Book 1: The Pyre

November 18th, 1983 

The dig site was 5 meters deep and 60 meters wide; In it a hundred thirty men and women toiled relentlessly. Light snow fell lazily on them from a swollen grey sky. Floodlights atop each side of the excavation lit the site, with the occasional orbs of flashlights glancing off rock walls slick with frost.

Alaska sucks, thought Chet Williams, as he swung his pick-axe on the cold ground below him; The snow played hell on the excavation, and since they were looking for an underground network of caves... Who knew what could happen. Nevertheless, they pressed on.

He turned his baseball cap backwards, a hard day's sweat dampening his brow. He wiped it and sighed. Funny how a guy could work up a sweat even in this weather.

It was then that his Walkman clicked and stopped, the last track finished. The cassette tape within was Blue Öyster Cult's Agents of Fortune. He liked almost every track except the most popular; He'd done that to himself, mostly, having listened to it over and over on the plane. He'd never been north of Canada, and the song's titular lyrics calmed him.

They chose a hell of a time to plan this thing out.

What he wouldn't give to be down in Acapulco right now, drinking tequila and feeling the sun caress him while the Pacific roared softly just within earshot. Well, at least he had the tequila, but it was better not to drink and work. Especially with a pickax in hand.

Nobody was entirely sold that something was buried deep in the ground here in the boonies near Emmonak. At least two thirds of the team were Alaskan Natives, who weren't convinced that something as huge as the complex caverns Mr. Feldman had described could exist without their knowledge. However, he and the good professor Allen had promised a payout of six figures to each person on the team, so nobody with half a brain would have turned that down.

How they had access to so much money, not a soul knew. Some say they were under contract with the secret echelons of government, more than likely something to do with the standoff with the Russians. It didn't really add up to Chet; If they were really looking for something related to the war, it wouldn't be in the flatlands outside of Emmonak fucking Alaska, of all places.

What was even more puzzling was that Paul Allen, who had been spearheading the project but saying little except to his right hand man Haku Feldman, was a master in astronomy. Astronomers rarely led excavations, let alone have any reason to. They looked up, not down.

Chet knew that aside from the labor, the money reimbursed them for another service, one that would be a little more long term than their current project.

Their silence. Whatever happened here, they would take with them to their graves.

He glanced at the girl in the thick woolen jacket a few meters to his left; She was intent on her work, stopping only to brush the locks of dirty blonde hair out of her blue eyes. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was, or indeed, if she was thinking about anything at all other than three hundred thousand dollars in her bank account.

As he left to find a port-a-john, Chet was thinking long and hard about what he was going to do with a six-figure payout, when his Walk-Man started to play on it's own.

That's weird. Maybe the play button got pressed in my pants or something.

He stopped. One line was repeating, over and over again.

Don't fear the reaper.

The farther away he walked from his work area, the loop started to intensify, starting at twenty percent speed then careening into a static sound that was likely to damage Chet's hearing.

Something shook the ground and he wobbled, nearly falling backwards.
He threw his headset off, and started to notice cracks appearing under his feet. They became huge, and he saw blackness in them. He heard metal screeching and bending behind him.

His legs took off before his mind did, and he bolted clear for the other wall. He didn't turn around until he reached a crowd of workers, who were standing about, some pushing through to get a better look. One man cried out, and ran to Chet's work area.

Ashamed, he realized he didn't have to visit the bathroom anymore.

The section Chet had been working on had collapsed into a black void of nothingness. A lone flood light teetered off the edge, apparently still plugged into a generator still falling. The cord under it became a taught line and the flood-light shot into obscurity.

The lone man collapsed at the edge of the hole and screamed into the night air, his shoulders wracking with grief.

"His sister," said somebody from behind Chet. Chet's heart was working like a piston, slamming hard against his ribcage.

That could have been me.

Two other men pushed through the crowd, and Chet was soon standing next to Haku Feldman, and his mentor Paul Allen. Feldman had dark brown eyes shaped like almonds, a pointed nose, a strong jaw, and close-cropped dirty blonde hair.

When Chet had first seen him, he was clean shaven, and resembled a statue of a Greek god. Now with a thickening beard, he looked even more the part. Chet didn't trust him.

