Falling Angels, Chapter 1: Black Queen
Apr. 18th, 2008 01:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dame_zhylawTitle: Falling Angels
Author:ardath_rekha
Chapter: 1 / ?
Fandom: Chronicles of Riddick (AU)
Rating: R
Warnings: Harsh language
Orientation: Gen
Pairing: None
Summary: Kyra regains consciousness in the throne room of the Basilica, and discovers an unexpected ally is watching over her.
Disclaimer: The characters and events of The Chronicles of Riddick are not mine; they belong to Universal Studios. I'm doing this for fun, not money.
Feedback: Always. I post rough, so feel free to shred! Be aware that I may be slow to respond; I'm enrolled in a very demanding academic program that takes up almost all of my time, so it may take me a few days (or longer if I'm working on a major project) to reply sometimes. But I love being critiqued!
Chapter 1: Black Queen
She was made of pain.
She had no name, or at least, no awareness of name and identity. All she knew was pain. It consumed her, and defined her. After a time it began to fade and she was aware of other things. Cold hardness beneath her. Something sticky on her cheek. Voices raised in alarm.
Voices... were people. With that came the knowledge that she was a person, too.
She opened her eyes.
Grotesqueries welcomed her. She was surrounded by tormented statues and writhing pillars. It was an alien world, anathemic to her and yet...
...Home?
This couldn't be her home. There was no way it could be home. And yet some part of her – a part that felt both alien and familiar – insisted that it was.
"She wakes."
The voice was a woman's voice, dispassionate and haughty. Kyra turned her head toward it, frowning a little. Dame Vaako. The name came to her after a moment, and then His whisper followed in her head: ...Treacherous bitch! She felt heat move through her, the heat of rage. Why? The Dame hadn't spoken more than a handful of words to her since her arrival at the Basilica; had, in fact, warned her that resisting the Quasi-Dead would only get her hurt. Why this sudden hatred?
"I would have thought that blow was mortal," came another voice. Fury blazed through her again.
Judas! But she knew that his name was really Lord Vaako.
"Apparently he thought so, as well," the Dame replied.
Kyra sat up slowly, aware that while she was being discussed, she was also being mostly ignored. That had been the case for most of her life. She'd always been an impediment, something that people tripped over and tried to figure out what to do with; nobody had ever asked her what she might want done with her.
Well, except for two people. There were only two people who'd ever given a damn what happened to her and one of them was—
Where was Riddick? She remembered him hovering above her, his face twisted in pain, asking her if she was on his side. Where had he gone?
Bodies were scattered around the room, ones she didn't remember from the fight. Where had they come from? What had happened? In the middle of the chaos, the old Lord Martial still lay where he'd fallen, forgotten by the people who'd once called him their Master.
I was one of them...
And that familiar but strange voice within her head spoke up again. Traitors, all.
"Given that he came for her, I don't think he'd have left if he'd known." Lord Vaako was talking about her again.
"Left?" Her voice, when she tried to use it, was the tiniest thread of a whisper, and pain moved through her chest and back. For a moment her lungs felt like they were on fire, but then the moment passed. "Riddick?"
"The Riddick fled." Dame Vaako snapped. "He wasn't worthy to be our Lord and he proved it when he refused to complete the detonation."
The what?
An image formed in her mind, a globe of glowing blue fire hovering above a gutted city, then exploding outward, its fire consuming everything in its path, devouring everything on the surface of a far larger globe. Cleansing fire to purify diseased worlds, the voice murmured within her.
"My Lord, My Lady..." Another armored warrior approached the dais. Kolohr, the voice inside whispered. "We've tracked him."
"Where is he?" Dame Vaako snapped. Both Kolohr and her husband frowned at her.
Her rank is only through her husband, the voice murmured.
Who are you? She thought it, aware that this was like the voices that had sometimes plagued her on the worst nights in Crematoria; a voice that only she could hear, a voice inside her own head. But all of her voices had been female before.
You know who I am, he replied.
No. You're dead.
Death is just a gateway. You've seen what's on the other side of it.
Blazing light too beautiful to look at... sweetness too powerful to stand. Purity washing everything away and the clash of the sword—
No.
Suit yourself, child. But pay attention to what's happening. The voice sounded amused.
Funny how after everything, being called a child could still piss her off. She gritted her teeth and turned her attention back to the trio standing near her.
Kolohr deliberately turned and replied to Lord Vaako, as if he had spoken instead of his Dame. "He and the witch stole one of the shuttles and returned to the city."
"Then we can detonate and cleanse the 'verse of him," Vaako replied, looking excited.
Kolohr shook his head. "The controls are still non-responsive. Whatever that blast of light was, it did incredible damage. The technicians say it will be a few hours, at the soonest."
