The Last Winter (The Circle War Book 2) Read online

  His suit took the brunt of the blow, but not enough to stave off the explosion of pain. He came to a rolling stop, surrounded by darkness, save for the light coming through the hole in the wall. Behind him, Talus was trying to fight his way into the room. Shadow’s clawed hand dug into the skin around his chest and ripped him away. She bent down to look through the opening. Once she saw August, she positioned herself with her back to the room, blocking Talus from going inside.

  August took off through the darkness to look for an escape route. She’s okay, he told himself, but for once, he started to wonder. He’d never seen her take so much damage before.

  He zigzagged through rows of glass containers, each glowing with a faint blue shine. There had to be another door, hopefully one that led outside where he could grab the Orphii’s attention. If he could get some room to operate—and a little backup from a couple of two-story giants—he could rejoin the fight and maybe put an end to Talus once and for all.

  He rounded the corner at the end of a row, grinding to a halt in the face of a giant tank of bubbling green liquid.

  The container blocked his path. Along the front was a bench of computers with a hole cut into the center of the cabinet, surrounded by lights and blinking displays with words he couldn’t read. The hole looked tailor-made for the blue vials on the wall. Inside the tank, black hoses floated in the murk. Some hung from the top of the container, others from the side walls and floor. Whatever they’d been connected to, it was gone now. And probably recently. Thin trails of black liquid seeped from the ends of the hoses, leaving smoky wisps in the water. This thing was big. Seven feet at least.

  A low growl rose behind him. He swung around with swords ready, squinting into the black room. “Shadow?”

  Shadow limped toward him with one hand on the glass-lined walls to steady herself. Blood coated her chest from a wide gash running from her shoulder to her midsection. Cuts and claw marks covered her hide. When she saw August, she shuffled quickly across the floor and grabbed him around the waist. Her orange eyes scanned him. She turned him around to look at his back. Convinced he was still in one piece, she lifted him up to deposit him on top of one of the shelves, then snarled back into the darkness.

  “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

  She growled at him. After a few angry snorts at the black room, she relaxed the bristled hairs along her shoulders and neck. Her breaths were shallow. Her wounds continued to leak blood.

  Why isn’t she healing?

  Although he’d never actually seen her injured before, he assumed she had the same healing factor he and Bear shared. Maybe hers took longer. She wasn’t human, after all.

  A rumbling sound carried through the room. It sounded like a probe taking off. Shadow turned quickly, growling at the noise with her claws splayed at her side.

  As the vibrations faded, bolts of lightning licked across her skin. Small arcs multiplied, growing in size until she was encased in a ball of lightning. August shielded his eyes from the glow. When it was gone, Bear stood in her place. He looked around until he saw August on the shelf. “I’m beginning to think you like it when she puts you up in a perch.”

  “Funny.” August jumped down to the floor. “What happened to Talus?”

  “Run off.” Bear sounded disappointed.

  “I’m surprised she let you switch back.”

  “She was weak. Believe me, she didn’t want to go.”

  The news felt worrying. He tried not to let the doubt linger. He sheathed his blades. “Let’s head back up, see if the Orphii need help.”

  They retraced their steps back to the remnants of the dome, where the Orphii stood tall over a sea of Galan’s mangled troops. Their fight was long over. Most of the machines were crushed. Many looked as though they’d been left out in the sun to melt. August stepped over the metal carapace of a spider. Its armor had turned to liquid and then solidified again, coating the wires and electronics in a warped shell, courtesy of the white liquid still flowing from the Orphii’s skin. He reminded himself not to give them a pat on the back for their troubles.

  The Orphii looked down at them with diamond eyes.

  “There’s the synapse,” Bear said.

  Now that the fight was over, Paralos opened the doorway they needed to get back home. It formed off to the side of the factory in front of a line of gray hills. The top of the arched opening stretched high enough to let the Orphii pass beneath it. Along the wavering surface of the portal, August could see through to the other side where night would greet them. The night of another alien world. His shoulders slumped.

  “You were hoping for someplace different?” Bear asked.

  August shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “We’ll get there soon enough. In time.”

  In time…. He took a final look at the factory, thinking of whatever had been in the green liquid. Let’s hope so.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Killers always wanted to return to the scene of the crime—Wasn’t that what they used to say on cop shows?

  Bullshit, Michael thought.

  Coming back to Earth hadn’t been his idea. If it had been up to him, he never would have returned. He’d purged his anger in a single blast, taking care of his father and everyone else who used to look down on him. All that was left were ashes, and that was fine by him. Now, as he soared across the sky looking down on the valley surrounding Amara’s castle, he saw those ashes healed and made new again, like his blast had never happened. What good was burying the past if someone was just going to turn around and resurrect it again?

