Chapter 1: Falling Away
"The Threshold is everywhere," the pompous priest whispered. "I can show you the way there, the first time. But only the Lord Marshal can cross it alive."
"If the threshold is everywhere, how come I gotta keep feedin' a garrison guarding a rift out in the middle of nowhere?" Riddick snapped back.
The Priest smiled, condescendingly. "That is the greater passage, for all those who have not truly transcended. But for you, my lord, the true path calls. The threshold is everywhere. Otherwise how could the holy dead find their way?"
Riddick snorted. Transcendence. Right. Like I believe you guys are really closet Buddhists. "Only the Lord Marshal can pass it alive. How do I come back?"
The man shook his head. "The Threshold is everywhere. Just . . . do. If you cannot, you are no Lord Marshal."
"I killed Zhylaw. Why didn't he come back?"
"Once you killed him, he was no longer the Lord Marshal."
Riddick's eyes narrowed. "Damned convenient faith you've got there." A flash of horror passed the priest's face, quickly stilled. "What if I wanna bring someone back with me?"
The priest – the Propolos, Riddick remembered at last, damn the Necros and their titles - shook his head. "It's not -" He broke off. "Traditionally, Lord Marshals have not taken the holy dead from the bliss of the Underverse. It has been done, to punish. Few are eager to leave the bliss of the other world. Whom do you hate so much, my lord, that you would deny them eternal bliss?"
Who do I hate so much? The question actually stopped him. He had flashes of hate. Abu. Zhylaw. Even her, when he'd found out she'd thrown five years of his life away, sitting in an ice cave for nothing at all. But he never hated her for long. Silly to hate a little kid. He shrugged the question off. "What if I want to?"
The Propolos nodded, eyes hooded. "Blood. You will be walking flesh in a different world. Give the one you want to take your blood to drink. Blood is life. Sharing it will create a bond that will let you take him to the next world. Keep hold of him. When you pass the threshold, he will pass in you, sheltered. When you're ready, the Quasi-Dead will build a body, reincorporate the soul."
Great, now I gotta wade through hungry ghosts to get the kid back. "How do I find her?"
The man's elderly eyes narrowed. "That, I do not know," he whispered, suddenly disapproving. 'Cause bringing a man back to torture is just fine, but bringing a girl back 'cause I love her is right out. Fuckers. "Come back to the Hierothesion when you are ready for your apotheosis. I will show you the way."
0o0
No one knew more than that. They said lots. The Lord Marshals loved to talk, and if there was no one around to talk at, they talked to their diaries. On and on. Bliss of the other world, boundless compassion and all that shit. Nothing useful. Except Covu said that the Underverse was a land of will. One of his old soldier buddies nicknamed him the unconquerable will, once upon a time.
The priests said he had to go to be the Lord Marshal. Fuck the priests. The army was happy with him, as long as he did his job. That's where the power was. The dark rumors that time traveled differently there also made him hesitate. Gone too long, and someone else would make that army happy, he had no doubt of that.
Lots of opportunity to make the army happy. There was always a battle to be fought, always a victory to solidify, always something to fuck up, always something to kill. That was enough, during the day. But his nights were full of Jack, dying, Jack, underneath some merc, some soldier, some prisoner, some monster, screaming, bleeding. The little girl he loved. The little girl who died for him. The little girl he missed so much he ached.
The little girl who might at last be happy. Everyone swore that the Underverse was full of happy puppies and rainbows and shit. How could he fuck that up for her? He went, he'd find her. Once upon a time, he'd walked away from her on a happy world. He didn't think he could do that again.
And why should I? Once upon a time, he had answers for that.
He'd even found a girl. Daughter of a queen, barely too young and far too scrawny for conversion. The queen had begged for her daughter's life, and the girl looked so much like Jack had, the day he left her on New Mecca, he'd agreed. Took her to his rooms, not intending to do anything but keep her safe until she was old enough and big enough for a conversion chamber.
That had lasted a day. She was beautiful and grateful and alive and willing and sinking himself into her made that Jack shaped ache fade. That lasted exactly three weeks more. The day he finished destroying her world he came back to find her corpse, swinging from the ceiling. He cut her down gently, hid the rope, let everyone believe he'd strangled her during sex. Everyone was ready to believe that.
That night, he dreamed of a grave yard. He'd been there before, many times. A woman walked through the graves and smiled at him, sadly.
"Shirah," he said, remembering her name. "Did I make you happy? You told me to speak for the dead. How'm I doin'?" He was venomously angry with her.
