Cameron Johnston - God of Broken Things

Cillian nodded and Old Gerthan picked a vicious sickle from the wall. He brought the point down through Alvarda’s skull, shearing through brain and bone and Scarrabus tendrils with unerring precision, and cut down to the soft bulge at the top of the spine.

He left the sickle embedded there, pinning the main body of the squealing, dying parasite to the table. Using tongs he cracked open the brain cavity and peered inside. I let him and Cillian get on with poking and prodding and chattering like a pair of fishwives in a gutting shack by the docks. I’d seen these bugs up close and personal and that was more than enough for me.

“You see these tendrils inside the skull?” Old Gerthan said. “They have burrowed into the base of the host’s brain. From the many head injuries I have dealt with I can say with some surety that this area controls emotion.” He buried a smaller set of tongs in the wound and tugged, making the creature squeal, though it seemed to be weakening. “Tendrils have spread from there deeper into the area that controls physical motion, and… ah yes, here – they are clustered at the front of the brain which is the seat of reason. This would be expected if these creatures control the minds of their hosts.”

He looked up at me. “Would you agree with that physical assessment, Magus Walker?”

I nodded. “I know that to be true, though the why and how of it escapes me.”

“As it does with us all,” he replied, looking back down into the wound.

Cillian chewed on her bottom lip. “And the nature of these creatures – do they breed or lay eggs? Is there some sort of queen? How do they feed?”

“Let us see what more can be gleaned.” He poked and prodded and pulled. “It seems to be connected directly into the body’s blood supply, feeding from the host. I can see no obvious sign of genitalia but that may need to wait for a more detailed investigation. If this does prove to be a sexless drone then yes, I would assume there to be some manner of queen birthing them.”

“Or they were created,” I added. “We know the Magash Mora was born through blood sorcery.”

That earned me a worried raised eyebrow from Cillian. Old Gerthan harrumphed, “Not impossible, but I detect none of the magical corruption that we sensed from that creature.”

“Are you done with your initial investigation?” Cillian asked. At his nod she scowled. “Kill it.”

I was glad when his knives split the creature from head to tail. As the Scarrabus died its final shriek made us all wince. The noise went beyond sound and made my teeth and Gift ache. There had been a hint of something that reminded me of my own magic…

“What was that?” Cillian asked.

Old Gerthan shook his head, looking most perturbed. He cut it from the host body, removing the remains with tongs held at arm’s length, and deposited it in a metal box which he then locked. “I will gather the Halcyon Order and we will have more answers for you soon. Is there anything else you require of me?”

She shook her head. “Not at the moment, Gerthan. I apologise for disrupting your sleep. I know how scarce a resource that is for you these days.”

He offered her a wan smile, and me a crafty wink. “For us all, Cillian.” He looked to me. “I wish you well with your interrogation Magus Walker.”

I inclined my head. “Good luck with yours, Councillor.” I wasn’t beyond using a bit of etiquette when it suited my purposes. I’d pissed off Cillian enough already and exhausted people made rash decisions. Besides, the old man was good people.

After he left, Cillian opened the large chest and unfurled a linen sheet to cover the body. It hadn’t even occurred to me to cover the remains of Alvarda Kernas. I didn’t really care if I was honest, what with him trying to kill me and all.

“Did you know him?” I asked. “Yes.”

She opened the door and we swapped rooms with Martain. Cillian entered first, and as I passed Martain his cold glare said everything he needed to. We had all lost loved ones to these horrors. I nodded and he stalked from the room. Martain knew my character well enough to realise that I would make it suffer. The shining hero of Black Autumn was darker than I’d given him credit for. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

The young magus was more awake and aware than I would have expected given the damage I’d done to his mind. His Gift was not strong enough to affect such swift recovery alone. Cillian removed his gag.

One side of his face twisted in a mockery of a smile. “Have you come to cut me from my vessel? Where is Old Gerthan and his cruel knives?”

Cillian and I exchanged glances. That door had been firmly shut. “How could you know that?” she demanded.

Rikkard – no, not Rikkard, that was the Scarrabus speaking – declined to answer. With Martain gone my Gift was wide open and I could sense the boy’s own mind was still a diffuse and disoriented mess. The creature was puppeteering his body.

“That’s not Rikkard,” I said, carefully slipping my feelers into his skull.

Cillian had suspected as much. “What do you want?” she demanded. “Why have you declared war on Setharis?”

Rikkard’s expression didn’t change. Did the creatures feel anything like love or hatred? I felt a sifting of memory as the Scarrabus ransacked the magus’ mind for meanings to her sounds. “War?” it said. “Humans do not declare war on ants, you exterminate them when needed. Uncontrolled human vessels are an infestation.”

I had rarely seen Cillian angry at anything other than me, but now she was brimming with cold fury. “Do you speak only for yourself or for all your kind?” I noted she did not even ask about the possibility of peace between them and us – no true Setharii would ever contemplate peace after what they had done.

“One is Scarrabus. All are Scarrabus.” “Very well. Your position is clear.” She stepped back and waved me onwards. “As you will, Edrin.” She watched with great interest.

I flexed my gloved hands and cracked the knuckles. “With pleasure. Do you know who I am, Scarrabus?”

Rikkard’s expression turned downwards in an attempt to replicate some human emotion the creature did not, could not feel. “Tyrant,” it said. “Locked away in darkness.” A clang of steel gate echoing from a tortured human throat made me shudder. “A half-mad and tainted aberration.”

That reminder of my past unnerved me for a moment, and then anger rose. I struck deep into Rikkard’s mind. His Gift instinctively rejected my power but I smashed through into his muddled human mind and slammed into the Scarrabus. I was ready for it this time, and didn’t flinch back in shock. Instead I carefully mapped all the remaining routes where it influenced its host, the slimy tendrils buried through folds of brain to merge with human flesh. Focussing on one spot I let my magic build heat. My inborn talent was mind magic, with some small learned skill with body magics and aeromancy, but any Collegiate initiate powerful enough to join the Arcanum proper could learn to light a candle. Inside a human brain it required much, much less effort to cause damage. All I needed was incredible precision or I’d leave Rikkard drooling on the floor when this was done with.

The Scarrabus jerked that tendril back, the end a blackened stump. I felt a ghost of something very much like human pain. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt? I promise to do worse next time.” I grinned and burned off several more, noting the physical impulses it sent to withdraw the tendrils.

“You cannot save this vessel,” it said, slurring the words.

I laughed at it. “If you know about me being locked away in the darkness then you must also know what type of man I am.” I spat in its host’s face. “I’m half-mad, remember?”