"We'll hunt him and the witch down, then!" Vaako turned and began to stride across the floor, avoiding the body of his betrayed and fallen Master as he went. Kolohr and the Dame followed... and so did Kyra.
I thought I was hurt. She had no problem walking, and in fact all of the pain now seemed to be gone.
A lot more than just that, came the voice once more. And you're even more than that now.
God damn it, if you're going to fuckin' talk to me all the time could you at least say something useful?
Certainly. Take the key from my belt as you pass. No one will see.
Kyra grimaced... but what the Hell? Keys were almost always useful anyway. As she passed the body of the fallen Lord Martial she bent down, grasping the key and giving it a sharp yank. It snapped free of the belt as though she'd done it thousands of times before.
Well, it's not like that's the first body I've ever looted, she told herself, and was answered by disembodied laughter.
Gritting her teeth again, she kept following the trio. She caught up just in time to listen in as another warrior approached them.
"He's gone to one of the residences, Lords. There is a woman there, and a child. They're going somewhere with him."
"Perfect," Dame Vaako exclaimed, resting her hand on her husband's arm. "He'll be slowed down even more. An easy target."
"Easy?" Vaako growled, and gestured at the bodies strewn around the throne room.
Kyra noticed, though, that several of the senior warriors were gathering their weapons and heading for the shuttles.
Naturally, Zhylaw murmured in her head, his voice purring like a lover's. They believe whoever kills him will win the ultimate prize.
Terror clutched at her. Oh god, no—
You really do love him, don't you, child? Be easy. They can't stand up to him. He'll escape, as he always does. That's what he's a master at, isn't it?
Zhylaw's voice sounded teasing. Kyra rubbed at her head, wishing that the dead man would shut up and go wherever it was dead men were supposed to go—
That would be the Underverse.
Fuck-a-doodle-do, and here I thought you talked too much while you were alive. She grimaced as more mocking laughter answered her. This is my head! Get out of it!
It's not that simple, child. In time you'll be glad I'm here.
Yeah, that would probably be at about the time she decided to take up lace-making or some other grotesquely effeminate shit.
The warriors were departing. Kyra couldn't decide what to do. Should she follow them, try to impede their hunt?
Don't bother. The Dame is the one to watch, right now.
For a moment she almost did the opposite just to give Zhylaw the finger, but it made sense. She approached the Dame, adopting the mannerisms of a Necromonger acolyte as naturally as if she'd slipped on a coat.
"My Lady?" she asked, her voice deferential. "What... happens now?"
Dame Vaako turned to look at her, the expression on her imperious face both callous and weighing. To the Dame, Kyra was nothing and no one, except possibly a lever to be used against Riddick. Still, that was enough. False compassion appeared on the other woman's face.
"Oh, my dear, now we wait and see whether or not he can escape again."
"And if he can't?" Her throat was suddenly dry again, a dead man's words doing nothing to reassure her.
"He is not fit to rule us, and there is only one way for a new Lord Martial to take the throne. He must die." Dame Vaako was good at dissembling, but Kyra could see the hidden sparkle of vicious glee in her eyes.
I did say she was a treacherous bitch, didn't I?
Oh, shut up.
"Does he have to?" She wasn't sure why she asked that. Was she playing for time? Wheedling? So much was happening here. The rules of the game had changed and she had no idea what they'd changed into.
"It's the only way. You know our creed, girl. You keep what you kill. He who kills the Lord Martial becomes the Lord Martial."
More or less, Zhylaw interjected, sounding amused. A little less than more, but their illusions serve our purpose for now.
What the Hell did that mean? She couldn't even begin to figure it out. Fortunately, Dame Vaako appeared to misinterpret her head-shake and began piling on the false kindness.
"I know, it's difficult. But in time you will forget the breeder and fully embrace your new life. Perhaps you can serve the new Lord Martial when he ascends to the throne. Now there is a goal you can strive for."
Kyra had to contain a shudder. Eww! I've had enough of horny old goats pawing me up—
Is that what I was? Zhylaw's voice was full of laughter again. Her repressed shudder became a shiver as she remembered the touch of his hand on her shoulder. I intended to give you high standing. Not quite this high, but it was the best of all possible outcomes.
You're probably totally incapable of saying something simple like "the sky is blue," aren't you?
And how many worlds have you seen where that was true?
Hey! That was cheating. Great. Not only am I arguing with myself, I'm losing.
Another soft gust of Zhylaw's laughter moved through her. Relax. You'll go unmolested.
"Come, girl, we'll go to the command center and watch the Lords' progress." Dame Vaako turned and began walking towards one of the sweeping flights of stairs that led to the upper levels of the Basilica. Swallowing, Kyra followed her.
I don't want to watch Riddick die.
