R. SCOTT
BAKKER
THE UNHOLY CONSULT
THE ASPECT-EMPEROR, BOOK FOUR
In this much anticipated, shattering conclusion to The Aspect-Emperor books, praised for their “sweeping epic scale and detailed historical world-building” (Grimdark Magazine), R. Scott Bakker delivers the series’ feverishly harrowing and long-awaited finish to a story cycle that has stretched across seven books in two series.
In The Unholy Consult, the Men of the Great Ordeal have been abandoned by Anasûrimbor Kellhus, and the grand crusade has devolved into cannibalism and chaos. When Exalt-General Proyas, with Prince-Imperial Kayutas at his side, attempts to gain control of the lost Men and continue their march to Golgotterath, it rapidly becomes clear that the lost Lord-and-Prophet is not so easily shaken from the mission.
When Sorweel, Believer-King of Sakarpus, and Serwa, daughter of the Aspect-Emperor, join the Great Ordeal they discover that the Shortest Path is not always the most obvious, or the safest. Souls, morality, and relationships are called into question when no one can be trusted, and the price for their sins is greater than they imagined.
An uncompromising portrayal of a catastrophic world of myth, war, and sorcery, the scope and creativity of the Aspect-Emperor books stand alongside George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire. Powerful and haunting, this thrilling final installment of Bakker’s groundbreaking series promises to be one of the most talked about epic fantasy books of all time.
Also by R. Scott Bakker
THE PRINCE OF NOTHING SERIES
The Darkness That Comes Before, Book One
The Warrior-Prophet, Book Two
The Thousandfold Thought, Book Three
THE ASPECT-EMPEROR SERIES
The Judging Eye, Book One
The White-Luck Warrior, Book Two
The Great Ordeal, Book Three
WRITING AS SCOTT BAKKER
Neuropath
Disciple of the Dog
Copyright
This edition first published in hardcover in the United States in 2017 by
The Overlook Press, Peter Mayer Publishers, Inc.
141 Wooster Street
New York, NY 10012
www.overlookpress.com
For bulk and special sales, please contact
[email protected] or write to us at the above address.
Copyright © 2017 by R. Scott Bakker
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.
ISBN 978-1-4683-1487-8
To Chris Lotts
For floating from the same string
Contents
Also by R. Scott Bakker
Copyright
Dedication
What Has Come Before …
Chapter 1: The Western Three Seas
Chapter 2: Ishterebinth
Chapter 3: Agongorea
Chapter 4: The Demua Mountains
Chapter 5: Agongorea
Chapter 6: The Field Appalling
Chapter 7: The Leash
Chapter 8: The Lament
Chapter 9: The Great Letting
Chapter 10: The Great Letting
Chapter 11: The Occlusion
Chapter 12: The Last Whelming
Chapter 13: The Occlusion
Chapter 14: Golgotterath
Chapter 15: Golgotterath
Chapter 16: The Incû-Holoinas
Chapter 17: The Upright Horn
Chapter 18: The Golden Room
Chapter 19: Resumption
Chapter 20: The Furnace Plain
Appendices
One: The Encyclopaedic Glossary
Two: The False Sun
Three: Four Revelations
Four: Maps
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Fictional seduction,
On a black snow sky.
Sadness kills the superman,
Even fathers cry.
Black Sabbath, “Spiral Architect”
Have you ever in your life commanded the morning, And caused the dawn to know its place, That it might take hold of the ends of the earth, And the wicked be shaken out of it?
Job 38:12-3
What Has Come Before …
THE PRINCE OF NOTHING
Wars, as a rule, fall within the compass of history. They mark the pitch of competing powers, the end of some and the ascendancy of others, the ebb and flow of dominance across the ages. But there is a war that Men have waged for so long they have forgotten the languages they first used to describe it. A war that makes mere skirmishes out of the destruction of tribes and nations.
There is no name for this war; Men cannot reference what leaps the short interval of their comprehension. It began when they were little more than savages roaming the wilds, in an age before script or bronze. An Ark, vast and golden, toppled from the void, scorching the horizon, throwing up a ring of mountains with the violence of its descent. And from it crawled the dread and monstrous Inchoroi, a race who had come to seal the World against the Heavens, and so save the obscenities they called their souls.
