A Ladder of Lies

By F. W. Looms

Thrust into the fallout of a war that secured humanity as the great-race of Zecharia, unlikely paths align in this occult-inspired tale of life and death during the twilight years of planet Tiamat. Follow the stories of those struggling to find their place in a world steeped in shadowy secret societies, grand conspiracies, and lost faith: A father and son mourn the loss of their wife and mother by filling the void with military service. Parents exiled from a far-away land strike an unholy bargain. And a faceless refugee with the power to heal finds himself mysteriously tied to a young woman genetically engineered for war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: F. W. Looms
• Release date: Apr 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985979404

Book preview

Preface

Enter, Apprentice, and have no fear in this place. Everything is as it should be.

The harvester has returned, you’re certain?

Do you doubt the Book of the Ladder, Ser Skrivseth?

No, my Kro, of course not. It’s just… it’s been so long since—

The Doomwardens have discovered a temple hidden within Mount Pyrapik. Locals whisper of monks, unnatural magic, and a being with four arms.

Is it possible the Volsha are here, on Zecharia?

It was only a matter of time before they managed to cross the ocean. The questions now are: How long have they been here? Why did we not know sooner? And to what extent has their influence reached?

If the harvester has not yet realized its true purpose, perhaps there is time to alter course.

We cannot escape the eye of the Eloah forever. And with the elders gone, our future remains uncertain. Still, we must do everything within our power to delay them until the Drachinah is ready to fulfill her role.

What is your will?

Prepare the Special Activities Division for an assault on the mountain temple. Our Riveters will not question action taken against deserters of the Union. Should the Volsha reveal themselves, it will only bolster the need for Human brotherhood. While our soldiers secure the temple perimeter, you will assist the Doomwardens by penetrating the inner sanctum. Find the child, eviscerate it. As always, the secrecy of our true purpose is paramount. Leave no witnesses.

Understood. The Doomwardens will remain as shadows until needed. I know just the man to command the spear.

Do not underestimate the severity of this task, ‘Grand Steward’. I may still be weak, but I am far from powerless. Return successful, or do not return at all.

Your will, my fist. Glory to the Golos.

Glory to the Golos.

1

Chapter 1

Thas Kelvid watched his son play with toy soldiers next to the unmarked tomb of his mother. They looked like miniature versions of the riveters he had served with only solar-cycles before, armored from head to toe, belching fire and fury like walking furnaces. In his son’s vision of war, the riveters crushed the invading insect swarm with ease. Kelvid knew it hadn’t been so, having barely escaped with his life more times than he cared to remember. He wouldn’t dare tell the boy of the horrors he witnessed firsthand. The network of scars across his face spoke for themselves. The Steam-Swarm Struggle lived on only in the imaginations of children and as phantasms to those who lived that terrible reality. He was grateful the sacrifices his brothers made meant his son would live in a world where war was waged only through figurines.

Though the great war had been won, it was at no small cost. Swathes of Zecharia, once sprawling with fertile soil and vibrant flora, now sat charred and barren. Lesser-races had been rendered nearly extinct, with those who survived displaced to foreign borders to rebuild what remained of their pitiful cultures. Humanity had grown to be the new Great-Race on planet Tiamat. But, as all rulers are quick to realize, to capture a beast is one thing, to have it eat from your hand is another. A reshaping of the new world was underway, and this time Humans were holding the leash.

It is remarkable how few women have the honor of lying in Mortgarde. But then, Karin was a remarkable woman, a tall, hairless man spoke as he exited the tomb.

A smallish, rat-faced man skittered up, handed the uniformed man a napkin, and pointed at his mouth. Ser Skrivseth, you’re bleeding.

The hairless one dabbed the cloth against his thin lip before handing it back to the servant. She was an exceptional agent, whose love for country was rivaled only by the love of her family.

Kelvid looked at the well-manicured gardens surrounding the cemetery city and listened on distant birdsong. "Karin always loved nature’s splendor. The birds don’t fly in Iconogolos anymore if you haven’t noticed. She hated living in that city. But she loved what it stood for."