Then we'll see to it that you watch him escape, Zhylaw replied inside her head.
I thought you wanted him dead. She was pretty sure he had.
It was his life or mine. Now that I'm dead, why should I care about that anymore?
Never met a dead guy who talked as much as you do. She almost grumbled it aloud, and scowled when he laughed at her again.
The command center was bustling with Necromonger technicians, cadaverously thin men and women whose prodigious minds made up for their lack of physical strength. Kyra knew, somehow, that many of them would eventually become Quasi-Dead, once their bodies became too frail to support them. They were working to repair scorched panels on a console in the center of the room.
"What is the Riddick?" Dame Vaako suddenly asked Kyra, her voice demanding. "How did he do that trick with the flash of light?"
"What flash of light?" She was genuinely confused.
The Dame looked annoyed. "We led him here, so that he could complete the purification of this world. When we explained what he had to do, and what would happen, he refused. And when my husband tried to complete it in his stead, he did this." She waved a hand at the blackened panels.
"How?" Kyra frowned, shaking her head. Riddick hadn't even had a regular gun with him, much less a weapon that could—
"I said," Dame Vaako snarled, "there was a flash of light. When we could see again, the controls were disabled and he and that Elemental witch were running for the shuttle bays."
"I don't know how—wait... on Crematoria, there was a flash of light. I thought it was a blast from one of y— our... weapons. I thought he was dead." What was it she'd really seen? How had Riddick survived on Crematoria?
The look Dame Vaako was giving her was an even mixture of annoyance and disgust. She could practically hear the other woman's thoughts, dismissing her as useless.
Good, Zhylaw murmured. We want her to underestimate you.
We do? If other voices started chiming in, she was going to start beating her head against the nearest wall.
Yes, we do. Now watch and listen.
"My Lady, Lord Vaako just sent a message that the Riddick and his companions have boarded a small spacecraft and are trying to take off."
"Intercept them!" The Dame might not have had official authority, but Kyra noticed that everyone was jumping to do her bidding as if she did.
Of course they are. She's the wife of the Purifier... and most of the fleet assumes he'll be my successor.
Based on the indoctrination they'd shoved into Kyra's head, she knew that it was the generally-accepted order of things. Won't he?
Great, now she was encouraging the voice.
I have already been succeeded by someone worthier.
Oh! Is that why you want to let Riddick get off-planet? Now things were starting to make sense.
Riddick is irrelevant, aside from the fact that you care about him. He's not my successor.
...And now nothing made sense.
For a second she had a strong sense-memory of being somewhere else, a place too pure and perfect to survive seeing without being irrevocably altered. Of being embraced, held... and released. Of the return of pain, and how much more agonizing the pain was after that immeasurable bliss. But the pain had fled; she felt no pain at all now. How was that possible?
You're beginning to remember. Don't fight it. The memories will come slowly, but they will come.
Fine, she'd play along. Memories of what?
The Underverse.
Somehow, when he spoke that word in her head, it conjured a feeling of home and belonging unlike any she'd ever experienced. Wistfulness and longing and a sense of unfathomable loss. The Underverse was the Necromonger paradise; she knew that from her indoctrination. But now it was something more as well, and something about it made her heart twist and ache, and tears start in her eyes. She hadn't felt like this since she was a little girl and her grandfather died, and all the love went out of her world. She'd lost something, something so precious that its absence felt like a gaping wound.
Yes, child, now you begin to understand. We stand on this side of the Threshold, exiled. No matter how many we send across to Paradise, we're trapped here until Underverse Come. Do you begin to understand what we're fighting for?
I don't understand any of this! she protested, feeling hurt and furious. Why can't you just tell me?
Very well. Pay attention.
"Asshole," she muttered, realizing too late that she'd done so aloud. Fortunately nobody but the voice in her head was paying attention to her.
Only a Necromonger can become the Lord Martial. And only the Lord Martial knows the rite for transferring power.
Wait, she interrupted. I thought it was whoever killed you.
That's an aspect of the ritual, yes. The Lord Martial and his successor must give each other matching death blows, and then cross into the Underverse together. There they battle for primacy, and the winner crosses back and returns to his body, with all of the knowledge and power of the Lords Martial imbuing his soul.
So? Something was dancing just out of reach, tantalizing her, but she couldn't quite grasp it.
You know the answer. Who exchanged mortal blows with me?
Riddick. She was there, she saw it. So how come he said Riddick wasn't the Lord Martial?
I gave him no death wound, and he was not a Necromonger anyway. Who else gave me a wound?
She went cold all over, from her core to her skin. Oh fuck.
She'd stabbed him in the back—and taken an almost identical wound, herself, a moment later when he'd thrown her across the room. And then she'd died, while Riddick held her. Died, not simply passed out. She'd been dead. And now...
