16 - THE ANCIENTS

“Did you know,” Camillan asked, “that long ago, thousands of years ago, in fact, there existed a civilization that preceded ours, and which was greater in every conceivable way? They possessed unthinkable technology. A train, moving non-stop, can just about get to one end of the Autarchy from the other in a week—but these people, our ancestors, could traverse the entirety of the world in less than a day. They traveled amongst the stars. They built immense, gleaming cities that scraped the sky.” Camillan leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “They were like gods.” The light in those eyes died out. “But then something happened. No one knows what. Perhaps it was a war, or some great sickness, or perhaps it is simply the natural way of the universe, that all civilizations must eventually die, just as all men must. Yet, still, an empire so great, so vast, cannot be easily buried.”

For the second time that night, I listened to Camillan in thoughtful silence. I had heard of this theory before; it had been taught by several of the older necromancers, in particular by Loremaster Acathor, who had insisted that our Order had actually been originally founded by a survivor of this ancient civilization. I, and many others, had simply assumed that the old man had been making things up.

Perhaps not.

I held up a hand to stop Camillan. “How come this isn’t more widely known? If this is true—”

“It is true. And it isn’t known because Autarch Marak doesn’t want it to be known. Did you know, Aurion, that the Autarch’s famous sword, Sunlight, is in fact a relic taken from the ruins of this ancient civilization? And it is far from the last thing that tyrant has stolen from the past. In fact, the remnants of those long-lost people have helped the Autarch immensely. Without them, it is unlikely he’d be half as powerful as he is now. And that is exactly why he seeks to ensure that no one else remembers. If someone else was to find a blade like Sunlight, let alone something more powerful…”

I furrowed my brow in concentration. “Such as what?”

Amaline sighed in exasperation. “Cam, just tell him. I can’t stand all of this dramatic build up.”

“It isn’t for drama’s sake,” Camillan actually sounded irritated. “It is crucial information—”

“Such as a bomb,” Amaline spat out. “That’s what we’re talking about.”

Silence in the room.

I knew what a bomb was. Part of my education on the island had been to study recent military history on the continent. This included the invention of cannons, then rifles, and then bombs, which had been used to great success in the recent war against the Kingdom of Ramath; Autarchy soldiers had dug tunnels beneath the walls of their cities, then filled those tunnels with bombs. The resulting explosion would then collapse the walls and allow the Autarchy army to march in with impunity.

“Elaborate,” I said.

Camillan puffed out his cheeks. “It’s like this: some contacts of ours recently came across ruins belonging to the aforementioned ancient civilization. Amongst those ruins, they uncovered certain items that we’ve since spent time studying. There is one in particular, Aurion, that we’re quite sure is a bomb.”

“A single bomb?” I said. “From what I know about such things, I can’t see how that would make any sort of difference—”

“Only, the thing is,” Camillan interrupted, “this particular bomb might very well be powerful enough to completely obliterate a city.”

Another round of silence.

“I see,” I said slowly. “And how could you possibly know that?”

Another exchanged glance. It was starting to grate on me; my patience was wearing thinner than ever, and a part of me was starting to wonder if this was a waste of time; if perhaps these two, and the Thorns, were simply so desperate that they’d resorted to making things up.

“We know someone,” said Amaline, “who can read their language.”

“Their? Who is they?”

“The ancients,” Camillan said. “Those who came before.”

I looked at each of them in turn. A trick? Were they working toward something I couldn’t see, manipulating me toward a purpose not yet clear?

But then, Justinia trusted them, leaving me no choice but to do the same.

“It’s true,” Camillan said gravely. “I simply can’t tell you much more about the person in question. The knowledge they possess is perhaps the most important in the world; their life might very well be the most valuable as a result. And so I need to protect them. But know this: they’ve dedicated decades to studying the old language, and it is clear that they have, at last, deciphered it; we can prove it. And based on what they have read, it seems as though these ancient people—they had no unified name, since they were constantly at war with each other, much as we are—destroyed themselves with these very same bombs.”

At that, I paled. “Then just how powerful are these bombs?”

Camillan let out a breath. “That’s the question, isn’t it? But very, is our belief.”

To all of that, I simply didn’t know what to say.

If it was true…everything had just changed.

It was knowledge that could profoundly change the world.

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The idea that someone, anyone, could’ve figured out the language of the ancients, who next to us were akin to gods…it was unthinkable. What if it were possible to uncover all of their secrets, to figure out how they’d reached such heights, to reverse engineer their greatest marvels and thus restore humanity to its former glory? What if?

What if all of that simply resulted in a repeat of history’s mistakes?

In another, and perhaps final, apocalypse?

And yet, at the same time, what if, in order to topple the Autarch’s empire, something so extreme, so destructive, was the only solution?

“The plan would be relatively simple,” Camillan continued. “But the tough part, the main part, is transporting the weapon. It isn’t small. In fact, its larger than a cart, and many, many times heavier. We need to remove it from the ruins and then bring it to where we intend to detonate it.”

