Jennifer Fallon - Second Sons 01 - The Lion of Senet

PART ONE

OMENS

Chapter 1

From the top of the cliffs the world appeared bathed in blood. The dawn was ruddy, stained crimson by

the red sun as it began to set in the west, chased out of the sky by the larger, brighter, yellow sun on the

eastern horizon. The scarlet clouds hung heavy and thick and tasted of ash. There had been an eruption

somewhere, Tia realized, as she stopped to study the view. No wonder Neris had gone missing.

Eruptions always had that effect on him.

The heat was oppressive, despite the overcast sky. On this world with two suns, it never truly cooled

down.

Except during the Age of Shadows.

Tia wiped the sweat from her brow and looked down toward the river. From the cliff top the delta

spread out before her; a confused network of channels and sandbars constantly shifting with the moods

of the fickleSpakanRiver. The water was muddy and sluggish; it reminded her of a series of veins and

arteries, bleeding into the lighter waters of the Bandera Straits. There was little vegetation. The line of

smoking volcanoes that marred the northern horizon spewed out their smothering ash often enough to

ensure that everything struggled to survive here in the Baenlands. To the west, Tia could just make out

the patchwork fields where their few crops fought to thrive in the ash-choked soil, and beyond them the

fields of Ranadon poppies, the only thing that grew around Mil with any enthusiasm.

Behind her, a few faint wisps of thin smoke from the houses of the settlement drifted upward, hanging

motionless in the still air for a moment before being swallowed by the cumbrous clouds.

The silence was complete. Even the wind that normally howled through the delta had taken a moment to

catch its breath. Tia looked along the rim of the cliff to her left. In the distance she could just make out

Neris, perched perilously close to the edge.

With a sigh, she began to walk toward him, making no attempt to hide her approach. She didn’t want to

startle him.

It took her nearly half an hour’s walk over the rough, stony ground to reach the man perched on the

edge of the precipice. The solitary figure did not move as she neared. His hair hung long and untended

down his back, and it looked like he’d been wearing the same shirt for a month. For a brief, irreverent

moment, Tia was glad that there was no breeze. He wasn’t a pleasant creature to be downwind of when

he was like this. He was sitting cross-legged on the cliff top as if he was carved from the rock itself.

Neris knew she was there. He was mad, but he wasn’t deaf.

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“Have you ever noticed,” the madman remarked as she came up behind him, “that the only time we get

truly spectacular sunrises is when there’s been trouble somewhere? There’s a moral in that, I think.”

“What do you mean?” Tia asked cautiously. Although he sounded rational, she knew him too well to be

fooled.

“It’s like life,” he mused. “If nothing bad ever happened, you would have perfect skies every day, and

you’d be bored witless. But this...” he said, waving his arm to encompass the magnificent, fiery skies,

“this comes from a disaster. Somewhere out there, the Goddess has spoken.”

Tia halted in her approach. It was never a good sign when Neris began to speak of the Goddess. “It’s

just a volcano, Neris.”

“The Goddess has spoken.”

“You don’t believe that.”

The madman shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter whether I believe it or not. Millions of people all over

the world will climb out of bed this morning and look at this sky and think the Goddess is trying to tell

them something.”

He was right, Tia knew, but she didn’t want him dwelling on it. That line of thought was just a step away

from Neris recalling his own contribution to what people believed about the Goddess and that was an

extremely dangerous thing, particularly as he was sitting on the edge of a cliff with a drop of some eight

hundred feet below him.

“People choose to believe or not believe,” she shrugged. “If they want to have faith in a stupid myth,

that’s their problem, not yours.”

Neris turned to look at her. Dark hollow circles ringed his eyes, his pupils were contracted, his eyes

unnaturally bright. He was high on poppy-dust, she realized, which meant he might stay calm for a while,

or he might fall into the depths of depression, or he might suddenly launch himself off the cliff in the

mistaken belief that he could fly.

For a fleeting moment, she wished she’d thought to bring Reithan along. Reithan was much better at

dealing with Neris than she was. Tia was too impatient, too angry.

“What is faith?” Neris asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Which is why you’ll never understand the power of the Goddess and her minions.”