Yes, Zhylaw whispered inside her, and she could feel how real he was in comparison to any other voice that had ever plagued her. Now you are the Holy Half-Dead.
She surreptitiously slipped one of her hands behind her back and sought out the spot where she'd been impaled. Smooth, flawless flesh met her fingertips under the sticky rent in the fabric. The wound was gone, as if it had never existed.
"Blast it!" Dame Vaako shouted, and for a moment Kyra thought she'd been found out. But the other woman was staring at a viewscreen and pounding a console with her fist. "He got offworld! Now we'll have to pursue him!"
Oh shit. Kyra wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not, but she was leaning towards not.
Don't worry, child. Let them chase him.
But—
Even if they catch up to Riddick, they'll be no match for him. And any warrior who wishes the throne will insist on going. While their eyes are turned away towards him, we can consolidate our power. And you can learn more about what we're really fighting for... and fighting against.
The enormity of it all struck her, and then the ludicrousness of it. If we fought... how did I win?
You didn't. I defeated you. But of our two bodies, yours is the stronger... and if I rose again in mine, I'd just get assassinated before I could regain my strength. But I could not enter your body without you, so we made a truce. Either we both lived, or the universe would die. When you remember more, you'll understand.
It was too much. She couldn't handle it, couldn't fathom it all. Either she'd gone irrevocably insane, or something even worse had happened. And now she didn't even have that nebulous paradise to look forward to; the Underverse's gates were locked against her. And Riddick was millions of miles away by now, and getting farther away with each passing second.
She was alone. There was nobody she could trust, except the terrible voice in her head—
And one other. She had another friend, a real friend like Riddick, someone who cared about her for her own sake. Someone she hadn't seen in years. Someone who had made sure that Riddick would know how to find her, and that he'd want to rescue her from that Hellish prison.
Jack. If she could get Jack here, she'd be okay.
You need to put aside your old associations with breeders, child. They'll only weaken you.
I need someone I can trust, she snarled back at him. That's either Riddick, or her.
She could feel amusement and... was that respect?... in his tone. And it can't be Riddick. That would bring the assassins right to you. Very well. Jack it is. Don't expect us to go running off to fetch her right away, though. You need to learn a little more finesse first.
Fuck finesse, I'm sick of you telling me what I—
Now Zhylaw's tone became hard, steely. This war is larger than you know, girl. If we lose it, every creature in this 'verse will experience unimaginable suffering. Including your Jack, and your Riddick. For their sakes, if nothing else, you need to learn a little patience.
And then she saw it. Long ago, some well-meaning preacher had fed her some crap about how, for there to be Heaven, there also had to be Hell. She hadn't believed in either one, but now...
Eyeless, marching in eerie formation, the armies of Hell were in motion, and had been in motion for centuries. Insinuating themselves into unsuspecting worlds, infecting the populations, ravaging societies and ecosystems and spreading to the next and the next—
Rykengolls. She'd almost gotten sold to them, years ago.
That's not their real name, Zhylaw told her, but it will do. For now. You'll learn the rest in due time. Now, in the meantime, I suggest you ingratiate yourself with that treacherous bitch. If she takes you in as a servant, you won't have to worry about any "old goats" trying to paw you.
But she's dangerous— Kyra began to protest.
And that's why you need to keep a careful eye on her. Have you ever heard the expression "keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?"
No. What the fuck does that mean?
Zhylaw's voice took on a tinge of annoyance. It means that if you want Jack to be safe here, you'd better make sure of Dame Vaako first. Do we understand each other?
He'd played the right card; she'd never let anybody hurt Jack. Hell, she'd gone to Crematoria for Jack, hadn't she? Four years of grueling misery while she waited for Jack's message to get relayed to Riddick... if she could handle that, she could handle this.
For now.
We do. Am I ever going to get you out of my head?
We're one now, Kyra, until Underverse Come.
Armageddon had never sounded so tempting.
Notes: Okay, a few notes. 1. This is a multiple-chapter story that I've had kicking around in my head for a while, but I'm going to be going very SLOWLY with it because *points up!* most of my time is being consumed by academia. I will post as often as I can, but that could be very sporadic. And I need to finish my other languishing stories, too, so yeah... this will be slow. 2. Yeah, this is an AU where Kyra and Jack are two separate individuals. 3. Yes, I'm doing some wacky linguistic things. In my version of the canon, there was no "Lord Marshal;" he was the "Lord Martial." Because the first title is virtually meaningless but the second one means "Warlord" and makes a lot more sense to me. So yeah, that's on purpose. 4. This story exists because Ayabie poke-poke-poked me into writing it after we were talking about... something? I can't even remember what, exactly, but I mentioned this story concept and she insisted I get it written down immediately. And then she kept poking me until I had the whole chapter done. So it's dedicated to her. *WUVVLES the BIE!*
Author:
ardath_rekhaChapter: 1 / ?