Paul Allen was an ordinary looking man in his late forties or early fifties, thinning hair streaked with grey. He was already starting to hunch over from years of toil, but his eyes were sharp and detail-oriented, probably now more than ever.

Allen clenched his fists, as Feldman placed a hand on his shoulder.

Someone in the crowd yelled,"You guys knew this would happen!"

"And so did you." Feldman turned to face the crowd. "You all knew the risks. Isn't that why you signed on?"

The crowd grew silent.

"Do we have any survivors?"

"There was nobody over there except him and the girl."

They all turned to look at Chet. He felt the weight of their gazes, heavy like sandbags on his conscience.

A tight, humorless smile appeared in Feldman's snow-flaked beard. "Looks like you've earned your bonus."

As they looked on, a blinding light emerged from the sinkhole, casting their shadows long and thin across the excavation. The man at the edge was laughing now, and crying out the girl's name.

"What is this?" asked Chet.

"Our survival." Allen's eyes stared on, unblinking..

                             -I-

Edress 12, Year 326 of the Ninth Era

The Marta Central Station was bustling this afternoon, with people standing almost shoulder to shoulder with eachother waiting for the train. The unloading platform designated B-4 stood a good fifty feet off the ground, with seven other platforms jutting out below like reversed stairs, and another eight above.

Angela Siegfried held a sign. She didn't actually know how to spell the man's name written on it, but she hoped he would still recognize it when he got off. Angela was twenty, with fair copper skin and eyes like red mahogany, her face adorned here and there with freckles. Her black hair was thin and shoulder-length and tied into a ponytail, revealing two small onyx earrings. She wore a yellow frock and black hose, with a matching pair of black slingbacks. On her head she wore a wicker sun hat with a baby blue sash.

The A-SEC officer had spoken with her over the phone, detailing the arrival of the temporary security guard for her father. He was to be evaluated in person, and if he didn't fit the role he'd be back on the Windmare by three P.M.

It seemed worth the gamble to Angela. They could do with a little bit of security.

Ten in the morning. Right on schedule, the ground shook with the train's arrival.

The Windmare was a gigantic whale of a thing, shaped almost like a clothes iron. It was more like a boat than a train, but the rails for it were huge as well. Gods forbid you were in a car stuck on the 100-foot wide tracks when that thing was coming. Generally, at 300 miles out, the conductor and the engineers started to decelerate, but even at 100 miles out it was still going fast enough to rip the leaves off of a tree.

A deafening steam whistle blew, heralding the Windmare's arrival. It kicked up a wind that set her to frock to billowing, as she held down her hat with one hand. The Windmare settled down under the titan of architecture that was the Grand Station, billowed plumes of hot steam from the various smokestacks and chimneys placed atop it's steel hull. It then released the dozen or so retractable staircases to let the passengers out.

I hope I got it right, she thought. Gate B-4. She gazed over the swarm of approaching passengers for a couple moments, hoping for recognition from someone.

One person locked eyes with her as they came down the steps. As soon as the crowd parted way, the stranger approached Angela tentatively.

Angela beheld a small person in a fur jacket, big brown fatigues, leather combat boots, and a black cap. The stranger could either have been a young woman or a preteen male youth; Their features were soft and comely, with a pale face and eyes a deep blue that Angela had never seen before.

They stood a long while, neither opening their mouths to speak.

Angela cleared her throat. "Are... Are you... Aegrin? Sir Aegrin?"

The stranger hesitated a long, awkward moment, and then spoke just as slow. "Yes." The voice was definitely a woman's.

"You don't seem all that sure."

The girl started laughing nervously. "Ah, that is... I'm his daughter. Yes. Mr. Aegrin's daughter. That's who I am. He sent me in his stead, he wasn't... Feeling up to the task."

"I... I see." Angela glanced over the girl. Suspicion gnawed at the back of her mind. Most girls she met were interested in jazz and dancing and dressed the part; This stranger's mismatched garb gave off the impression that she was homeless. Something was odd about this girl, but it felt to Angela like it was more than what she saw and thought.
"Have you been a security guard before, Miss...?"

"I am Lapis. And no, this is my first time."

"Oh dear..." Angela sighed wearily. Well, at the very least I can feed the poor thing before I send her back at three.