And we now stand for her, though it’s a shame we cannot tell the nation of her service to the Golos Union. One day her legend will be known.

It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think— the only ones who get to enjoy the view here, can’t. The widower paused a moment before releasing out a sigh. After all the combat with the Ts’be’tsi, the hellscape of acid baths and shrapnel showers, it never once occurred she could pass before I would.

Skrivseth placed a gloved hand upon Kelvid’s shoulder. I hope your hour of vengeance comes soon, old friend, but I fear it won’t be today. We struggle against the swarm no longer, but the Great Work is still underway, and the Union requires your service once more.

Kelvid looked over at his son and grit his teeth. The boy was now inspecting statues of fallen soldiers and reading plaques of their heroic deeds. I’ve just lost my wife— Kaza, his mother. I should be here for him.

Without missing a beat, the Grand Steward continued his message, Our spies tell us there is a sect of religious fanatics, far to the east, living upon Mount Pyrapik. Disconcerting enough as that is, there are whispers of a secret chamber beneath the temple they’ve erected. It may be they are stockpiling weapons or planning an insurrection. We are to act quickly, remove this cancer before it spreads, and uncover what they’re hiding.

Kelvid lowered his head. Surely you can find another commander to squash a small group of zealots. It’s a miracle they’re able to survive out there at all.

Skrivseth’s voice sharpened, Miracles aren’t real, Kelvid, sedition is. The orders come directly from the Elu themselves. This mission requires sophistication, coordination, and subtlety. With Karin’s untimely passing and Pike’s betrayal, I now turn to you for strength in leadership.

After a moment of no response, the hairless one turned his attention to Kelvid’s son. Do this for me, and I will personally see to it Kaza bypasses the prerequisite roster and is admitted into the Golos Academy of Military Arts. We both know he wants nothing more than to follow in the footsteps of his father.

Kelvid shot a look of skepticism at Skrivseth.

I am well aware of his… condition. You know he would never be admitted any other way.

Humanity narrowly won against the Ts’be’tsi, and now we are to hunt down our kind. Fanatics or not, they’re still Human, Kelvid retorted.

Skrivseth’s eyes glossed over. I don’t like the idea any more than you, but the Elu has declared religion to be detrimental to the harmony of mankind. We must remain vigilant to protect our youth against societal poisons.

Kelvid thought for a moment before responding. The leftovers of the swarm, Foedorov’s federation of separatists, increasingly common skirmishes with the lesser-races, and now religious rebels. Will our children ever know a world of peace?

Even though the world owes us their existence, there will always be those of the opinion we should not be allowed to govern by our moral standards, Thas. That we not be afforded the ability to expand the fraternal brotherhood of mankind as we will it. It is only a matter of time before they organize and move against our Union. We must remind all who oppose us that we alone are the masters of our destiny, and we shall never kneel before impotent kings and dead gods!

Boy! Kelvid called out.

Kaza ran to his father and offered a salute with his sole arm. Sir!

Kelvid knelt beside his son and placed his hands on his shoulders. I have a mission for you, young man. Grand Steward Skrivseth and I need to deal with some dangerous people so they won’t be able to hurt us.

You’re leaving me too? Tears welled in the boy’s eyes despite his efforts not to show emotion.

I don’t want to, trust me, but it is my duty both as a soldier and a father to protect you. I should only be out a few days. While I’m gone, you are going to visit the military academy.

Your father is a great man, Kaza, Skrivseth interjected. A hero of the Golos Union, a veteran of the Steam-Swarm Struggle, Commander of our Advanced Tactics Regiment. Don’t you want to be a Riveter like him when you grow up?

Kaza’s eyes lit up. Yes Sir— more than anything! I even memorized the Riveter’s Oath!

Is that so? Skrivseth smiled with sharp teeth. Speak the words.