"My dear boy. Though much is taken, much abides." She stroked a tombstone. He stared at it. The name was writhing in the rock like snakes mating. He couldn't read it.
"You didn't answer my question."
"The one you didn't ask? She's just a girl. She's not for you."
"Why the fuck not?"
Shirah didn't answer. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and spun in time to see a pack of wolves run down a deer. He watched them sink their teeth into her heaving sides, he was one of them sinking himself into the trembling flesh. A big wolf bitch, her teats engorged, snarled a challenge in his face. The message was clear. Not for you. He woke drenched in sweat, alone. After that, the Jack shaped ache was back with a vengeance and the reasons for not dragging her out of paradise stopped being persuasive.
The Propolos showed him the way, the truth, the light, the threshold. It was there, always already at his feet, a shining veil lighting a dark place. All he had to do was step, and he'd be in the Underverse. The Necromonger paradise. The fuckers.
He took the step.
There was nothing under his feet. He was falling, falling, falling, fuck it. I'm done. I am the unconquerable will. Let there be ground. And ground was.
He seemed to be standing in a desert. The lone and level sands stretched far away everywhere.
He started walking toward the horizon. After nine steps through the shifting sands, he thought, fuck this. I'm done bein' tested. He fixed her image in his mind. I want her.Everything shifted.
He was standing in front of military fort on a grassy plain. Sentries stiffened at his approach. No one opposed him as he shoved the archaic doors open, walked down a narrow hallway into a courtyard.
Zhylaw was waiting. Bowed deeply, ironically. "Welcome at last to the Underverse, Lord Marshal Riddick."
Riddick, of course, did not bow. "I want Kyra," he said, flatly.
Zhylaw's lips twitched. "Ah. Our bit of sunshine. Come with me." Riddick followed, grudgingly, through a maze of stone into what looked like a banquet hall. Zhylaw sat himself down on a raised chair with a sigh. Nodded at a heavily armed man. "Irgun. Bring . . . the Lord Marshal's special friend." The man nodded, marched off. Riddick watched him with growing irritation.
"Didn't I kill him?"
"Yes. Your first Necromonger?" Riddick shrugged, not remembering. "Would you like something to eat, my Lord Marshal?"
"No. Just the girl. Then I'll be out of your hair."
"Oh, you can't leave so soon! I have so much to share with you."
"Not used to talking to people I've killed."
"A thing to get used to it, if you're taking her back with you."
Riddick shook his head slowly. "No. You killed her. Not me."
Zhylaw laughed. "Keep telling yourself that, son." Irgun returned with a shapeless armload, wrapped carelessly in a blanket. He dumped it on the table. It fell with a thud and a clank of chains.
Jack. Shit. Riddick moved close, unwrapped the blanket. She was bruised, hands chained behind her. When she saw him, her green eyes filled with bitter tears, but she said nothing. Not Jack. Kyra. Right.
"She lights my days and warms my nights. And you want to take my sunshine away," Zhylaw said easily. "Interesting."
Riddick's stomach hurt. They were lying. She's not happy here. Bliss and boundless compassion my ass. "What the fuck have you been doing to her?"
"Oh . . . we've had a lovely time. She's really helped me to come to terms with my death at your hands," Zhylaw said mildly. "Are you sure you want to take her back? Let me tell you what will happen, my son." Riddick glowered. Zhylaw continued on, unperturbed. "You'll bring her back inside you like a pregnant woman. You'll take her to the Hierothesion. The Quasies will build a body for her –any body you want. Well. Almost. Whatever you want, she'll be perfectly, completely new, virginal, unscarred – and weak. A body that has never bled, never taken a breath, never taken a step, never taken a blow.
"The Necromongers do not respect weakness, my son. At best, she'll still be a plaything for the strongest. At worst, she'll miss being dead with me."
"I'm the strongest. And I still got her real body."
Zhylaw drummed his fingers on his throne. "Well, that's never been tried." Then he nodded. "And when she dies, she comes back to me. Oh, yes. This is delicious. The woman who helped kill me. In my city. Completely helpless."
Riddick started to growl. Zhylaw made an amused gesture.
"Take her. With my blessing. This will be very entertaining. Send her back when you're done with her. And come back any time."
Riddick didn't bother to ask for the keys to the manacles. Cut his own arm, pressed her lips to the blood like a mother would press a newborn to her breast. After a moment, he could feel her begin to suck, cautiously, her bitter eyes flickering up to him. After he tired of the sensation, he picked her up, blood running down his arm, dripping onto the stone floor. Remembered Propolos's words. The threshold is everywhere. Reached into himself, stepped backwards, and was back in the world.