“Neris...” she began, feeling helpless to divert the conversation from such a dangerous topic. “You

mustn’t keep blaming yourself...”

“Then who should I blame, Tia?”

“Antonov Latanya,” she replied without hesitating. “And that evil bitch Belagren.”

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Neris smiled. “I wish I was like you, Tia.”

“Why?”

“Because you still have hope. You still believe there’s a chance you can set the world aright. Even Johan

doesn’t believe that anymore. We old men have lost our faith.”

“Faith is for fools,” she scoffed. “Faith is for the idiots who believe what the High Priestess tells them.

Faith is for monsters like the Lion of Senet, a man who murders in the name of the Goddess.”

“Yet you believe that somehow you can make it better. You and Reithan and the other young people

here in Mil. Deep in your hearts, despite a wealth of evidence and experience to the contrary, you all

truly believe that given half a chance, you could make everything better. What’s that, if not blind, foolish

faith?”

Tia bit back the retort that leapt to mind. He was sucking her into his argument. That was the danger

with Neris. He was insane beyond redemption and hopelessly lost to his addiction, but he was still the

smartest man who had ever lived, and it was foolish in the extreme to argue with him.

“Lexie’s making blincakes for breakfast,” she said, deciding to change the subject rather than fight a

losing battle.

“Is she making them the proper way?” he asked, with the sudden eagerness of a child.

“Of course.”

Neris was quite adamant about the recipe for the thick, chewy blincakes that he loved, and would refuse

to eat them if the ingredients weren’t added in exactly the right quantities and exactly the right order.

Unaccountably, his shoulders suddenly slumped, and he hunched over, hugging his thin arms around his

body. “I’m not hungry.”

“But you love Lexie’s blincakes.”

“I love nothing,” Neris corrected miserably.

Tia knew her father too well to be upset by his declaration. She sighed and took a cautious step closer

to him. “Neris...”

“Why don’t you ever call me Father?” he demanded suddenly. “You never call me Father.”

“The last time I called you Father, you told me not to. You said you didn’t deserve it.”

“Did I really say that? I wonder why?”

Tia knew why, but she had no intention of getting into that discussion either.

“If I promise to call you Father, will you come down?”

“I shouldn’t be your father. Johan’s a much better father than me. You should go live with him and

Lexie.”

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I already live with Johan and Lexie,she wanted to say.If they’d left me in your tender care I’d never

have made it past my second birthday.

“Johan’s not here,” she reminded him instead. “He’s gone to find Hari and the others, remember? You’ll

just have to keep being my father until he gets back.”

Neris didn’t answer her. He stared out over the delta as Tia tried to calculate how fast she could get to

him should he decide to jump.

A noise behind her made her turn sharply, then a wave of relief swept through her as she saw Reithan

climbing up the rocks behind her.

Reithan was twenty-eight, dark-haired and brown-eyed, like all the Seranovs of Grannon Rock. He was

a cunning fighter, an experienced smuggler and Tia’s best friend. He was also an old hand when it came

to dealing with Neris.

The madman turned at the sound, too, and smiled thinly as Reithan came to stand beside Tia. “Ah!

That’s cheating. You’ve brought reinforcements!”

“Neris, what are you doing?” Reithan demanded impatiently.

“Contemplating the nature of faith.”

“Well, how about you do it somewhere a little less dangerous?” he suggested.

“Are you afraid I’ll jump?” Neris teased.

“You won’t jump,” Reithan replied with conviction. “If you jump, you’ll die, and that would mean you’d

have to stop torturing yourself.”

Neris stared at Reithan for a long time, as if savoring his words before digesting them. Then, without

warning, he grinned and scrambled to his feet. Loose pebbles tumbled over the edge. Tia stifled a gasp.

“I never thought of it like that,” he announced. “Torturing myself. Yes, I like that.”

“Neris—” Tia began, holding her hand out to him. The madman teetered on the edge of the precipice,

grinning like a fool.

Reithan was quicker. He lunged forward and grabbed at Neris’s tattered sleeve. Although he looked as

if he would struggle, Neris was wasted and thin from a lifelong addiction to poppy-dust, and had no hope

of defeating Reithan’s size or strength. The younger man pulled Neris away from the edge and shoved

him past Tia, placing himself between Neris and the cliff.