  The winds drifting through the clouds cooled his skin. He’d left behind the royal armor Amara had made for him, choosing instead to fly above the Earth bare-chested. When it got too cold, he pulsed enough energy so that the cracks along his charred skin glowed red, heating the air around him. It was one of many tricks he’d learned in the year after the blast. He was stronger now—so much so that he wondered if there was any limit to his strength. On Pyr, his powers made him a king. People chose their words carefully around him, as though he was a bomb that might go off if they said the wrong thing. Even Galan seemed to walk on eggshells. High school seemed like a lifetime ago, but he remembered learning a word in English class that described the people that were now in his life: sycophants. The only one who didn’t fight for his affection was Amara, and she was the only one he cared about.

  He dropped down to get a better view of their new home, hovering only a few hundred yards above the construction going on around the cliff top. Amara’s mountain range looked like a horseshoe from above. Her castle sat on top of a rocky arm reaching out over the valley. It cast a heavy shadow on the city below it. Subtle, he thought. All down the body of the arm were buildings on top of buildings, each ring wider as it went down. A few levels below the top was a domed arena that dwarfed the others. Amara said she had a special plan for that one. He didn’t bother to ask. Her plans always involved other champions, not him.

  Sitting on top of the protruding cliff was the castle itself, or at least the bones of it. Amara’s Pyrian workers swarmed over the mountain’s arm day and night. Getting ready, as she said, for the arrival of the masses. He had to give it to the Pyrians—they worked fast. A few weeks ago, the broad tower of rock with its lone arm stretching over the valley was nothing but bare stone. Now it was covered with the skeletons of buildings from top to bottom. A single road spiraled through the construction, coming to an end just below the castle.

  Farther out into the valley, at the mouth of the horseshoe, the workers were putting the final touches on another grand project—the Gates of Pyra. Closing off the opening to the valley were two gigantic stone walls, each one as high as a skyscraper. Between the walls were two arched doorways, inlaid with diamond windows. They were closed for now, but soon they would swing open to welcome the tired, the poor, and the hungry.

  The beggars, more like it.

  Situated just inside the doors was the real jewel of the Pyrians’s work. It was a scul
pture of Pyra—the gatekeeper to the heaven that awaited all immortals, according to Amara. To show the people of Earth who truly watched over them, she had the statue built in the center of the growing city. It was slightly shorter than the walls, but no less impressive. From above, the Pyrians looked like tiny ants crawling over Pyra’s body, eating away at the ivory-colored rock. He could only see the back of her head from his vantage point. Her long hair and lean body reminded him of Amara.

  Michael, will you please come down? Amara’s voice slipped through his head easily, like silk.

  Are they here? he asked in return.

  Soon, yes.

  He swooped back toward the top of the castle. Amara stood in the open face of her personal suite, which was more like a giant balcony without the final couple of walls to shield it from the winds. He landed gently, fully aware that he was trying to show off his control. Amara welcomed him with a ghost of a smile on her face. There had been a time, once, when she looked at him like a proud girlfriend whenever he showed off his powers. Those days were gone. Now she looked at him like he still had so much to prove.

  “I sent armor for you,” she said.

  “I took it off.”

  “So I see. And you have allowed your skin to show through.”

  He looked down at his skin, hardened gray ash bearing fault lines of glowing red light. It was the only armor he needed, or wanted. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t.”

  “We have discussed this. You are not to let your powers show once the refugees arrive. What if someone had seen you out there today?”

  “What if they had?”

  She looked at him like a disappointed mother. He hated that look.

  “You say you want me to be seen as their protector, so why not show them what I can do? Show them why there’s no reason to be afraid?”

  “Because you are frightful,” she answered. “And there are some who would begin to wonder.”

  That’s as close as she got to admitting the real reason. They’ll know it was you. That’s what she meant. If they knew he was the one responsible for setting fire to the world, she would lose control over them. They’d no longer be willing participants in her plan.

  “Come now,” she said, stepping closer to him. “Show me.”

  Her hand touched his cheek, a promise of payment he’d learned would never come. It worried him how quickly he obliged. Those worries faded as he lost himself in the power of her silver eyes. He felt himself slipping back into the normal human shell he thought he’d left behind forever. His arms returned to a pale off-white. His eyes, he knew, were no longer glowing red, but a dull shade of brown. The cracks were gone. He looked every bit as powerless as he felt.

  “There is my handsome champion.”

  Her eyes invited him forward. He stepped closer, placing a hand on her hip. It wasn’t until he leaned in to kiss her that she raised another hand to his face, stroking the hair out of his eyes while at the same time pushing him gently back.

  He turned away, embarrassed.

  “Michael? Is something wrong?”

  “It’s nothing. I should get dressed.”

  He found himself staring at the suit of armor she’d left for him on her bed—fine white fabric covered in gold plating with a crimson cape attached at the shoulders. He picked up the chest piece and caught his reflection in the polished metal. She’ll never love you. Not like this. He threw it over his head before she got curious and started listening to his thoughts.

  Somewhere behind him a synapse opened. Talus walked through with Galan close behind.

  They parted ways as soon as they came through the synapse’s membrane. Talus stormed over to a half-built wall along the cliffside and punched his fist through the solid rock. He stood there, looking ready to do it again, as the fragments of stone fell down on the city below.

  “You have failed, then,” Amara said, looking to Galan.