The young man’s posture became rigid. His hand reached across his chest just below his left shoulder and formed a ring between his thumb and index finger. The words flowed from his lips with authority:

I am a Riveter.

I am a rivet in the world’s most fearsome fighting machine.

I am the apex of evolutionary survival.

I will maintain my body as I maintain my arms and armor.

My ancestors fought and died so I may live and fight.

I will not disgrace them.

The weight of Humanity’s future rests upon my shoulders.

I will not accept defeat.

My resolve is strong as steel, my courage tempered by fire.

I will never retreat.

I am a Riveter.

I will not rest until my body lies in Mortgarde.

Well done, Kaza! I have no doubt you will make a fine soldier one day, Skrivseth replied, impressed with the young man’s patriotism.

How long until we are mission-ready? Kelvid asked.

The Special Activities Division is already on standby and waiting for your charge. We leave by airship as soon as you’ve finished paying your respects.

Kelvid groaned. You know I hate flying. It’s unnatural.

Unnatural? Like that abomination you call a mustache! Skrivseth jested. Can you even eat with that thing, or does it eat for you?

After a shared laugh, Thas Kelvid paid his final respects to his wife and said goodbye to his son.

Grand Steward Skrivseth directed him toward a dirigible hovering in the distance. As they approached the flying fortress, its silhouette made it appear as if it were a sky-borne whale, ready to swim among the wispy clouds of dusk.

I see no moon rising over the horizon. We’ve got a few long, nights ahead of us, the commander noted.

And yet, I can already see the Golden Dawn. Skrivseth smiled with bleached-white teeth. Come, it’s time I show you something.

Kelvid was led into the underbelly of the airship through a maze of steel framework and machinery. Two of Skrivseth’s guards stood in front of a sealed chamber door. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought them to be the most menacing statues he had ever seen.

Word of what you see behind these doors cannot leave this ship, do you understand?

You of all people should know I am well-versed in silence, Kelvid replied.

The corners of Skrivseth’s eyes creased as he smirked. I can assure you this is unlike anything you have ever seen before.

The steward motioned for his sentries to lower their guard and unseal the heavy doors. As they opened, a wave of frigid air spilled from the room. Despite the heat of the aircraft machinery surrounding them, breath suddenly rolled from their mouths like cigar smoke. Through the cold fog, Kelvid saw what appeared to be a naked woman, chained to the floor by her feet, and to the ceiling by her four arms. Lithe in frame, alien in appearance, she raised her head and looked to the men through blood-soaked hair that ran past the length of her face and covered the subtle mounds of her chest. She then lashed out, baring sharp teeth, and jostled the restraints.

Kelvid’s eyes widened with shock. By the denied, Skrivseth, what am I looking at?

Enough of the theatrics. Remove the crystals from the room, the Grand Steward ordered.

Thas glimpsed at two large, horn-shaped crystals, smeared in blood, being held in a jeweler’s box by one of the sentries. It became apparent to him they had been forcefully removed from the woman’s head. Multifaceted with prismatic light, they hummed as if trying to speak through vibration. He found himself almost hypnotized by the frequency until the box was closed and removed from the proximity. Out of reach of the crystals, the room began to warm, and the woman retreated into a position of submission. Her eyes, wide with fear, were shaped like hapfel leaves angling slightly from the tips of her knife-like ears toward her flattened nose.

Through full lips she uttered words Thas thought no one knew and yet when Skrivseth mimicked her speech, her eyes shifted toward him.

Stand. Tell us your name, the Grand Steward ordered.

To Kelvid’s surprise, the creature complied. Even though Skrivseth stood unnaturally tall, the captive stood eye-to-eye and looked him in the face.

Briale, she answered.

She understands our language? Kelvid asked.

Yes, she does. She understands much more than she lets on.

What is she, an unknown lesser-race? I’ve never seen anything like her.

Skrivseth ran his fingers across her sharp jawline. Go on, tell him what you are, Briale.

I am Volsha, she replied as she recoiled from his touch.