Angela and the girl Lapis stopped at Missando's, a restaurant on the corner of Redfish and Oak, and ate in the outdoor dining section as the chill autumn wind blew leaves over the pavement. The Grand Central Station loomed nearby, casting a shadow over them.

Lapis ate like she had been starved for weeks, Angela observed. Before Angela's eyes the girl put away five bowls of surmari, the traditional wheat noodle and broth dish that was native to the Martic Valley. She felt a mix of guilt and pity, and also a growing sense of fascination.

"So, tell me about yourself, Lapis."

The girl stopped and looked down abashedly. "There's not much to tell, miss..."

"I have time, dear."

The girl continued to look down, and she closed her eyes. "Like I said, nothing that would interest you... I'd rather hear your story."

She won't tell me anything, Angela thought. Maybe its for the best. But something's still not right.

Angela sighed. "Well, it's a long and tedious tale... My father was appointed Mayor of this city a few years ago. He used to tell me it was his reward for fighting with honor and loyalty in the Twenty Years war, but now that I've gotten older I realize it was more of a power play by the Galthirians, to keep a man loyal to the Queen in the Eastern Reach... But I digress."

Why am I telling her all of this?

They studied autumn leaves scattering with the wind over the road, some losing their way under parked cars and under the curbs, and others drifting aimlessly down the street.

"My mother and my older sisters died when I was very little, so I took it upon myself to help my father keep our family together and our interests safe. My father... finds it hard to change clothes nowadays, let alone run a city and the land around it. But he does it somehow. And I am always behind him, making sure our bridges remain unburnt and we have the right people around us. I've personally hired every member of the staff that works with us today... Even our butler, Sparrow. But as of late, they've all started disappearing... It's as if my father paid them off and told them to skip town."

She smiled sadly, and then looked at Lapis. The girl was already on her sixth bowl of surmari, but she seemed to be listening.

"That's where you come in, Lapis... We need someone who can protect us. More importantly, my father. He's not long for this world, I think. But so many people would gladly hurt him, or use me to hurt him... All for his station... I never would have dreamed it, when I was a girl, but things have changed..."

Lapis stopped eating, and gazed at Angela. "How old are you, miss?"

Angela smiled again. "Eighteen." She knew she didn't sound her age, but it was plain for all to see.

"Oh..." What was she thinking behind those wild, child-like eyes?

"And what about you?"

The girl fell silent.

She doesn't know how old she is? Uncomfortable, Angela changed the subject.

"I'm going to be frank with you, Lapis. Is that okay?"

Lapis looked just as out of place. "Yes. Um... Please."

"I don't know if you will be a good fit for our Head of Security. I don't even know if I can trust you, knowing so little about you even now. I need someone trustworthy, dependable, strong..."

A man, Angela thought, but ommited that part.

Lapis looked at her vacantly, as if trying to do mathematics. Then it seemed to register, and she stood up quickly.

"No, please! I'm all of those things! And more! I've been training hard, every day. I know I've got what it takes. Please... Reconsider, Miss Angela! I promise I won't let you down."

Some of the other patrons were looking at Lapis, and at Angela. Angela laughed nervously and waved Lapis down.

Angela didn't know what to say. Training? At what? Did she have a gun under that jacket somewhere, with a magazine to go with it, each bullet likely to find targets by the end of the day?

Will I be the target, or my father? Or someone else?

"I'm... not thoroughly convinced. But I can take you to my father and you can meet him in person... Maybe he'll have a different opinion..."

Angela's words were cut off as Lapis embraced her, squeezing tight. "Oh, thank you! thank you! I promise, I'll do my best. I'll keep you safe."

Angela blushed. Lapis was warm. Probably from the fur jacket.



Angela hung up the payphone, and turned to face her companion. She smiled at Lapis, the girl who she could read so little.

Angela evened out the pleats of her skirt. "I've called our driver, Dreslim. He should be here shortly to drive us to my estate."

"...Very... Good, miss." Lapis seemed to trip over the words, like she was reciting them from memory.

"So... Where were you during the War?"

"The... War, miss?"

Angela's brow furrowed. "Yes, dear. THE War."

"What war was that, miss?"