  Galan’s red pupils flitted to Talus. “The trap worked as I designed. The execution did not go according to plan. Your monster—”

  “Was part of our mutual effort, one where your forces were also involved.”

  “Only as a distraction.”

  “A low threshold of victory, even for a machine.” She turned her attention to Talus, saying something to him in Pyrian. He begrudgingly re-joined the group.

  “This is the second time Talus has gone up against Meryn’s creation and lost,” Galan continued, clinging to his defense even under Amara’s icy stare. Michael didn’t expect the dissent to last long. “All he had to do was kill the Dillon man.”

  “I seem to remember giving that task to you once as well.”

  “But Meryn—”

  “Meryn interfered long after your defeat. Had it not been for her, Michael would have achieved what neither of you could.”

  Talus turned his insect-like eyes to Michael and Michael met them. He lifted a smile at the beast. Judging by the look he got back, another wall was about to go crumbling into the city.

  “This arguing is pointless,” Galan said, retreating just as Michael knew he would. “Perhaps next time the young prince will accompany us.”

  Amara answered for him, probably because she knew he would be all too eager to accept. “You will all get your chance, though I would expect the two of you will want to lead the fight next time, to redeem yourselves.”

  “Of course,” Galan said, bowing.

  Talus snorted.

  “When is the next time?” Michael asked.

  “It won’t be long,” Amara answered. “I expect Meryn’s champions will want to return to this world soon. When they do, we must be ready.” She looked to Galan. “Have you completed the task I gave you?”

  Galan smiled a Cheshire grin. His teeth were sharpened metal, like a shark’s. “I have done as you asked, and more.”

  “Show me,” Amara said.

  Galan closed the open portal and spawned a new synapse in its place. Through the hazy synapse face, a stark white lab appeared on the other side. Something moved toward the opening. Three figures emerged, coming to a stop as soon as they passed through the membrane. All of them wore light silver hooded robes that were form-fitting on top, giving two of them away as male. The one in the center—a female—was taller than the other two, nearly as tall as Michael’s 6’2” frame.

  “Your Ministers, my Lady,” Galan said.

  The female minister bowed first, followed by the men behind her. “We are at your service.”

  Amara’s smile looked greedy, Michael thought. Not that he could blame her. The female minister looked every bit as human as any woman he’d ever met. It wasn’t until he looked closer that he saw a metallic sheen to her porcelain white skin. She was powerfully proportioned, with long legs, lean, muscular arms, and a v-shaped torso. Still, her smooth, measured movements gave off a feminine air, as did her voice. There was a chorus to it; He could hear it mostly at the beginning and end of her sentences, like she spoke in layers. Her hair looked like tiny fiber optic cables brushed back in a perfect wave from her forehead, stopping just above the base of her neck. Her face was clearly fashioned to look like Amara, but fell just short of her beauty. Galan wouldn’t dare go further.

  “Impressive,” Amara said.

  “A design inspired by your request,” Galan said with a slight bow.

  Michael rolled his eyes.

  “The Ministers are amalgamations of several of my former creations. I took the best materials and combined them to form this new species. They are miracles…” Galan said, eyeing the female.

  “Of machinery,” Amara replied, bringing his attention back.

  “Machines, yes, but they are better than they were. Better than I could have imagined. The skin is a formula of my own design, engineered to withstand the attacks of Meryn’s champions. They have strength. They have unlimited physical energy. I have used the building blocks of human physiology to create computational processing units surpassing even what I thought possible.”

  “Is
there still a Pyrian beneath your miraculous invention?” Amara asked.

  Michael thought he knew what she was getting at. He’d overheard a handful of arguments between the two gods before. Pyrians were used as the hosts for all of Galan’s machines. Somewhere inside the robotic nightmares he created were the brains and vital organs of Amara’s people. Michael never understood how they worked, but from what he could gather, the brain acted as the computer of the machine, while the organs pushed and processed some sort of fluid vital to the operation of the unit. The problem was that the Pyrians were not up to the level of combat that Dillon and his cohorts were. They were outfitted with weapons and told what to target. In close combat, their ineffectiveness was clear.

  “They are still Pyrians, yes,” Galan replied.

  Amara crossed her arms. “Then I fail to see the improvement.”

  The female minister watched the conversation with an emotionless stare.

  “I admit that I struggled with this, my Lady. There are many fighting forces amongst our shared worlds, but nothing that can match what we have seen from our rivals. Then I remembered that we already had a man who was the equal of Dillon.”

  “Your champion lost,” Amara said. “I would not call that his equal, would you?”

  “He had aid,” Galan answered with a bitter growl. “Despite this, my champion was moments from victory until his pride interfered. I thought he was a gift from Pyra when he sought me out. After his defeat, I prayed to her asking why she had punished me with such a prideful failure. Now I see what her true intentions were.”

  “You cannot pretend to know her intentions,” Amara replied, although she seemed as curious as Michael to see where Galan’s story was going.

  “Of course,” Galan continued. “I surmised, after some time, that I had simply used her gift in the wrong way. She did not mean for me to use the man named Coburn as my champion. She meant for me to use him as a template for all my champions.”