Fandom: Chronicles of Riddick (AU)
Rating: R
Warnings: Harsh language
Orientation: Gen
Pairing: None
Summary: Kyra regains consciousness in the throne room of the Basilica, and discovers an unexpected ally is watching over her.
Disclaimer: The characters and events of The Chronicles of Riddick are not mine; they belong to Universal Studios. I'm doing this for fun, not money.
Feedback: Always. I post rough, so feel free to shred! Be aware that I may be slow to respond; I'm enrolled in a very demanding academic program that takes up almost all of my time, so it may take me a few days (or longer if I'm working on a major project) to reply sometimes. But I love being critiqued!
She was made of pain.
She had no name, or at least, no awareness of name and identity. All she knew was pain. It consumed her, and defined her. After a time it began to fade and she was aware of other things. Cold hardness beneath her. Something sticky on her cheek. Voices raised in alarm.
Voices... were people. With that came the knowledge that she was a person, too.
She opened her eyes.
Grotesqueries welcomed her. She was surrounded by tormented statues and writhing pillars. It was an alien world, anathemic to her and yet...
...Home?
This couldn't be her home. There was no way it could be home. And yet some part of her – a part that felt both alien and familiar – insisted that it was.
"She wakes."
The voice was a woman's voice, dispassionate and haughty. Kyra turned her head toward it, frowning a little. Dame Vaako. The name came to her after a moment, and then His whisper followed in her head: ...Treacherous bitch! She felt heat move through her, the heat of rage. Why? The Dame hadn't spoken more than a handful of words to her since her arrival at the Basilica; had, in fact, warned her that resisting the Quasi-Dead would only get her hurt. Why this sudden hatred?
"I would have thought that blow was mortal," came another voice. Fury blazed through her again.
Judas! But she knew that his name was really Lord Vaako.
"Apparently he thought so, as well," the Dame replied.
Kyra sat up slowly, aware that while she was being discussed, she was also being mostly ignored. That had been the case for most of her life. She'd always been an impediment, something that people tripped over and tried to figure out what to do with; nobody had ever asked her what she might want done with her.
Well, except for two people. There were only two people who'd ever given a damn what happened to her and one of them was—
Where was Riddick? She remembered him hovering above her, his face twisted in pain, asking her if she was on his side. Where had he gone?
Bodies were scattered around the room, ones she didn't remember from the fight. Where had they come from? What had happened? In the middle of the chaos, the old Lord Martial still lay where he'd fallen, forgotten by the people who'd once called him their Master.
I was one of them...
And that familiar but strange voice within her head spoke up again. Traitors, all.
"Given that he came for her, I don't think he'd have left if he'd known." Lord Vaako was talking about her again.
"Left?" Her voice, when she tried to use it, was the tiniest thread of a whisper, and pain moved through her chest and back. For a moment her lungs felt like they were on fire, but then the moment passed. "Riddick?"
"The Riddick fled." Dame Vaako snapped. "He wasn't worthy to be our Lord and he proved it when he refused to complete the detonation."
The what?
An image formed in her mind, a globe of glowing blue fire hovering above a gutted city, then exploding outward, its fire consuming everything in its path, devouring everything on the surface of a far larger globe. Cleansing fire to purify diseased worlds, the voice murmured within her.
"My Lord, My Lady..." Another armored warrior approached the dais. Kolohr, the voice inside whispered. "We've tracked him."
"Where is he?" Dame Vaako snapped. Both Kolohr and her husband frowned at her.
Her rank is only through her husband, the voice murmured.
Who are you? She thought it, aware that this was like the voices that had sometimes plagued her on the worst nights in Crematoria; a voice that only she could hear, a voice inside her own head. But all of her voices had been female before.
You know who I am, he replied.
No. You're dead.
Death is just a gateway. You've seen what's on the other side of it.
Blazing light too beautiful to look at... sweetness too powerful to stand. Purity washing everything away and the clash of the sword—
No.
Suit yourself, child. But pay attention to what's happening. The voice sounded amused.
Funny how after everything, being called a child could still piss her off. She gritted her teeth and turned her attention back to the trio standing near her.
Kolohr deliberately turned and replied to Lord Vaako, as if he had spoken instead of his Dame. "He and the witch stole one of the shuttles and returned to the city."
"Then we can detonate and cleanse the 'verse of him," Vaako replied, looking excited.
Kolohr shook his head. "The controls are still non-responsive. Whatever that blast of light was, it did incredible damage. The technicians say it will be a few hours, at the soonest."
"We'll hunt him and the witch down, then!" Vaako turned and began to stride across the floor, avoiding the body of his betrayed and fallen Master as he went. Kolohr and the Dame followed... and so did Kyra.