“If I truly wanted to die, you couldn’t stop me,” Neris warned as he regained his footing. His bright eyes

were glistening with amusement. Tia could have throttled him. She hated it when he was like this.

“If you ever truly want to die, just let me know,” Reithan suggested sourly. “I’ll happily put you out of

your misery, old man.”

“You know, Reithan, I believe you would,” Neris replied with a suddenly lucid glare. Then he turned to

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Tia as if nothing untoward had occurred. “Blincakes, did you say? Lexie is far too good to me. We

shouldn’t keep her waiting, you know. Come, come. She’ll get angry if we let them go cold... what

you’re doing up here at this time of the morning is beyond me. Truly, Reithan, you’re a bad influence on

Tia.”

Neris turned and began to pick his way down the rough goat track that led toward the village. He

chattered to himself as he walked, as if Reithan and Tia were beside him, listening to every word. “She’s

never going to catch a husband if you insist on leading her astray... perhaps I should see about

introducing her at court. I was a nobleman once, I think. Or was it her mother? I can’t remember... Johan

will know... or Lexie. Lexie makes excellent blincakes...”

Tia started a little as Reithan came up behind her and placed a brotherly hand on her shoulder. “Are you

all right?”

She nodded. “He just scares me when he’s like this.” “I know. But you can’t watch him all the time.”

“He was talking about the Goddess again.” Reithan glanced up at the sky with a frown. “He won’t be the

only one talking about the Goddess this morning,” he predicted grimly.

“You don’t believe there’s a Goddess, do you, Reithan?”

“Of course not, but a lot of people do. And you can wager your right eye that Belagren is plotting a way

to make this look like a divine event, even as we speak.”

Tia knew he was right. “We’d better get to Lexie before Neris does. I made up that bit about the

blincakes.”

“Come on, then,” Reithan said. “And next time you go charging off to rescue Neris, come and get me

first. If he’d decided to jump, you’d never have been able to stop him.”

“I just thought—”

“I know,” he said sympathetically, then smiled. “Come on, let’s get down to the longhouse. Look at you,

you’re shivering.”

It wasn’t the weather that made her shiver. The gooseflesh that prickled her skin came from a much less

tangible source. She glanced up at the blood-red sky again, unable to shake the feeling that this morning’s

eruption reallywas some sort of dire omen. Somewhere on Ranadon, it was certain, someone would find

a way to use this eruption to cause trouble.

Then, silently berating herself for being a superstitious fool, she shook off the ridiculous feeling of

impending doom and followed Reithan and Neris down to the village.

Chapter 2

It was just on dawn when Belagren heard the screams. They woke her from a deep sleep that had been

filled with pleasant dreams. She was sitting on a vast golden throne, while every soul on Ranadon knelt

before her, begging for her blessing...

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Annoyed at being woken from such an agreeable fantasy, the High Priestess opened her eyes and

cursed softly. The red light of the night sun filtered through the cloth walls, filling the tent with dull crimson

light.

“Madalan!”

When her aide did not reply, Belagren rose from her pallet and walked to the entrance of the elaborately

embroidered silk tent, throwing back the flap. The camp was in an uproar.

People were running to and fro, but most were heading toward the Labyrinth.

“What in the name of the Goddess is going on?” she demanded of a young man dressed in a dark red

robe running past her tent. “Who is making that ungodly noise?”

The Shadowdancer skidded to a halt before her and bowed. He was young, perhaps twenty-three or

-four, only just risen from the ranks of acolyte. Belagren knew his face, but couldn’t think of his name.

He was very handsome. All her Shadowdancers were. She quite deliberately recruited these young men

and women for their beauty. It set them apart.

“I think it’s coming from the Labyrinth, my lady.”

Any fool could tell that much, she thought impatiently.

“Perhaps they’ve broken through?” he suggested, seeing the look of displeasure on the High Priestess’s

face.

Belagren had been wondering the same thing, although the screams sounded as if they were filled with

pain, rather than triumph. Lifting the hem of her red robe out of the dust, she followed him through the

campground set up amid the ancient ruins, toward the entrance to the Labyrinth. She was not particularly

tall and had some difficulty in keeping up with the long-legged stride of her companion. The High

Priestess glanced around at the tents as she hurried along. Some of them, she noted with displeasure, had

been here so long they were taking on a disturbing air of permanence.