There was a dead body in the room. The Propolos was dead. Only then did Riddick understand, dimly. Only the Lord Marshal can cross it alive. Only me.
His arm was still dripping blood on the floor and something was burning inside of him. Only me. And what I bring back. The two junior purifiers playing sacred witnesses fell to their knees in front of him, awed. Today was not the day to finish bringing her back, not with prying eyes. He pulled his sleeve over his bleeding arm, stepped over the body and out of the Hierothesion to confront a silent mass of Necromongers. Vaako and Toal at the front. Toal looked pinched. Vaako awed. He could feel the purifiers behind him, signaling something. The crowd fell to its knees too. I could get used to this.
"My lord?" Vaako whispered.
Riddick let his eyes play over the masses. Waiting. Waiting for him to utter the ritual phrases. As he gazed at them, they seemed to change; not men and women – mostly men – anymore, not bags of flesh but shells for swirling lights. Their souls, he realized. What Zhylaw could see. What Zhylaw could take.
What I can take.
Souls waiting for him to utter ritual phrases. He snorted. Fuck that. "I crossed. I crossed back. Anyone want a guided tour, you just lemme know." He stomped off, leaving Vaako, all gold and royal purple, to say the words for him. He could feel the man rising behind him.
"It is accomplished," he heard as he left the atrium. Accomplished. Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet.
0o0
A disembodied voice. "Why have you brought these here, Lord Marshal, Destroyer of Worlds?"
"I want her back." Riddick stared hard at the corpse he smuggled from a status tube to a temple. Stared hard. "I went to the Underverse and I brought her soul back. Now I want the rest of her. Put her back in her body. Don't tell anyone."
There were ghostly fingers in his brain.
"What you want . . ."it eased through is brain. "We will give you . . . what you want. As much . . . as we can. . . " Whatever it was speaking to him, deep down, sniggered."The body . . . is broken. But the substance will be useful." Kyra's body flashed bright enough to send Riddick staggering back, blinded. A wind started to blow through the Hierothesion. The wind was thick, damp, whirling, full of blood and pulverized bone. The wind was ripping him apart.
No, ripping him open.
Then he was open. Something stepped out.
And fell bonelessly to the ground. The whirlwind fell with her. He was whole and the air was still. Jack – Kyra – who ever the fuck she is - was at his feet, again, only naked, bloody, sobbing, laying face down on the hard floor of the Hierothesion. The body he'd brought was gone, only a slick of blood bearing witness. Not even the clothes left. The room stank of blood, her blood, the very first thing he noticed about her. It stank like his nightmares. It was absolutely intoxicating. What the fuck just happened?
Figure it out later. He crouched next to her. "Welcome back," he said, low. Touched her shoulder. She tried to pull herself away but her muscles weren't working. Her hands slipped on her own blood on the hard floor. She gulped air convulsively between sobs. He rolled her over, and she curled into fetal position, not looking at him.
"Hey kid," he tried again. She curled tighter, crying like her world had ended. This is not what I want. He rolled her onto her back. This got her to look at him, at last. The sight of him stopped her tears the way an eclipse stops the light. Tears still leaked around the edges, but her eyes were as wide as the dark side of a moon.
"Riddick?" she managed. Her voice was rough and sticky. No bitterness. Childlike. Hopeful. He smiled at her.
"Yeah, kid."
"Hurts."
"I'll take care of it. Can you walk?"
She looked at him mystified. She tried to wipe her face, missed, saw her own bloody hands, and started to cry again. He pulled her up, ignoring, for now, how his own body was reacting to this naked, bloody, sobbing girl. Ignoring the unexpected urge to undo his pants, thrust deep into her. She looked at him wonderingly, face streaked white where the tears had washed away the blood. He touched her cheek gently. Stroked the short dark curls plastered to her head by blood. She pressed into his hand, then buried her face in his chest, her own damp breasts hard against him, oblivious to what it was doing to him. He stroked her hair, blinking back his own tears.
Something hit him. This ain't Kyra.
At least not right now.
This is Jack.
Give me what I want. Oh, shit. Not the warrior. Not the embittered merc. The little girl I left on New Mecca, all grown up. He felt a surge of warmth towards the Quasi-Dead.Shit. They knew me better than I thought.