I thought I was hurt. She had no problem walking, and in fact all of the pain now seemed to be gone.
A lot more than just that, came the voice once more. And you're even more than that now.
God damn it, if you're going to fuckin' talk to me all the time could you at least say something useful?
Certainly. Take the key from my belt as you pass. No one will see.
Kyra grimaced... but what the Hell? Keys were almost always useful anyway. As she passed the body of the fallen Lord Martial she bent down, grasping the key and giving it a sharp yank. It snapped free of the belt as though she'd done it thousands of times before.
Well, it's not like that's the first body I've ever looted, she told herself, and was answered by disembodied laughter.
Gritting her teeth again, she kept following the trio. She caught up just in time to listen in as another warrior approached them.
"He's gone to one of the residences, Lords. There is a woman there, and a child. They're going somewhere with him."
"Perfect," Dame Vaako exclaimed, resting her hand on her husband's arm. "He'll be slowed down even more. An easy target."
"Easy?" Vaako growled, and gestured at the bodies strewn around the throne room.
Kyra noticed, though, that several of the senior warriors were gathering their weapons and heading for the shuttles.
Naturally, Zhylaw murmured in her head, his voice purring like a lover's. They believe whoever kills him will win the ultimate prize.
Terror clutched at her. Oh god, no—
You really do love him, don't you, child? Be easy. They can't stand up to him. He'll escape, as he always does. That's what he's a master at, isn't it?
Zhylaw's voice sounded teasing. Kyra rubbed at her head, wishing that the dead man would shut up and go wherever it was dead men were supposed to go—
That would be the Underverse.
Fuck-a-doodle-do, and here I thought you talked too much while you were alive. She grimaced as more mocking laughter answered her. This is my head! Get out of it!
It's not that simple, child. In time you'll be glad I'm here.
Yeah, that would probably be at about the time she decided to take up lace-making or some other grotesquely effeminate shit.
The warriors were departing. Kyra couldn't decide what to do. Should she follow them, try to impede their hunt?
Don't bother. The Dame is the one to watch, right now.
For a moment she almost did the opposite just to give Zhylaw the finger, but it made sense. She approached the Dame, adopting the mannerisms of a Necromonger acolyte as naturally as if she'd slipped on a coat.
"My Lady?" she asked, her voice deferential. "What... happens now?"
Dame Vaako turned to look at her, the expression on her imperious face both callous and weighing. To the Dame, Kyra was nothing and no one, except possibly a lever to be used against Riddick. Still, that was enough. False compassion appeared on the other woman's face.
"Oh, my dear, now we wait and see whether or not he can escape again."
"And if he can't?" Her throat was suddenly dry again, a dead man's words doing nothing to reassure her.
"He is not fit to rule us, and there is only one way for a new Lord Martial to take the throne. He must die." Dame Vaako was good at dissembling, but Kyra could see the hidden sparkle of vicious glee in her eyes.
I did say she was a treacherous bitch, didn't I?
Oh, shut up.
"Does he have to?" She wasn't sure why she asked that. Was she playing for time? Wheedling? So much was happening here. The rules of the game had changed and she had no idea what they'd changed into.
"It's the only way. You know our creed, girl. You keep what you kill. He who kills the Lord Martial becomes the Lord Martial."
More or less, Zhylaw interjected, sounding amused. A little less than more, but their illusions serve our purpose for now.
What the Hell did that mean? She couldn't even begin to figure it out. Fortunately, Dame Vaako appeared to misinterpret her head-shake and began piling on the false kindness.
"I know, it's difficult. But in time you will forget the breeder and fully embrace your new life. Perhaps you can serve the new Lord Martial when he ascends to the throne. Now there is a goal you can strive for."
Kyra had to contain a shudder. Eww! I've had enough of horny old goats pawing me up—
Is that what I was? Zhylaw's voice was full of laughter again. Her repressed shudder became a shiver as she remembered the touch of his hand on her shoulder. I intended to give you high standing. Not quite this high, but it was the best of all possible outcomes.
You're probably totally incapable of saying something simple like "the sky is blue," aren't you?
And how many worlds have you seen where that was true?
Hey! That was cheating. Great. Not only am I arguing with myself, I'm losing.
Another soft gust of Zhylaw's laughter moved through her. Relax. You'll go unmolested.
"Come, girl, we'll go to the command center and watch the Lords' progress." Dame Vaako turned and began walking towards one of the sweeping flights of stairs that led to the upper levels of the Basilica. Swallowing, Kyra followed her.
I don't want to watch Riddick die.
Then we'll see to it that you watch him escape, Zhylaw replied inside her head.
I thought you wanted him dead. She was pretty sure he had.