Angela was hiding a mix of confusion and frustration. The Twenty Years War. The War that had engulfed most of the known world in a dark frenzy. The War that had left five out of every ten children orphaned, six out of every ten women a widow, and had sent more men to unmarked graves than they could ever hope to recover. The War that the continent of Alnora still bled from like a mortal wound.

Perhaps Lapis had been sheltered as a child, but no amount could have hidden the Twenty Years War from her. Not even for a week. If she was as old as Angela supposed, she would have been a young child during the peak of the fighting. In Ascension, it's all they talked about when Angela was little. Sometimes she could hear the explosions outside the city walls; Very far away, but the aftershocks would rumble her bed as she tossed and turned.

"Your father must have seen some of it, surely?"

"Oh. Y-yes. He talks about it all the time."

"Really? Who did he fight for?"

"...Nobody, Miss. He was with the... er, the A.M.N."

That at least, was passing truth. Those who earned their bread by way of the Alnora Mercenary Network signed a contract, a strict adherence to political neutrality being one of the major terms. Alnora Security, or A-SEC, did not take sides in wars of any kind.

During the War, they provided relief aid for civilians and security for tradesmen, but did not fight for any one political party and only took up arms if threatened. If asked about their role in the war, your average A-Sec agents would either laugh in your face or spit.

"I see. It was definitely the wiser decision..."

Angela had to see if she could get something out of the girl. But her words seemed to fall to the ground.

"Lapis, who are you really?"

Lapis did not speak. She closed her eyes again, appearing to think, or summon up something from within. "I don't-"

A car pulled up next to them, it's engine thrumming. It was black, with tinted windows and chrome lines. Angela's heart skipped a beat.

Definitely not Dreslim.

Lapis looked at the car, interested, like a cat might peer at a cricket.

The right-hand window rolled down, and the driver, a man with snaky features and hair greasy with product, leered at them. He had a lit cigar in his teeth, and a golden ring with a thick ruby glimmering in the center.

"Good day to you, sweetlings. Are you wanting company?" His Western accent was thick.

"And good day to you, sir. No, we're expecting a ride. Thank you for the offer."

"Oh, well, we can give you two a ride... If the fare's right."

We. That was a word Angela didn't like.

"No, thank you sir. We'll get along fine."

The man grinned, and a car door slammed. Two other men in dark clothing and faces covered with hose stepped towards them, tall and thick with muscle. They might have been twins, for all the hose revealed of their faces. One had chains tattooed on his hands, and the other brandished a short crowbar that thumped meatily in his palm. A great sign.

"We'd rather ask you nicely, Miss Siegfried. My boys don't speak much, you see, so they don't have need of pleasantries. It's a good thing I'm here, really. Now please come along."

Angela went cold, her heart rate skyrocketing. What do I do? I should have a gun with me, a taser at least... How could I be so stupid?

The closer of the men reached out for her. She closed her eyes, tears welling up.

She opened them.

Lapis had the man by the wrist. He stood almost two feet taller, but Angela noted the way his arm crooked unnaturally towards her grip, twisting like he had his arm stuck in a vice clamp. Lapis appeared to have cast off her fur coat. She wore a blue combat shirt with no sleeves. Her white arms were thin but corded with muscle.

Her eyes had gone from wide and child-like to narrowed and full of righteous anger, and something else Angela couldn't identify. A keen, martial look, that stared the man in the dead in his mask, the little features shown through the leggings wrinkling up in what could only be pain.

"Are you friends of Angela?"

The driver's face turned purple. "What are you doing, idiot? Get them in the car!"

"Answer my question. Are you friends with Angela?"

Incredulously, the lackey spoke. "N-no."

"Then she won't be joining you!"

It all seemed to happen at half speed. Lapis jerked the man's arm downwards, causing him to lean down, and as he did Lapis' fist connected with his face with a loud crack. Angela never even saw the transition; Her arm coiled up, and as quick as lightning it had shot out like the head of a cobra to ruin this man's day.

She dropped low and swept his leg out from under him; He went down in a tumble, but before Lapis could rise the crowbar wielding man was upon her. He swung on her from above, and Angela shut her eyes tight.

Lapis stumbled, but did not fall. Her cap came off, letting her hair flow free.