"Volsha? Thas echoed, still in shock. And you’re familiar with these creatures?"

Briale shifted her gaze to Kelvid and smirked. If your servant doesn’t know what I am, does he know what master he serves?

How did you cross the ocean? Skrivseth interjected, ignoring the question.

Simple. We walked, she answered plainly.

Impossible, the Noha would never allow you a safe passage.

The Noha control the seas; we parted them.

Skrivseth looked at her in disbelief, yet here she stood. Even with magic, it would take-

"Thousands," Briale finished for him.

Skrivseth’s face flushed of color at her implication.

What is she talking about, Skrivseth? What is going on? Kelvid asked, dumbfounded at the revelation.

The Grand Steward unsheathed a dagger and held the serpentine blade against the Volsha’s throat. How long have your people been on Zecharia?

Sweat stung as the blade slowly sliced into Briale’s skin. We sought refuge on your shores nearly ten season-cycles ago, after we were forced to leave our lands behind. A ritual called the Sanguine Sacrament spurred a civil war and reduced our male population to mere hundreds. Arcantas is now our Seeress and Apostlica is where we call home.

So, Arcantas has come to try and finish the job, Skrivseth noted.

She believes your kind are bloodthirsty brutes, no better than the swarm they slew, but I have met with Humans and seen their potential. I have ventured on my own to prove Arcantas wrong, to seek peace.

"Your people hid on our shores for ten season-cycles, watched idly as we were slaughtered by the Ts’be’tsi, and now wish to speak of peace?"

Beyond the horrors my people faced at the hands of our sisters, the exodus cost us tremendous resources. We simply could not help at the time. But the crystals in Apostlica are regrowing, and our people flourish with them, Briale replied.

What could compel a people to slaughter all of their men? Kelvid interrupted.

The Sanguine Sacrament is an ancient blood-letting ritual, Skrivseth responded.

It’s more than merely a blood-letting ritual— you of all know that. It means—

I do, Skrivseth replied coldly.

Briale suddenly slumped forward, life pouring through the puncture in her neck like a faucet.

It means we are out of time.

The Grand Steward ran the blood-soaked blade across his tongue.

To Kelvid’s surprise, a calm expression of serenity fell across the Volsha’s face. As her vision drained to the infinite darkness she spoke, "When I release, you embrace. Where I end, you begin… Soon."

2

Chapter 2

Within, a spark stirred inside her secret sanctum. Without, a violent eruption penetrated the walls of Lloni. In the courtyard of the temple, cries of anguish followed deafening booms of cannon fire. Earthen spires long-conquered by exotic vegetation crumbled to the ground. Explosions shot jagged shrapnel across the grassy courtyard, ripping through the congregation’s robes and gnawing on their flesh. The early morning siege had caught the School of Six Paths by surprise. Their ranks, and the tranquil forest surrounding the sacred mountain, had been cleaved open under the wrath of the Golos war machine. As the morning sun ushered in a new day, ceremony dictated the Scholars of the Six gather in mass meditation and offer thanks to a higher power of their choosing. Now, bodies of men, women, and children alike laid strewn across the temple grounds, prostrated unwillingly before a deity of death.

Skrivseth’s beady eyes refused to stray from the carnage unfolding before him. He stood in a hypnotic state as if relishing the slaughter. His voice shook with thunder as he spoke to the dead and dying, A great service has been provided to you, zealots! On this day you become one with the god you love so dearly!

While satisfied with the execution of the ambush, Kelvid grimaced at the sight of dying women and children. We were told the non-combatants would be evacuated and detained for reeducation. The veins of my men do not run with blood so cold that it warms to the slaughter of innocents— exiles or not.

A riveter approached the two from the front and interrupted the conversation. His mechanical armor hissed and clanked as he ran up and offered a salute. The inner-walls have been breached. We await your orders Commander Kelvid.