“Which would be where?”

“Where do you think?” Amaline rolled her eyes.

“Amaline,” Camillan warned.

“Just tell me,” I was becoming increasingly exasperated.

“Althira,” Amaline hissed. “The heart of the Autarchy. The seat of Autarch Marak himself. Where else?”

I leaned back, processing. It was, of course, the obvious target, for the reasons just stated. I’d known it would be the answer—I’d just wanted to hear it from their mouths.

Now it was time for the question to which I dreaded the answer.

“And how many people live in Althira?’

Camillan let out a breath. “I knew you’d ask that.”

“I have to ask that.”

“May I ask you a question first?”

“No,” I said immediately. “I want you to be direct, and blunt, and honest. I don’t want questions to soften me up. I just want to know the population count for Althira. I want to know how destructive this bomb is.”

“Three million people is the most likely number,” said Camillan. “Including the outskirts. As for how many of them would die as a result of the bomb?” He shrugged his shoulders, not with disregard, but with the sense that he simply wasn’t sure. “The only way I could answer that is if I knew exactly what the bomb was capable of. But seeing as how I don’t—and no one else alive does—it’s impossible to know. If we assume that these bombs are the reason why the Ancients are no longer around…well. It would probably be safe to assume that the bomb can reasonably dispatch a city. Does that mean all three million will die? Who could say? But I think, for the sake of confronting the immensity of what we’re playing, we should simply assume that yes, all of the city will die.”

I tried to comprehend the concept. Three million dead. I couldn’t even imagine three million people existing in one space. I couldn’t conceptualize that there were even three million human beings out there with their own wants, desires, dreams, and families. The scale of destruction was beyond my brain’s ability to grasp. Horror began to dawn on me. I was sitting opposite a man who was seemingly willing to kill millions. And yet, for the short amount of time I’d known him, he’d been smiling, charismatic, friendly.

What else lurked within the depths of his soul? Just how far was he willing to go?

“He’s not our man,” Amaline said. “You can see it in his eyes. He won’t commit.”

“Amaline, please. Do I need to ask you to leave the building?”

“I’m just telling you what I’m seeing. And what I’m seeing is a boy who isn’t willing to do whatever it takes.”

“You don’t know me,” I snapped, eyes blazing. Maybe she was right, maybe she wasn’t, either way, I was getting sick of her voice and her attitude.

“Oh, I know you just fine,” Amaline snarled. “I’ve known a thousand men just like you. Fellows who say they’re interested, who claim that they want a better world, but who, when it really comes down to it, when they’re given a choice, are too weak, too small-minded, to get their hands dirty.”

This time, Camillan was quiet. I wondered if that meant he was thinking the same thing.

It also occurred to me, all of a sudden, just how much danger I was in.

If this was true, and if these people were truly willing to do such a thing, there was simply no way they’d let me live unless I was in on the plan with them. Otherwise, if I decided I wasn’t interested, that I couldn’t commit, I’d be wandering around with all of this information in my head. It could jeopardize their plan.

They wouldn’t let that happen.

So. In that regard, I had little choice.

Agree to their plan or die.

Assuming that they could kill me. What were the chances that I could make their skeletons explode out of their bodies before they could draw a knife fast enough to slit my throat?

No way of knowing until it came to that.

But I didn’t want it to come to that.

Three million was a lot of people. But on the scale of the Autarchy, and next to the sheer number of people in the world, and who were bound to come into the world in the future, was it really so crazy?

I asked myself this: was I willing to kill one innocent to save a hundred?

The answer, for me, as I was sure it was for most, was yes.

And if the answer was yes, wouldn’t it still be yes if I scaled that up by a thousandfold, even a millionfold?

“I’ll do it,” I said. “I’m willing. I just needed to know more.”

Camillan looked skeptical, as though all of my questions had caused him to doubt me utterly.

“Son,” Camillan said gently, “the deaths of three million people is no small thing.”

“I definitely needed you to tell me that,” I said, venom entering my voice. “I’m not a fucking fool. Obviously, three million dead is significant. What are the chances that the explosion will kill the Autarch as well, eliminating the problem entirely?”

“It’s certainly possible,” said Camillan, “although, considering the power of the Autarch, it’s not something I want to count on. At the very least, I want an alternate plan.”

“I am your alternate plan,” I said, holding out my arms. “This is why you need me. If three million are killed, and I am close…” I remembered what it felt like to consume that soldier’s soul back on the road. The swelling sense of power inside of me. I could still feel the soul now, swimming around inside of me, its soul-essence bleeding into my very being, infusing me with strength that wasn’t rightfully mine.

What would it be like to eat three million souls all at once?

The thought terrified me. Was it even possible? Could I lose myself in the process?

One thing was certain, however. If I could do it, if I could absorb the power of three million dead…

Autarch Marak would stand no chance against me.

I would eat him whole. I would save the Autarchy, and perhaps the world.