It was his life or mine. Now that I'm dead, why should I care about that anymore?
Never met a dead guy who talked as much as you do. She almost grumbled it aloud, and scowled when he laughed at her again.
The command center was bustling with Necromonger technicians, cadaverously thin men and women whose prodigious minds made up for their lack of physical strength. Kyra knew, somehow, that many of them would eventually become Quasi-Dead, once their bodies became too frail to support them. They were working to repair scorched panels on a console in the center of the room.
"What is the Riddick?" Dame Vaako suddenly asked Kyra, her voice demanding. "How did he do that trick with the flash of light?"
"What flash of light?" She was genuinely confused.
The Dame looked annoyed. "We led him here, so that he could complete the purification of this world. When we explained what he had to do, and what would happen, he refused. And when my husband tried to complete it in his stead, he did this." She waved a hand at the blackened panels.
"How?" Kyra frowned, shaking her head. Riddick hadn't even had a regular gun with him, much less a weapon that could—
"I said," Dame Vaako snarled, "there was a flash of light. When we could see again, the controls were disabled and he and that Elemental witch were running for the shuttle bays."
"I don't know how—wait... on Crematoria, there was a flash of light. I thought it was a blast from one of y— our... weapons. I thought he was dead." What was it she'd really seen? How had Riddick survived on Crematoria?
The look Dame Vaako was giving her was an even mixture of annoyance and disgust. She could practically hear the other woman's thoughts, dismissing her as useless.
Good, Zhylaw murmured. We want her to underestimate you.
We do? If other voices started chiming in, she was going to start beating her head against the nearest wall.
Yes, we do. Now watch and listen.
"My Lady, Lord Vaako just sent a message that the Riddick and his companions have boarded a small spacecraft and are trying to take off."
"Intercept them!" The Dame might not have had official authority, but Kyra noticed that everyone was jumping to do her bidding as if she did.
Of course they are. She's the wife of the Purifier... and most of the fleet assumes he'll be my successor.
Based on the indoctrination they'd shoved into Kyra's head, she knew that it was the generally-accepted order of things. Won't he?
Great, now she was encouraging the voice.
I have already been succeeded by someone worthier.
Oh! Is that why you want to let Riddick get off-planet? Now things were starting to make sense.
Riddick is irrelevant, aside from the fact that you care about him. He's not my successor.
...And now nothing made sense.
For a second she had a strong sense-memory of being somewhere else, a place too pure and perfect to survive seeing without being irrevocably altered. Of being embraced, held... and released. Of the return of pain, and how much more agonizing the pain was after that immeasurable bliss. But the pain had fled; she felt no pain at all now. How was that possible?
You're beginning to remember. Don't fight it. The memories will come slowly, but they will come.
Fine, she'd play along. Memories of what?
The Underverse.
Somehow, when he spoke that word in her head, it conjured a feeling of home and belonging unlike any she'd ever experienced. Wistfulness and longing and a sense of unfathomable loss. The Underverse was the Necromonger paradise; she knew that from her indoctrination. But now it was something more as well, and something about it made her heart twist and ache, and tears start in her eyes. She hadn't felt like this since she was a little girl and her grandfather died, and all the love went out of her world. She'd lost something, something so precious that its absence felt like a gaping wound.
Yes, child, now you begin to understand. We stand on this side of the Threshold, exiled. No matter how many we send across to Paradise, we're trapped here until Underverse Come. Do you begin to understand what we're fighting for?
I don't understand any of this! she protested, feeling hurt and furious. Why can't you just tell me?
Very well. Pay attention.
"Asshole," she muttered, realizing too late that she'd done so aloud. Fortunately nobody but the voice in her head was paying attention to her.
Only a Necromonger can become the Lord Martial. And only the Lord Martial knows the rite for transferring power.
Wait, she interrupted. I thought it was whoever killed you.
That's an aspect of the ritual, yes. The Lord Martial and his successor must give each other matching death blows, and then cross into the Underverse together. There they battle for primacy, and the winner crosses back and returns to his body, with all of the knowledge and power of the Lords Martial imbuing his soul.
So? Something was dancing just out of reach, tantalizing her, but she couldn't quite grasp it.
You know the answer. Who exchanged mortal blows with me?
Riddick. She was there, she saw it. So how come he said Riddick wasn't the Lord Martial?
I gave him no death wound, and he was not a Necromonger anyway. Who else gave me a wound?
She went cold all over, from her core to her skin. Oh fuck.
She'd stabbed him in the back—and taken an almost identical wound, herself, a moment later when he'd thrown her across the room. And then she'd died, while Riddick held her. Died, not simply passed out. She'd been dead. And now...
Yes, Zhylaw whispered inside her, and she could feel how real he was in comparison to any other voice that had ever plagued her. Now you are the Holy Half-Dead.
