Prologue
Ripples and waves of light danced on the roof of the cave, the churning maelstrom of the glowing pool beneath reflected on the centuries-old rock worn smooth by the passage of time and water. The boy with the sword stopped in the entrance, mouth agape at this wonder. The king watched, his chin resting on his fist. He might have been a statue, sitting on his broken throne in front of the pool, bathed in the shifting light. The polished obsidian rock from which the throne was carved mirrored that light like a living thing, and he was a shadow, a void, an empty space upon the seat. Outside, the roses adorning the approach had all burned days ago, incinerated by the magical wildfires which had consumed the valley beyond the cave. Only the thorns remained, black and brittle. The boy had cut his way through them.
It came down to this. All his power, all his might, armies born of magic to command, godhood coursing through his veins – and a boy with a sword come to stop him.
And the boy would stop him. He had to. He had to stop them all. It was the only hope left. The Hollow King had been praying for someone, anyone, who could do that. But this?
He didn’t look like a hero. He definitely didn’t look like a would-be king.
The Maegen – that source of magic, light and dark, that place where anything was possible – stole the intruder’s breath, making the king forget why he was here in hiding. He could kill the boy now, in this moment. No one would ever know. The boy probably wouldn’t know either.
It would be quick. He could make it quick.
But the Hollow King didn’t move. To do it was to forsake everything he was, everything he could be. To do it was to fall. He sat as still as stone.
‘Kill him,’ the Little Goddess whispered from behind his throne. Her voice was sweet and beguiling, but her words were terrible. He heard the echo of otherness in her, the Deep Dark, that from which he really fled. That which was infecting all the mageborn and driving them to acts too terrible to continue.
‘Kill him, or let us have him,’ the Deep Dark whispered from behind her.
His unholy brethren rose like a tangle of briars, ready to consume him, to devour the world, to take the boy and tear him limb from limb.
The Hollow King wasn’t fooled. He’d resisted them this long. Just a little longer. He had to. He held up his hand and forced them back into the shadows. It was harder every time.
The strain must have shown on his face. The boy gazed at him with dark eyes, black like the polished obsidian on which the king sat. But not cold. There was compassion there. Warmth.
‘You’re him, aren’t you?’ he said. Not the voice of a warrior. The Hollow King had no knowledge of human lives, of human years or ages. They were new to him, living brief lives and vanishing. Like mayflies. But he recognised youth. And innocence.
It burned in the back of his infinite mind. All the ways he could deal with this upstart, this irritant, this usurper…
Ah… the Deep Dark was ever cunning. Whispers, voices that sounded like his own thoughts, murmurs that could seduce and beguile.
‘They told me you were a monster,’ the boy said.
He didn’t have much of a survival instinct. How could he? Coming here of all places, with that sword…
A broken laugh echoed around the chamber and the Maegen rippled, throwing up a rainbow of lights into the darkness. It took a moment for the Hollow King to recognise that laughter as his own.
‘I’ve been called worse. What do you want, boy?’
A flicker of annoyance passed over his delicate features. ‘I’m fifteen.’
Fifteen. Only fifteen years in this world and he thought he could defeat a god. Was that common for humans? That belief? That arrogance? Probably.
‘Congratulations.’
He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his tone. The Little Goddess edged forward, slinking past him and showing all her teeth, white and gleaming like wet bone. The circlet crowning her head glittered like a starry midnight amid her thick curls.
The boy’s face paled. His grip on the weapon tightened. A ridiculously long sword. He could barely lift it.
His sister, the Little Goddess, laughed. ‘This? This is what we hide from?’
No. Not this. This was just the surgeon come to deal with the source of the infection. What they hid from was much worse. The Deep Dark had made it and it would consume them all. But she could not see that. Not when it consumed her as well.
It wouldn’t be long. It would take him too. It was only a matter of time.
‘Run away, little boy,’ the goddess sang to him. ‘Run back to your mother’s skirts.’
Something tightened in the boy’s face. Something hard and bitter, determined. ‘My family are dead. The mageborn killed them all.’
‘The mageborn are beyond control now,’ the Hollow King sighed. He had heard such things before, too many times.
‘Not for you,’ the boy said. ‘I want… I’m here to offer…’
The Hollow King pushed himself up from the broken throne. The Maegen called him. The Deep Dark called him. It whispered words of comfort, sweet enticements. It was running wild through his mageborn and soon it would take him too. It was inevitable. Why fight it any more?
‘There’s nothing you can offer.’
‘At least let him offer,’ the Little Goddess said greedily. There was mockery in her every word. ‘What is he offering? Himself, body, mind and soul? I haven’t had a slave in too long. But he wouldn’t be enough. He’d die too soon. Humans are so frail. His descendants, maybe? His world? Let’s hear him out.’
The Hollow King stared into the churning depths of the pool. The shadows beneath the light swirled and uncoiled. Beckoning him. They were hungry too. He could hear their hunger in his sister, feel it in himself. Only a matter of time.
He dropped to his knees. All it would take was to let himself fall. Give up. End it all.
Except it would never end. He would feed the Deep Dark and it would devour everything else. The Little Goddess might welcome it but he didn’t. The mageborn were lost to him already. Everything he had worked for, wanted…
‘I’m here to offer you a way out,’ said the boy.
There was no way out. This child of hope knew nothing. The Hollow King took off his crown. He cradled it in his hands, staring from it to the luminous waters of magic beneath.
All it would take was for him to finally give up. Break the crown. Fall. Be consumed and lost. Do what they wanted at last.
‘Please,’ the boy cried. In a fit of despair, he dropped the ridiculous sword and threw himself forwards. The crown cracked before he made it.
But his hands shot out, almost touching the Maegen, and he caught the pieces before they could vanish into it. He knelt beside the king, holding them back, holding him back.
‘Please,’ he said again. ‘Please listen to me. I want to offer you a deal. A pact. Please.’
The Hollow King stared down into those endless dark eyes, so full of faith and hope. And for a moment he too believed. Maybe… maybe… there was a way.
‘Don’t!’ his sister cried out. ‘Please, my liege, don’t do this.’
He was so tired. Tired of being a king, tired of the struggle, tired of trying to make it right. Besides, he knew better than to listen to her. She could make you think day was night if it served her purpose. And it never ended well.