The Last Human IV - 27 - Blood, Fire, Death (Patreon)

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***

Ancient avian scripture spoke of a sacred realm, the Valley of Wingless Souls. Steep walls rose beyond sight on either side, so that no avian could hope to fly above the valley. Instead, their souls joined the grand procession winding through the valley, voices joining together in a ghostly chorus, all wandering to the same final rest. Ryke had always wondered what their song sounded like.

Now, she knew.

Sirens moaned throughout the Midcity, echoing and filling the avenues with haunting chimes, dampened only by the heavy fog that poured off the rooftops and flowed into the streets. Millions marched, a thousand lines of xenos stretching from the furthest reaches of the Cauldron, slowly funneling into the Ark. Dozens of long, slender ramps reached down from the Ark’s sharp belly, like the spindly legs of some giant insect. Crowds gathered at the base of the ramps, and ascended in a slow procession.

So painfully slow. Ryke’s entire body tensed as the minutes dripped past, and she couldn’t resist flicking her eyes up to the sky. She had a couple scouts hovering above the clouds, but there was no sign of them yet. Perhaps, she told herself, that’s a good thing. We still have time. She let out a tight breath, but the tension only pooled back into her stomach.

Her guards stood watch along the Cauldron’s streets as a promise to her people: no one will be kept back. All are welcome on the Maker’s Ark. And yet, there were bundles of people clumped along the lines, relatives and friends, begging and crying—please don’t go. Your place is here.

Some changed their minds at the last moment, and tore themselves away from the Ark. Most often, this happened at the base of the ramps, and it always caused the line to shiver. Are we doing the right thing? The people must be wondering. Is this truly the path the gods have laid for us?

Others had come to laugh and jeer at the spectacle. They sat on the balconies overlooking the streets, eating and drinking, and making a mockery of those who followed Ryke’s command. Some openly flaunted their looted goods (clothes, jewels, and other earthly possessions), though Ryke had ordered her guards not to apprehend them. Let them kick in doors, let them break through glass windows. For all that mattered, no matter how much it hurt to think, the Cauldron was already forfeit.

“Your Majesty,” one of her guards caught her attention, nodding at a disturbance in the crowd. Two figures stomped through the lines, barking at anyone who didn’t move out of their way fast enough. Ryke narrowed her eyes, as she picked them out: a snivelling gaskal councillor, and the avian High Priest, Sister Widja, her feathers shaking with outrage.

The gaskal spoke first, bowing his colorful, scaled head in a pale token of respect. “Your Majesty,” His voice sounded sweet, but somehow he turned her title into an insult. “We have decided—”

The High Priest cut in with a warbling cry, “You cannot do this. For too long, I have allowed you to blaspheme in the Divine Savior’s name. You long ago damned yourself, Queen Ryke, but now you seek to take half the city with you?” She jabbed a feathery finger at the Queen.

The two falcyr guards closest to Ryke, both almost as tall as her, stepped forward, muscled arms bulging, shield-like pectorals blocking the Priest from the Queen.

Almost bored, Ryke waved them back. “I would take them all if they would come.”

“The Divine Savior risked everything to save us. And the Maker, she created this promised land for us,” the Priest shook her hands at the gleaming skyscrapers and ornamented highrises that had so recently filled up the Cauldron. “You spit on all that is sacred. You defile all that is divine. You—you—”

“You violate our virtues!” the councillor chimed in, doing his best to look just as outraged and offended.

“Exactly!” Sister Widja sniped.

Sister Widja jabbed a finger at Ryke’s chest. “You—”

Ryke lowered her beak, the better to look the High Priest in her eyes. Widja took a step back, and retracted her finger.

“Sister Widja, there is still time. Gather your flock, and take the salvation that is offered. Do not be blinded by—” she wanted to say greed, or lust for transient power, but she knew how people like Widja worked. “Do not be blinded by the old beliefs. It does not have to end like this.”

Sister Widja’s face shifted from outrage into suspicion, into a sly smile. Her eyes glittered, and her ornate feathers quivered. “You’re right. It doesn’t have to be like this. The Divine Savior protected us once, and in his great name, we will trust. Come, Councilor. There’s nothing more to do here.” The High Priest marched off, her head held high, her robes swishing with furious intent.

The Councilor gave Ryke a second glance.

“If you stay, you will die, councillor.” She offered him a sad look, in return. “Please.”

“I know I am righteous,” he frowned at her, all hesitation replaced by pride. “And the gods watch over me.” He followed the High Priest, who had already cut an unruly swath through the lines of people.

“Would you like us to send a few soldiers to keep an eye on them?” one of her guards asked.

Ryke sighed. It would be better if she could just leave them alone. The soldiers would be more useful helping the people. But while Ryke considered herself an idealist, being Queen taught her that most politicians tended toward a more earthly, self-interested world view.

“Don’t interfere unless they try to stop anyone from boarding the Ark,” Ryke said to her guard. “And be swift. I don’t want anyone left behind.”

***

The sirens had gone silent. Probably Sister Widja and her lackeys, somehow, had gotten into the Palace systems and shut them down. Ryke cursed her, but there was nothing she could do now.

By the afternoon, the fog had lifted, and the lines seemed longer than ever. Rivers of slow-moving xenos stretched through the city, bearing luggage, trade goods, and every household item they could carry or haul behind them. Despite the steady movement of the crowds, unease gripped her heart. She felt as though she had been here before.

She was leading the masses away from utter destruction, just as she had done on Cyre. As she had done, when she lost him. She had to shut away that thought, to lock that still-bleeding memory in the depths of her mind, for Ryke knew the gods meant to test her faith again, today. And she wasn’t sure if she could handle it.