The tears were beginning to stop again. She was gazing at him with the same rapt adoration she had, once upon a time, when she really was a little girl. Zhylaw was right. She's totally helpless. As helpless as the girl I left on New Mecca. More.
"This is not what I want," he said loudly, suddenly furious at the dead for doing this. For doing what he wanted, not what he should want. She melted back into tears. Jesus, Jack, that's not what I meant.
The voices were back. "Our mistake," they was on his feet, fists clenched.
"Keep your fucking mouths shut about this," he snapped back.
He had dumped her on back on the hard floor without thinking. She gave him a horrified, heartbroken look, tried to crawl away.
"We will keep your secrets, Lord Marshal," the voices responded, almost respectfully.
This isn't what I want.
He looked down at her. He could feel his face softening.
Really.
Fuck. It's exactly what I want. He sat back down next to her, pulled her into his lap. "Jack. Jack, kid, calm down. It's okay."
"You don't want me?" she whispered.
He frowned down at her.
"Jesus, kid, I stormed the fucking gates of hell for you. Three times. Fought scary monsters and everything." Of course I want you. You're the only thing in this universe that's ever loved me. You're the only thing in this universe I've ever loved. Every good thing I've done since I met you was for you, and most of the bad.
She stared at him, her eyes painfully innocent. "I died," she whispered. "I died for you. I remember the spike sliding in. I remember realizing it was your special sweet spot. Fucking ironic. I remember it hurt. I remember bleeding . . . " her face twisted, and she looked like she was going to start the waterworks again.
They think being brought back is a punishment.
Maybe it is.
I can use this to protect her. People see me dragging a bloody, hysterical girl to the infirmary, they ain't gonna think she's the one who stabbed Zhylaw in the back. Since she's got about a zero chance of protecting herself right now, that's useful.
He stood, abruptly, pulling her up with him. Her legs didn't seem to be working and she scrambled, trying to keep her feet under her. "Come on," he snapped, pulling her along. She took one step and fell to her knees. With a muttered oath, he swung her up in his arms. She shuddered and buried her face in his chest.
She weighed nothing. More proof this wasn't Kyra. He'd had Kyra in his arms three times. Once to shove her against a wall, once to save her, once to use her as a weapon. She'd been solid, muscled. Four times. To carry her dead body to the stasis pod. This body was similar, but softer, shorter, unmuscled, delicate, almost blindingly white where the tears had washed away the blood. From what he could tell, unscarred. From what he could tell, drop dead gorgeous.
It's new. Really new. They used the body as raw material; they didn't put her back. Zhylaw was right. This body's never seen the sun. It's never been struck or stabbed or slashed –
- or kissed or fucked. Hell, it's only taken two steps and fell both times. Give me what I want. The girl I left, the girl I love, all grown up and dead and mine. He tightened his grip.
Vaako was waiting gave him a nod. Closest thing to a friend I've got. The only person he'd told what he was going to do. Vaako fell into step beside him. His eyes widened at the naked girl. "Success, my lord?"
"Not sure yet," Riddick answered, slightly too loud, slightly too bitterly. "She's not what I expected. I'm taking her to the med deck on three." The girl stared at Vaako and buried her head back in his chest, making a soft keening noise. He resisted the urge to comfort her.
"This changes things," Vaako muttered, his eyes averted.
"What?"
He pitched his voice very low. "I thought she'd be strong. Like she was. All three of us had a hand in killing Zhylaw. There's a . . . place in our beliefs for men like you and me doing that. We could accommodate a warrior woman doing that, at least one presented as the Lord Marshal's consort."
Jack's head jerked up, her eyes wide. He locked eyes with her for an instant. Looked away. "But not someone weak." Jack closed her eyes.
Vaako nodded briefly. "Especially now. There are those who would never take their shot at us who would at her. Once they figure out who she is."
Riddick nodded. Good. Me and the Purple Prince, thinking on parallel lines. Let's see where he takes it. "Whatdya think?"
"We should keep her identity to ourselves as long as we can. And she should never be alone. Heavily armed guards, all the time. Especially after - " he broke off as Jack made another keening noise. Riddick frowned down at her.
"Yeah," he said, heavily. "Take care of the guards?"
Vaako nodded. "Of course."
"Anything else?"
"Just know, there are those who think less of me for loving my wife."
Yeah, well, I'm one of them bud, Riddick thought. He said nothing as Vaako wheeled away to do whatever the fuck he was going to do. Carried Jack the rest of the way to the infirmary. Enjoyed the covertly aghast looks of hardened warriors he passed, wondering what the hell he'd done to the little girl.