It was neck-length and unkempt, cut into a messy bob. It was pale silver, the shading reminiscent of a cloud. Equal parts white, blue, and grey, yet a color all it's own. A dark circle was growing above her bangs and a little rivulet of red ran down her shimmering eyebrow.

The man swung horizontally at her face this time, but incredibly Lapis slipped under it. He had left himself wide open; Lapis darted in, and her swings were so fast Angela couldn't begin to count them. She had the man stumbling backwards, her lightning-quick blows beating a lively rhythm out of his vitals.

He roared and raised his crowbar again, and brought it down in a reckless overhead swing.

Lapis stepped aside, as if letting someone pass before her. Then Angela saw her foot shift and her other leg was up. Artfully, Lapis' calf uncoiled from her thigh and her kick hit home, landing in his temple. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

What am I watching? It had been equal parts dance routine, and bar brawl.

The man in the driver's seat shouted, and a pistol appeared in the window, a silencer fastened onto it. "You wanna play games? Fine by me, bitch, I love games. Let's play, How many bullets does it take to-"

His shouts turned into a girlish squall, as Lapis slammed a boot, hard, into the car door and the sleek black cruiser tipped over on it's left side, with a clangor of glass breaking and metal churning. It rocked for a moment like a turtle trying to regain footing.

"Hey! Hey! What the hell! Don't leave me like this!" Lapis seemed not to hear. She turned to Angela, and Angela saw that her knuckles were bruised and bleeding. The little river of blood was running down her cheek now. People were running towards them, but Angela couldn't tell if they were the police or not. Her eyes were on Lapis'.

Lapis moved her hands as if through water, and clenched her fists. She breathed deep, and released her stance.

An olive-colored R-Model screeched to a stop in the middle of the road. Dreslim craned his head outside the window and put two fingers to his lips, sounding a loud whistle. Angela grabbed Lapis by the arm.

"Time to go, and quick!"

They slid into the car; Angela never even felt the seat until she was sitting square on her bottom.

"Dreslim, please! Hurry!"

She slammed the door and Dreslim hit the gas. They jerked forward as the vehicle accelerated. Angela looked behind her through the rear window; People crowded around the scene, as arms garbed in the sleeves of an expensive suit grasped around uselessly for purchase, one hand still holding the silenced pistol.

"What the hell was all that?" Dreslim, a middle-aged, gaunt man, hid his receding hairline under a cap as they turned a corner and the scene was out of view.

"They tried to kidnap us," Angela said breathlessly.

"I saw the car tip over just as I turned the corner. What the hell happened?"

Angela thought of the silenced pistol, gleaming dully in the late morning sunlight. It hadn't been pointed at her though. It had been pointed at Lapis. She thought about what it must feel like to stare down the barrel of a gun, and shivered.

"Where the hell is A-SEC when you need 'em..."

"I'm with A-SEC."

Angela saw Dreslim's peering at Lapis through the rear-view mirror. "Are ya now."

"I am Lapis, child of Aegrin."

Dreslim quirked an eyebrow at the odd introduction.

"He had a gun, Dreslim... And Lapis saved me."

Dreslim studied Lapis a good long while through the rear view mirror; Angela couldn't tell if it was disbelief, awe, or either of the above.



They got on the highway; Luckily no-one followed them. They drove for a while, until the town had dissipated around them and they turned onto a cliff road.

Dreslim got out of the car, and unlocked a padlock on the white iron gate; The gate swung open and he got back in until they were clear of the gate, where he got out again and locked the gate back up. Then they were moving again up the road; they rose and rose, as the space beyond the guard rail became a sheer drop.

Except for a few odd houses, the road carried them far out of civilization and the smoggy expanse of the town could be seen from here; The Grand Central looked like a crude building block from this height, though it dwarfed virtually everything else in Marta, save for the taller buildings of downtown.

Beyond that lied vast trackless plains and forest that stretched on for hundreds of miles, uninterrupted. A stormfront was edging its way forward from the West; Much needed rain would saturate the valley within a few hours.