The Grand Steward turned and placed a hand upon the commander’s shoulder. We are the vehicle for progress, Thas, and the treads of glory continue to press in our favor. A new order of the ages awaits us. That world you imagined back in Mortgarde— a world free from the petty squabbles of religion, free from intellectually inferior races protesting our rightful place as rulers of this planet— is at our fingertips! A world united under the brotherhood of Humanity, a world of peace and prosperity for those with a will strong enough to endure through difficult decisions. These people have adopted a philosophy anathema to our vision. By refusing the Union, they have already voted, thereby willfully declared themselves our enemy. They chose this fate, not us.

Commander Kelvid pushed aside any questions of morality churning in his heart and turned his attention to the soldier. A difficult decision was made.

No prisoners.

* * *

Master Rhiam’s vision refocused, only to be met with an awful ringing sound ricocheting between his eardrums. The initial blast had narrowly missed him, but the force of the explosion sent his body skidding across the courtyard. As he returned to his feet, the old mason began to pick clumps of dirt from his long, forked goatee only to see splinters of shrapnel embedded in his muscular forearms. After brushing off what he could from the tattered robes draped around his powerful body, the elder turned to the hole created by the blast. Beyond the courtyard, he spotted more ranks of mechanized soldiers under the shade provided by the exotic canopy of the Drasilweald. Above the treeline, a massive airship loomed with fuel lines of individually-manned helipod drone-ships dangling beneath it like umbilical cords.

I thought the smell of burning roses lingered in the air this morning, Rhiam recalled how the odor of the machine’s fuel, Attara, got its name.

Master Rhiam, watch out! a pupil cried out. The young man threw himself in front of the elder, catching a bullet with his chest that sent him spiraling to the ground with a ribbon of blood.

Aud, no! Rhiam screamed in disbelief and rushed to the fallen youth, just in time to see the life fade from his eyes.

Following the line of fire from the wounded pupil’s blossomed chest, Rhiam targeted a marksman reloading his long-barreled rifle from a helipod. The elder focused all his energy as the soldier took aim and clapped his hands together. The prayer beads around his wrists clacked together as his palms connected, but the sound was drowned out by the deafening boom of a thunderclap. A wave of pressurized air snapped from the Master’s hands toward the sniper’s vehicle, causing it to recoil chaotically. The rotors chopped into the fuel line, spilling attara like a severed artery, and sent the pod crashing to the ground.

Golos riveters are storming our flanks— we’re surrounded! Another voice relayed in the distance.

Monks from deeper within the temple rushed outside to aid their brothers. Some armed with simple farmhand tools, others with swords and spears. The more advanced acolytes chanted to conjure arcane magics. Spells of fire, ice, and lightning charged from one direction as red-hot rounds zipped from another.

Skyscribes— call forth the howling winds and pray the elements hear our plea! Rhiam shouted.

Under a hail of glowing gunfire, the mystics began to move their bodies in a routine mastered over solar-cycles of rigorous ritual. They drew symbols in the air with their hands, materializing ribbons of energy that traced behind their motions with a soft glow. With synchronized effort, the sky darkened as ominous clouds formed above. Treetops rocked back and forth as violent winds kicked up loose dirt at the invaders. The low-hanging helipods flailed about against the gale until they were forced to withdraw back into the airship. Bolts of lightning shot downward from the maelstrom and coiled through riveter after riveter in a blinding chain that sapped the life from within their mechanical shells.

A volley of cannon fire cascaded upon the magicians from the airship, reducing their numbers by handfuls with each blast and interrupted their channeling.

Through a breach in the inner-walls two men entered the temple grounds.

We have been generous in allowing this temple to operate on our land for so long. I give you an opportunity now to repay us for our generosity. Tell me where the Volshan child is and I’ll consider allowing you to live the rest of your lives within the Katorgawerks! Skrivseth shouted.

There is nobody here by such a name— you kill only your kind, Rhiam replied.

Ah, Master Rhiam, I had heard you were dead! I should have known a man who treats his body as his temple would not die so easily by the hands of three ruffians. You always were a warrior at heart, shame you wasted your talents on… building. Let’s see how strong your foundation truly is. Skrivseth motioned for action.