More onlookers gathered, taunting the crowds and laughing and playing music. Someone started throwing food at the lines of people, who kept their heads down and tried to ignore the distractions. Ryke frowned at the lines, sluggish and dragging. Too many seemed ready to quit this path. Thousands of people struggled with carts and livestock and the weight of their old lives. The longer they stood in line, the more hesitant they grew.

She had seen this all before… And she wouldn’t make the same mistakes twice. Ryke motioned to one of her scribes, “Take orders.”

“To who, your Majesty?”

“Start with the leaders, then the soldiers, then the rest. Spread the word. From now, we will take only people. If you can fly, you must fly to board the Ark. The rest will take the ramps as swiftly as possible. If there is room, and time, we will bring on livestock.”

“And what of their possessions?”

“Bring only what you can carry. Toss the rest into a pile. No more carts. No more carriages. Leave them to the scavengers. There is no time. Go.”

She saw the orders delivered and the effect it had on the people as it trickled down the lines. Shouting and shaking heads, as many refused to give up their luggage. Ryke’s heart fluttered as droves of them left the lines. But those who stayed moved more quickly now, and xenos shuffled by the thousands up the ramps.

The disc of the late afternoon sun kissed the ridge of the mountains. A stir caught her eye. Someone was running down the ramp. Running the wrong way. Ryke’s heart clenched, worrying that some new idea had taken hold and poisoned the people already aboard the Ark, until she saw who it was.

“Yarsi?”

The little lassertane, not so little anymore, bent over in a bow, gasping and trying to catch her breath.

“Yarsi, what is it?”

The girl held up her slate. Two words: “They’re here.”

Ryke’s eyes snapped to the sky. Nothing but blue space and thin streaks of clouds. No hint of her scouts. She wanted to disbelieve the girl, because it was too soon. There were still thousands waiting in line, and tens of thousands who might yet be coaxed out of the city. She needed to try harder. Like Poire. Needed to save them all.

Yarsi stepped forward, and Ryke’s guards moved to stop her. But the lassertane ignored their weapons and jabbed a finger at the sky, just beginning to brim with the colors of early evening. The clouds burned with the sun’s glorious gold. And behind their thin veil, a cluster of stars twinkled.

It was too early for stars.

“Board!” she shouted at her guards. “Board now!” And without thinking, she swept Yarsi into her talons, heaved her great wings, and the Queen of the Avians flew from her home one last time.

***

They held position for as long as they could. The lines quickened, but they never seemed to end.

When the glittering shapes of distant machines filled the horizon, still drifting above the atmosphere, the crowds at the base of the ramps swelled. Xenos fought and shoved and rushed and ran up the ramps. Some fell, in the melee. The doubters, who had suddenly decided to believe.

Then, it began to rain fire.

Somehow, the machines had discovered a way to torch the air itself, to turn the atmosphere into a weapon. Great fires blossomed beyond the mountain walls of the Cauldron, incinerating the clouds and churning up new, darker ones. Shrapnel rattled against the impenetrable metal of the Ark, and Ryke felt waves of heat knock into the Ark. She ordered the ramps to withdraw, and she forced herself to watch as the gathering crowds—much smaller now, but more desperate—threw up their hands, begging and pleading. She thought about sending her soldiers down there to grab what few they might carry and bring them up.

But they had waited. They had endangered themselves. Kanya, make my heart into steel. Help me see that I cannot help those who refused to help themselves.

Laykis stood next to her, watching the last ramp fold up as the Ark’s repulsors thrummed with power, and the great ship lifted. The xenos grew smaller, their screams and cries of desperation, softer. Drowned out by the distant thunder of the encroaching Swarm.

“Praise be to the gods,” Laykis said.

“What is there to praise?” Ryke asked viciously. She didn’t bother to wipe the wetness from her eyes. “Do you enjoy watching them fall? Do you so hate the nonbelievers?”

“I would never delight in the harm of a living thing. But there is one good thing that has come of this.”

“What?”

“As I prayed at the Mirror, where the Divine Savior ascended, I heard his voice. “As the machine descends on paradise, the Keeper will lift her flock to the heavens.” So He said, and so it has come to pass.”

“Why is that a good thing?”

Laykis turned her glowing eyes on Ryke, her scarred metal face as expresionless as ever, “If what he said was true, then perhaps so is the rest, and the way will open. Have faith, my friend. There is hope.”

But Ryke couldn’t see it. Not through the cloudbursts of flame, exploding over her city. Nor through the wasp-like drones, which were as large as the rigs that were trying to escape the city (soon, torn to shreds). Nor through the flickering beams which lit upon the buildings, both new and old, and melted them to slag and molten rock.

As the Ark rose, her view of the city expanded. One last time, she watched Lowtown catch fire. And the Midcity, after that…

This is where I met you.

And the gardens beneath the Hanging Palace, too.

This is where we should have walked, each morning of our long and happy life.

My love.

As the Swarm descended, the seven Towers, those old human relics, bloomed with vibrant azure Light. Forked tendrils of energy licked up the walls, and unfolded from the parapets like the petals of a flower. A blue half-globe spread high over the city. Someone, perhaps Sister Widja, had brought back the dome shield.

Something heavy collided with the Ark, screeching as it dragged along the hull. A huge machine, shaped like an iron vase bursting with segmented tentacles, tumbled down to the city below. It smacked against the shield. White lines spidered out from the impact, even as the massive machine began to melt into the blue dome.

Perhaps the shield would hold… Ryke found herself wishing.

In the moment before the Ark sealed shut, Ryke saw the sky filled with machines. Perhaps not.

The last ramp folded in, silencing all sound but the faintest shuddering vibrations. The Ark rumbled and groaned as it rose through storms of metal and fire. She could only sit and listen, and pray.

***

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