Far away, in the south and east, huge mountains stood pale purple on the horizon, while to the North and right the Northern Martics loomed with their crowns buried in clouds.
Angela felt herself snap back into reality, a shivering taking over her as the adrenaline left her body. "Oh... Shit, you're bleeding. Here, let me look at it..."

She lifted Lapis' bangs and found nothing. Except for the blood, there was no wound to speak of.

"We need to tell your father."

"No... I'll tell him. You won't breathe a word of this to anyone. Promise me."

"Miss-"

"Dreslim. Promise me."

"Yeah, yeah," Dreslim shook his head, exasperated.

Angela looked at Lapis then; Lapis looked much the same as when they had been eating at the corner restaurant, innocent and curious. She studied the vast expanse with interest.

Angela asked again. "Lapis, who are you, really?"

Lapis looked at her. It was then that Angela realized how very lost Lapis was.

"The truth is, Miss... I don't know who I am. My name is Lapis. That's all that I know."



The Mayor sat in his wheelchair by the window. His study was cozy, with several large bookcases filled with fine leather books bound in gold and silver. Everything was tidy except for his oak desk, which was littered in papers and folders.

He studied the grounds, peering into the forest and the mountains, when a knock came on the thick mahogany door.

"Yes," He said gruffly, and Sparrow came in, holding a tray and a carafe with two teacups. "Tea?"

"No. Coffee, Your Honor." Sparrow smirked. He was a tall man, with slicked, cropped red hair and golden eyes. His cheekbones and nose were lightly freckled, and he was sharply dressed in a black blazer with a white tie and blue slacks, with a pair of white and black brogues.

"Ah, good. Something tells me we're going to have a long night." Sparrow poured him a cup of dark coffee. Steam rose, filling the room with a rich aroma.

The Mayor took the cup gratefully and nodded thanks. "I could have avoided all of this, Sparrow."

"I don't think so sir... There's nothing you could have done."

"Think not? I could probably have stolen away to Frostcrown or Nanbyr or the Jagged bloody Isles the moment I heard a war had broken out. I might've taken my wife and my daughters the hell out of Ascension while the going was good... But I didn't. What have I got to show for it, except for a Purple Heart and a throne on wheels?"

"You've still got Angela. And the town loves you. You're a hero down there."

"The town loves you, you mean." The Mayor sighed deep, and took another drink. The cup shook in his hand, but it wasn't as bad today. "She is everything I hoped she could be and more... Gods, she's smart. And beautiful."

"Yes, Your Honor." Sparrow smiled. The Mayor shot a glance at him, raised his working eyebrow.

"Don't think I haven't seen ya looking after her as she walks away! Yer like to snap your neck." He chuckled. Sparrow grinned, and averted his gaze. "All you'd have to do is talk to her, you know."

"That wouldn't be proper, Your Honor." Sparrow poured himself a cup. "I'm well aware of the order of things."

"Bugger the order of things! She fancies you." The Mayor crossed his arms, fitful. "I want grandkids, dammit."

Sparrow laughed and sat down on a velvet chair near the desk littered with papers and books.

"I'm serious. I don't have long, Sparrow. That fact is so real to me it might as well have
pulled up a chair to sit with us. You know why I hired you, don't you? And don't say it was to make me coffee and wipe my ass. I know more about you than you care to recognize."

Sparrow looked at him then, his eyes filled with... something. Situational awareness, perhaps, a well-honed sense of caution.

"I know you can do more than that. I can feel it whenever you're around." The Mayor chuckled, and touched two feeble fingers to his brow. "The War changed things, Sparrow. I reckon you were a kid when it started getting hot. Am I right?"

Sparrow's face grew dark. "Yes, Your Honor."

"Don't give me that glum look, boy. I don't care. What happened then made all kinds of people and unmade the rest. It's done. We're here and now."

Sparrow looked into the man's eyes. Eld Siegfried was suddenly his age again; proud, noble, and kind, but uncertainty also swam under the surface. Sparrow remembered again the man was in his fifties, but looked so much older. A pity what ten years in the War can do to a man.

The Mayor sighed. "Go down and await Angela's return. I grow anxious by the minute."

Sparrow nodded and stood up, reaching over to grab for the tray.

The Mayor grasped him about the wrist. There was still strength there, but Sparrow could almost feel it draining, inch by inch.

"There's something else."