But maybe...finally...after all this time ...

Belagren was almost afraid to finish the thought for fear of jinxing herself.

Some long-extinct volcano had destroyed this place, raining deadly debris and ash on what must have

once been a vast and beautiful city. It was impossible to tell how old the city was, or who had built it.

Much of it was nothing more than strangely shaped pieces of masonry jutting out of the landscape like

frozen sentinels watching over the dead. Even now, after nearly a century of excavation, they still found

the occasional, mummified remains of the original inhabitants. Their bodies were tall and long limbed, their

clothing strange, and their expressions were always fixed in terror, as if they had died in unspeakable

agony.

The entrance to the Labyrinth stood like a gaping mouth drilled into the side of a small mountain. There

was something inscribed in the rock over the arched entrance, but nobody knew what language it was

written in, or what it said. Scholars from the universities in Avacas and Nova had puzzled over its

meaning for years. The more superstitious souls among her followers considered it a warning of some

kind.

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Belagren had her own private translation. In her mind, the words over the entrance to the Labyrinth

promised only one thing:Through here lies the path to ultimate power.

All Belagren wanted—all she needed—to etch her name in history irrevocably, was access to the

information hidden behind those damn traps that Neris Veran had set deliberately to keep her out.

Fortunate for him that he’s dead,she thought, thinking of several rather gruesome things she would like to

do to the architect of her dilemma.

Ifhe was dead.

Belagren had her doubts about that, but even the Lion of Senet, with all the resources at his disposal,

had never been able to find a trace of Neris. In the absence of any evidence to the contrary, she had no

choice but to accept that he was out of her reach and move on.

Perhaps Neris reallywas dead. If that was the case, then Belagren had another problem—but one she

really didn’t want to think about right now. Even if they finally got through the Labyrinth, even if she killed

hundreds of her people breaking through the traps (and the Goddess alone knew how many were left to

find), without a mind like Neris Veran’s she had no hope of deciphering the information she needed. Not

unless the Goddess sent her a miracle—preferably in the form of another mind who could understand the

incomprehensible mathematics of the ancients.

The notion that the suns did not orbit Ranadon, but appeared and disappeared in their skies at the whim

of the Goddess, was a fundamental belief among the people of this world, and had been for as long as

anyone could remember. The Sun-dancers had nurtured those beliefs for countless generations,

interpreting every volcanic eruption, every flood, every drought, every stillborn child as the will of a

vengeful and capricious Goddess.

But as time passed, as inquiring minds began to turn their thoughts to the heavens, faith had gradually

been replaced by curiosity. Someone invented a telescope and, for the first time, people questioned the

teachings of the Sundancers. Universities flourished. People stopped attending the temples and began to

suggest that they could rule their own destinies. The steady supply of younger sons and daughters from

noble families sent to serve the Goddess dwindled. The Lord of the Suns, the spiritual leader of Ranadon,

became a powerless figurehead, good only for attending balls and openings, mouthing useless platitudes

to a population who no longer cared what he said.

And then the Age of Shadows came.

The younger daughter of a proud and ancient Senetian noble house, one of the few who still clung to the

tradition of sending their younger children to serve the Goddess, Belagren had just finished her novitiate

when the second sun disappeared. Even now, almost three decades later, she still remembered the fear

that had gripped the people of Ranadon. To experience true night; to wake to a world where the second

sun no longer shone during the day, to a world gripped by cold and darkness, rattled by earthquakes,

shrouded in ash from the volcanic eruptions... her stomach clenched just thinking about it.

She had been part of the expedition sent north to the ruined city of Omaxin, as Paige Halyn, the Lord of

the Suns, searched desperately for answers. It always struck Belagren as ironic that a man so useless and

ineffectual could have been so astute. The cityhad contained the answers they sought, but only Neris

Veran had been able to understand the hints left behind by the long-dead citizens of Omaxin.

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She still remembered sitting in the darkness, huddled around an inadequate fire in the midst of these

haunting ruins with Madalan Tirov and Ella Geon, speculating on the power of such information, should it

fall into the wrong hands. In the space of a few hours, their discussion had moved from idle speculation to

a workable plan.

