoying exploring Illyr while his medical treatment continued. Thula was staying nearby, and he and Paul saw each other nearly every day, either by choice or at the medical center.

Steven had returned to help rebuild Earth at the first possible opportunity after the war. He'd taken all the other humans with him, as well as a team of Illyri volunteers—mainly scientists—who wanted to help right the wrongs that had been done in their name. Danis and Peris had gone with them. Ani's death had dimmed the light of Illyr for both of the old soldiers, and Danis still hoped to discover the fate of his lost wife, Fian.

“I'll see you back down there, big bro,” Steven had told Paul on parting. “I'll give Mum your love. Oh, and I'm taking the top bunk.”

They'd laughed, and bumped fists, then hugged, but many weeks had passed and Paul missed his younger brother. He missed his mother too, and now Thula had begun to talk about going back to Earth.

As for Paul, he tried not to think about the future. He needed to give Syl time, just as he needed his own health back so that he might be of use to her again, and not a burden. Because of his injuries, he walked with the aid of a crutch, but the doctors had assured him that the need for it would become less and less over time. He was still in some discomfort. He tried to hide it from Syl, but nothing could ever truly be hidden from her. He watched her now as she approached, and something in his chest tightened painfully. How he wished that he could help her, or heal her, but he did not even know how to begin. All he felt equipped to do was love her, and hope that this might be enough.

“Let's go home, Lady Syl Hellais,” he said, and he reached for Syl's hand, but to his surprise she did not take it.

“Syl?”

Paul stopped, and turned to face her. She met his eyes, fierce and willful, and there was a challenge written large across her troubled and, oh, so very lovely face.

“But where is home, Paul?” she said. “Where is home for the likes of us?”

How different she is now, he thought—a million miles away from the contrary sixteen-year-old he'd met playing dress-up on the streets of Edinburgh, a million-billion-trillion miles in every which way—and yet somehow still the same, because the essence of the Illyri girl with whom he'd first fallen in love remained. They had come so far together, they'd crossed galaxies, and he knew he couldn't bear to be without her.

“Home?” he said, without thinking it through. “My home is wherever you are, Syl.”

And as the words left his mouth, romantic and foolish and rash, even to his own ears, he recognized that they were also true. Yet still trouble stirred him, roiling like storm clouds on an internal horizon, for there was within Paul a desperate craving for the only home he'd ever known, the place where he'd been created, the world for which he'd fought before he'd met Syl, before she'd opened his universe, and the greater universe with it. Paul Kerr yearned for Earth.

Syl laughed, a throwaway sound, and he felt wounded, but the tenderness in her expression showed it was not meant harshly, and there was a new light in her eyes, or maybe an old light that he just hadn't glimpsed for a while, so obscured had it been by grief. She put her hands on his chest and looked deep into him, and he did not turn away. He wasn't even sure that he could.