She surreptitiously slipped one of her hands behind her back and sought out the spot where she'd been impaled. Smooth, flawless flesh met her fingertips under the sticky rent in the fabric. The wound was gone, as if it had never existed.
"Blast it!" Dame Vaako shouted, and for a moment Kyra thought she'd been found out. But the other woman was staring at a viewscreen and pounding a console with her fist. "He got offworld! Now we'll have to pursue him!"
Oh shit. Kyra wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not, but she was leaning towards not.
Don't worry, child. Let them chase him.
But—
Even if they catch up to Riddick, they'll be no match for him. And any warrior who wishes the throne will insist on going. While their eyes are turned away towards him, we can consolidate our power. And you can learn more about what we're really fighting for... and fighting against.
The enormity of it all struck her, and then the ludicrousness of it. If we fought... how did I win?
You didn't. I defeated you. But of our two bodies, yours is the stronger... and if I rose again in mine, I'd just get assassinated before I could regain my strength. But I could not enter your body without you, so we made a truce. Either we both lived, or the universe would die. When you remember more, you'll understand.
It was too much. She couldn't handle it, couldn't fathom it all. Either she'd gone irrevocably insane, or something even worse had happened. And now she didn't even have that nebulous paradise to look forward to; the Underverse's gates were locked against her. And Riddick was millions of miles away by now, and getting farther away with each passing second.
She was alone. There was nobody she could trust, except the terrible voice in her head—
And one other. She had another friend, a real friend like Riddick, someone who cared about her for her own sake. Someone she hadn't seen in years. Someone who had made sure that Riddick would know how to find her, and that he'd want to rescue her from that Hellish prison.
Jack. If she could get Jack here, she'd be okay.
You need to put aside your old associations with breeders, child. They'll only weaken you.
I need someone I can trust, she snarled back at him. That's either Riddick, or her.
She could feel amusement and... was that respect?... in his tone. And it can't be Riddick. That would bring the assassins right to you. Very well. Jack it is. Don't expect us to go running off to fetch her right away, though. You need to learn a little more finesse first.
Fuck finesse, I'm sick of you telling me what I—
Now Zhylaw's tone became hard, steely. This war is larger than you know, girl. If we lose it, every creature in this 'verse will experience unimaginable suffering. Including your Jack, and your Riddick. For their sakes, if nothing else, you need to learn a little patience.
And then she saw it. Long ago, some well-meaning preacher had fed her some crap about how, for there to be Heaven, there also had to be Hell. She hadn't believed in either one, but now...
Eyeless, marching in eerie formation, the armies of Hell were in motion, and had been in motion for centuries. Insinuating themselves into unsuspecting worlds, infecting the populations, ravaging societies and ecosystems and spreading to the next and the next—
Rykengolls. She'd almost gotten sold to them, years ago.
That's not their real name, Zhylaw told her, but it will do. For now. You'll learn the rest in due time. Now, in the meantime, I suggest you ingratiate yourself with that treacherous bitch. If she takes you in as a servant, you won't have to worry about any "old goats" trying to paw you.
But she's dangerous— Kyra began to protest.
And that's why you need to keep a careful eye on her. Have you ever heard the expression "keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?"
No. What the fuck does that mean?
Zhylaw's voice took on a tinge of annoyance. It means that if you want Jack to be safe here, you'd better make sure of Dame Vaako first. Do we understand each other?
He'd played the right card; she'd never let anybody hurt Jack. Hell, she'd gone to Crematoria for Jack, hadn't she? Four years of grueling misery while she waited for Jack's message to get relayed to Riddick... if she could handle that, she could handle this.
For now.
We do. Am I ever going to get you out of my head?
We're one now, Kyra, until Underverse Come.
Armageddon had never sounded so tempting.
Notes: Okay, a few notes. 1. This is a multiple-chapter story that I've had kicking around in my head for a while, but I'm going to be going very SLOWLY with it because *points up!* most of my time is being consumed by academia. I will post as often as I can, but that could be very sporadic. And I need to finish my other languishing stories, too, so yeah... this will be slow. 2. Yeah, this is an AU where Kyra and Jack are two separate individuals. 3. Yes, I'm doing some wacky linguistic things. In my version of the canon, there was no "Lord Marshal;" he was the "Lord Martial." Because the first title is virtually meaningless but the second one means "Warlord" and makes a lot more sense to me. So yeah, that's on purpose. 4. This story exists because Ayabie poke-poke-poked me into writing it after we were talking about... something? I can't even remember what, exactly, but I mentioned this story concept and she insisted I get it written down immediately. And then she kept poking me until I had the whole chapter done. So it's dedicated to her. *WUVVLES the BIE!*
