But he had defeated her, struck her down with mind and spear, and in doing so had claimed the memories of the dying Sovereigns.
Now he and Sophia stood where those ancient rulers had, preparing to receive their crowns as thousands watched on. He could feel their minds now, pressing in from all around, adding to the strain of those secret memories locked within his head. What must these people think, watching the Tangata walk amongst them, seeing a monster from their childhood about to be crowned Sovereign over all of them?
Even now, he half expected the calm to break, for their rage to be unleashed, to see them surging forward against the thin line of blue steel. Yet there was only silence, only that hidden curiosity, only the waiting. He supposed this was the first time most had ever set eyes upon the Sovereigns. When one’s rulers were so remote, so mysterious, they might have been Tangata all along for all these people knew.
Besides, through the academy every child entered at eight years of age, Perfugians were accustomed to obedience, to accepting the decree of their superiors. If the last Sovereigns had chosen a Tangata and a failed recruit as their next rulers, who were they to question?
Lukys couldn’t help but feel there was a wrongness to that. Afterall, was that not how the Old One had conquered New Nihelm? The Tangata there had been ruled by a Matriarch, an ancient creature of strength and wisdom. But the Old One had turned the Matriarch’s guards against her, slaughtering her in order to take her place. That should have mattered to the Tangata, that betrayal. Instead, they had bowed to the Old One’s power without question.
Coming to a stop before the granite slab in the middle of the amphitheatre, Lukys looked upon the silver crowns that rested atop the stone, awaiting their new bearers. Adorned with a fortune in sapphires, they were only ceremonial, a show for those gathered to watch, an object to give legitimacy to their rule, as Nguyen put it. The true Sovereign gift had been passed to them as their predecessors lay dying, just as it had for every pair of Sovereigns before them.
Lukys shivered as he sensed cold eyes looking down from the pillars that lined the amphitheatre. Atop each pillar stood two statues, Sovereigns of ages past, their number stretching back centuries. He knew each of their faces now, had been every one of them. A strange sensation, that.
Turning from the statues, he and Sophia paused before the crowns. Their minds were closer than ever now, almost as one since the transformation, their thoughts aligned by the hundreds of lifetimes they had shared. It scared a part of him, to sense her presence so close, always on the edges of his consciousness. Yet it was a comfort too, the knowledge she would always be with him, that he would not be left alone.
As one, they reached down for the silver circlets. Despite the sun, the metal was cold to the touch as Lukys lifted the first above Sophia’s head, even as she did the same for him. There they paused, and their eyes met, grey of the Tangata to his own plain brown. Time seemed to stand still, and Lukys felt he stood on the edge of an abyss, that this moment would forever change their lives, tie them to a path they might grow to regret.
Yet what choice did they have? The Old One was coming with her Tangatan army. No kingdom could stand against her, not alone. If they did not act, did not lead Perfugia to unite humanity, the Old One would prevail. The kingdoms would fall, one by one, and his people would be exterminated, enslaved. One day, there would be nowhere left for them to run, nowhere left to hide.
He saw the same thoughts reflected in Sophia’s eyes and momentarily, he wondered if they were truly his own, or hers, or one of the hundreds they had collected in their fragile minds. A shudder shook him, but they could not look back now, could not pass on this burden.
As one, they lowered the silver crowns onto one another heads.
And turned to greet their subjects as the new Sovereigns of Perfugia.
1
The Tangata
A light snow was falling as the Tangata moved from the mountains into the Calafe foothills. The cold did not touch Adonis as he paused to watch the passage of his people, but it couldn’t help but remind him of their last journey through these hills, the desperate march of the Tangata as they followed Maya into the unknown heavens, driven on by her Voice, by the power of the Old One.
A tremor raised the hackles on his neck as he recalled the swirling snow, the faces of those who had succumbed, of men and women, of the children who had fallen in the snowdrifts, never to rise again. The journey had taken a terrible toll on the Tangata, on his people, and more than once he had found himself doubting his partner—though he had helped raise her to Matriarch.
Now though, after their glorious victory in the mountains, Adonis joyed in her power, in the fall of the Anahera, of the creatures that humanity had named Gods. The cost had been terrible, but in the end, to watch the Anahera kneel at their feet, cowed by mere Tangata…it had been a glorious sight.
Smiling, Adonis looked up at the creatures, soaring on their cursed wings. They served the Tangata now, keeping watch for the enemy. Faced with Maya’s power, the creatures had made their choice, had bowed to the Old One, surrendered their