The following morning, Belagren announced that she had been visited by the Goddess, who had

revealed to her what must be done to return Ranadon to the Age of Light.

Neris was easily taken care of, Ella saw to that. His silence and cooperation were ensured by his

pathetic worship of Ella and his addiction to poppy-dust. While undoubtedly brilliant, he was a weak and

easily corrupted man. The Lord of the Suns had proven a harder nut to crack. Although he didn’t deny

her visions, neither did he embrace them willingly. But he hadn’t counted on the scope of Belagren’s

plans, or her connections. With the help of the Lion of Senet, for the past seventeen years she had been

able to remake the world to her liking.

She had created the Shadowdancers and claimed that they were specially blessed by the Goddess,

thereby bypassing the Lord of the Suns and his inconvenient morality. In theory, they were still subject to

the Lord of the Suns’s authority, but in reality, Paige Halyn was powerless to stop her.

That she had ordered Neris to seal the domed building, to prevent others from learning what she knew,

was the only mistake she had made in her remarkable rise to power. He had sealed it with a vengeance,

then thrown himself off a cliff in the southern port of Tolace, so that nobody else could learn the truth.

The High Priestess was not a fool. She knew she could overrule logic with faith for only so long. She had

done it once and it had worked spectacularly, but without continuing proof, without solid evidence that

the Goddess truly had her ear, she was in danger of losing everything.

And every day the problem grew more urgent. If the second sun orbited the first, then eventually it must

go away again. If Belagren couldn’t predict it—if another unexpected Age of Shadows happened in her

lifetime—she would be exposed.

Her fate, should the unthinkable happen, did not bear thinking about.

But maybe today,she prayed as she entered the Labyrinth.Maybe this is the last obstacle. Maybe...

* * *

The entrance to the Labyrinth was part of one of the few structures that had survived the ancient

disaster. It wasn’t always the death trap it was now. Once it had been nothing more than a series of

interconnecting tunnels leading into a large domed building that was all but obscured by the weight of the

ash and debris that had buried the city thousands of years ago. The bodies had been cleared out some

time ago, long before Belagren had come to Omaxin with Neris, Madalan and Ella, but she’d heard

rumors that there had been thousands of skeletons found inside. Many of them were locked in embraces

with their loved ones, the bones of their children clutched in their laps. The skeletons had crumbled to

dust as soon as they were disturbed. In her more reflective moments, Belagren wondered what it must

have been like, to flee inside the dome for safety, only to die much more slowly from starvation or

asphyxiation.

Her thoughts were dragged rudely back to the present as they entered the torch-lit tunnel. The screams

were louder here, echoing off the smooth curved walls. There were traces of faded murals on the walls

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that Belagren had never had the time or the patience to examine.

About thirty feet into the tunnel, she was forced to step over the remains of a twisted doorway. Neris’s

first trap. It had killed three of her people when they broke through. She could almost hear him laughing

at her from beyond the grave when they’d brought out the bodies, sliced to shreds by the deadly rain of

shards he had loaded in his trap. That was the day that Belagren had truly begun to fear for her future.

The lingering apprehension in the pit of her belly never truly let her rest.

The screams grew louder as they approached the next obstacle, some fifty feet past the first trap. It was

followed by several more gates that had proved to be nothing more than false traps. They’d wasted

months, sometimes years, carefully studying and dismantling the next four gates, only to discover there

was nothing sinister about them at all. She’d grown lax by the time they broke through the sixth gate.

Fortunately it had only killed one man—Lester Somebody-or-other—and then only because of his

arrogance. A nobleman by birth, he fancied himself equal to any problem set by a mere peasant. The

peasant had proved him wrong. He was crushed under the weight of a large slab of masonry that fell

from the ceiling right at the moment of his triumphant declaration of victory.

Belagren climbed carefully over the huge granite slab and glanced down. As far as she knew, they had

never been able to move the slab, and Lord Lester the Long Forgotten was still underneath it.