Commander Kelvid raised his pistol and aimed between the six rings tattooed upon the mason’s forehead. As his finger squeezed the trigger, a column of rock and soil punched into his chest and knocked him back through the outer wall.

If death is what you seek, snake, then death is what I shall deliver. Let’s see how your head fares without its tail. At the master’s command walls of earth erupted around the two, creating a barrier separating the Grand Steward from the army behind him.

Another group of robed monks ran from the temple, eager to defend their mentor, but he motioned for them to stop.

His aura is far too strong. Assist any survivors in escape. I will hold him back!

The Grand Steward stepped forward and removed his peaked cap, allowing a view of his hairless head. Horizontal lines ran across his face and from the corners of his cold, determined eyes. His jawline was as sharp as the knife on his belt. He rested the hat atop the head of the young man who had saved Rhiam’s life moments earlier.

What a shame! Skrivseth laughed haughtily as he looked at the body. He would have made a handsome soldier!

Rhiam ignored the taunt and began to display something between a dance and a kata. Whichever it was, it failed to impress.

Your style is very flowery, but it shows you place far too much an emphasis on art, Skrivseth mocked before charging at the warrior-scholar with a flurry of kicks and punches that connected with inhuman force. And not enough on application.

Fires raged throughout the grounds and rain transformed the ground to mud as the two clashed. With each blow Master Rhiam landed, the Grand Steward seemed to be able to strike three in retaliation. He was uncannily fast, landing precision strikes like a viper. Every attempt the old mason had at conjuring an element was dampened by the sheer willpower of his opponent. Despite devoting decades to strengthening his mind and body, the Master was being overwhelmed.

Then what they say about the Elu is true, isn’t it? Rhiam asked while trying to catch his breath.

Skrivseth smiled, revealing a brilliant set of teeth with almost fang-like canines.

Overhead, a shell screeched across the sky and slammed into a spire on the verge of collapse. With a thundering rumble, the structure crashed into the courtyard, narrowly missing both combatants.

The Grand Steward turned his attention back to his challenger, but the Master had used the distraction to slip away. I can taste the salt of your fear. The hunt has only just begun! he shouted on the verge of ecstasy before licking the blood off his fists.

Rhiam darted through the narrow hallways inside the temple and down a hidden staircase carved from the bedrock. In the network of tunnels beneath the mountain temple he searched for any remaining survivors as he made his escape. When he reached a fork, he wiped the blood and grit from his brow and proceeded down the right-hand path. Moments later, a set of hands clasped over his mouth and pulled him into a hidden antechamber.

Quiet your lungs, old goat, or you’ll get us caught, a gruff voice uttered through a long, graying beard. Rhiam turned his attention to the voice. The man’s hair, or what little remained around the bald spot atop his head, was a matted mess, and his body, despite being powerful at one time, was well past its prime.

Master Pike, you’re alive!

The two exchanged an embrace, overjoyed to see each other.

Master Rhiam, I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with— Pike’s words were cut off.

I’m glad to know you’re safe, my brother, what of the others? Rhiam asked.

Pike’s smile faded. I’m afraid only a handful of us remain, but some students were able to escape through the tunnels.

And what of Grandmaster Molay?

I am here, a voice announced from the shadows.

A man with flowing white hair and a forked beard stepped into the light.

Grandmaster! The two elders bowed their heads.

A dark night of the soul looms over us this morning, my brothers. I am glad to see you safe. Unfortunately, today must be the last we see of each other, perhaps for good. For the safety of our cause, I am disbanding the order. Any survivors have been instructed to assimilate into the society of their choosing and forego our customs in public.

Temples can be rebuilt. Our order will endure as long as we do, Rhiam stated. The Golos claim we are hiding someone, a child named Volsha, and is why they attack us now.

It is not a person, but a race of people, Molay revealed, to the confusion of both Masters.

"We have