As they neared the seventh of Neris’s deadly traps, the workers moved aside to let the High Priestess

through, bowing as she passed, averting their eyes for fear of being singled out. She reached a narrow

bridge that had been constructed over the gaping hole in the floor, caused when four more of her people

had accidentally triggered the seventh trap.

Belagren forced herself not to slow her pace as she crossed the rickety bridge in the wake of her young

escort. This trap, of all Neris’s diabolical devices, was the one that had come closest to killing her.

Expecting the traps to follow the same pattern as the first six gates, her people were confident that after

the death at the previous gate, the next four gates should be more of the previous four—false traps that

looked impressive but were little more than elaborate devices to slow down the workers trying to get

through the labyrinth. A few minutes before the floor section had collapsed, she had been standing on it,

studying the figures etched into the barricade, as the old scholar from Nova University on Grannon Rock,

Kellor Highman, and his bright young assistants had explained the problem to her. The lock on this gate

was simply a series of numbers, they assured her. All they had to do was discover the sequence and

press the tiles in the right order, and the door would open for them.

She had stood back to watch them work. She had watched them die instead.

Once past the collapsed floor and the uncomfortable memories it evoked, Belagren hurried on past the

next four gates, each of which had proved to be harmless. She was no longer prepared to make that

assumption, however. They had treated each gate as if it were deadly. Belagren privately expected every

gate to cause the whole mountain to come down on top of them, which actually concerned her more than

the lives lost trying to break through. She could replace a few scholars and laborers. But if the Labyrinth

was destroyed; if she was denied access to the cavern at the end of it...

The results—for her—would be catastrophic.

The screams were beginning to fade, thankfully. Whoever was making such an awful noise was either on

the brink of exhaustion, or—and this was the more likely explanation, given where they were coming

from—on the brink of death.

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As she rounded the curved hall, she stepped into chaos. The people who had been working on the

twelfth trap, all of them red-robed Shadowdancers (she trusted nobody else down here now), were all

shouting at once. The torches flickered in the darkness, making it hard to distinguish one panicked face

from another. There were several bodies lying at the base of the wall where the tunnel ended, all of them

burned beyond recognition. The screaming woman was lying farther from the wall, writhing in agony, her

face and left shoulder melted away so deeply that the red muscle underneath was clearly visible. Several

others held her down, while someone attempted to pour water over the burns. It was a useless exercise.

Better to give the poor woman a large dose of poppy-dust and let her die in peace, than waste time

treating such wounds.

“What happened?” Belagren demanded of nobody in particular.

“Acid,” a tall, gray-haired woman answered her from behind. “They accidentally triggered the trap. It

rained acid over everyone standing near the wall.”

Belagren turned to face Madalan. “You broke through, then?”

She didn’t ask who the dead were or if anyone else had been injured. She didn’t care. All she cared

about was getting through this damn Labyrinth and back into the building that a dead madman was so

determined to prevent her from entering.

“Not yet,” Madalan shrugged, “but now that we’ve sprung the trap, it should only be a matter of time.”

Belagren nodded, but before she could answer, another young man came running through the tunnel,

calling for her.

“My lady!” he panted, sketching a hasty bow as he stopped in front of her. “You must come see!

Quickly!”

“See what?”

“The sky, my lady!”

With a puzzled glance at Madalan she quickly retraced her steps through the torch-lit Labyrinth on the

heels of the messenger. Blinking as she stepped out into the light, the High Priestess squinted for a

moment, then followed the pointing finger of the young man. Belagren bit back an involuntary gasp.

A billowing cloud of ash, stained scarlet by the rapidly sinking first sun, blotted out the sky to the south.

There had been an eruption, she realized immediately, perhaps on land, but so far south, it was more

likely in the Tresna Sea.

Belagren glanced around at the startled faces of her followers and quickly raised her arms, holding them

wide.

“It is a sign,” she cried. “The Goddess has spoken to us!”

All around her, the Shadowdancers began falling to their knees, staring up at the sky. Her mind racing,

the High Priestess looked around with relief at this obvious sign of their faith, then turned her attention

south once more. “Our sacrifice has not been in vain. See for yourselves. The Goddess is with us, and

the souls of those lost today will be welcomed into her loving arms. Let us pray.”

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Jennifer Fallon - Second Sons 01 - The Lion of Senet

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