The Nonmen held sway in those ancient days, a people that surpassed Men not only in beauty and intellect, but in wrath and jealousy as well. Their Ishroi heroes and Quya mages defended the World, fought titanic battles and stood vigilant during epochal truces. They endured the Inchoroi weapons of light, watched their enemy wilt before their own. They survived the treachery of the Aporetics, who provided the Inchoroi with thousands of sorcery-killing Chorae. They overcame the horrors their enemy crafted: the Sranc, the Bashrag, and most fearsome of all, the Wracu. But their avarice at last betrayed them. After centuries of war, they made peace with the invaders in return for ageless immortality—a gift that was in fact a fell weapon, the Plague of Wombs.
Thus it became a war between doomed species, the one beauteous, the other vile. In the end, the Nonmen hunted the Inchoroi to the brink of annihilation. Their surviving Quya mages sealed the Ark, which they had come to call Min-Uroikas, and hid it from the world with devious glamours. Exhausted, bereft of hope or purpose, they retired to their underworld mansions to mourn the loss of their wives, their daughters, and the future of their once-glorious race.
As much as nature, history abhors vacuums. From the eastern mountains, the first tribes of Men began claiming the lands the Nonmen had abandoned—Men who had never known the yoke of slavery. Of the surviving Ishroi Kings, some fought, only to be dragged under by the tide of numbers, while others simply left their great gates unguarded, bared their necks to the licentious fury of a lesser race.
So began the Second Age, the Age of Men. Perhaps the Nameless War would have ended with the fading of its principals, but the Ark itself remained intact, and Men ever lusted for knowledge. Centuries passed, and the mantle of human civilization crept along the great river basins of Eärwa and outward, bringing bronze where there had been flint, cloth where there had been skins, and writing where there had been recital. Great cities rose to teeming life. The wilds gave way to cultivated horizons.
Nowhere were Men more bold in their works, or more overweening in their pride, than in the North, where commerce with the Nonmen had allowed them to outstrip their more swarthy cousins to the South. In the legendary city of Sauglish, those who could discern the joints of existence founded the first sorcerous Schools. As their learning and power waxed, a reckless few turned to th
e rumours they had heard whispered by their Nonman teachers—rumours of the great golden Ark. The wise were quick to see the peril, and the Schoolmen of Mangaecca, who coveted secrets above all else, were censured, and finally outlawed.
But it was too late. Min-Uroikas was found—occupied.
The fools discovered and awakened the last two surviving Inchoroi, Aurax and Aurang, who had concealed themselves in the labyrinthine recesses of the Ark. At their hoary knees the outlaw Schoolmen learned that damnation, the burden that all sorcerers bore, need not be inevitable. They learned that the world could be shut against the judgment of Heaven. So they forged a common purpose with the twin abominations, a Consult, and bent their cunning to the aborted designs of the Inchoroi.
The Mangaecca relearned the principles of the material—the Tekne. They mastered the manipulations of the flesh. And after generations of study and searching, after filling the pits of Min-Uroikas with innumerable corpses, they realized the most catastrophic of the Inchoroi’s untold depravities: Mog-Pharau, the No-God.
They made themselves slaves to better destroy the world.
And so the Nameless War raged anew. What has come to be called the First Apocalypse destroyed the great Norsirai nations of the North, laying ruin to the greatest glories of Men. But for Seswatha, the Grandmaster of the Gnostic School of Sohonc, the entire world would have been lost. At his urging, Anasûrimbor Celmomas, the High King of the North’s mightiest nation, Kûniüri, called on his tributaries and allies to join him in a holy war against Min-Uroikas, which Men now called Golgotterath. But his Ordeal foundered, and the might of the Norsirai perished. Seswatha fled south to the Ketyai nations of the Three Seas, bearing the greatest of the legendary Inchoroi weapons, the Heron Spear. With Anaxophus, the High King of Kyraneas, he met the No-God on the Plains of Mengedda, and by dint of valor and providence, overcame the dread Whirlwind.
The No-God was dead, but his slaves and his stronghold remained. Golgotterath had not fallen, and the Consult, blasted by ages of unnatural life, continued to plot salvation.
The years passed, centuries became millennia, and the Men of the Three Seas forgot the horrors endured by their fathers. Empires rose and empires fell. The Latter Prophet, Inri Sejenus, reinterpreted the Tusk, and over the course of centuries the faith of Inrithism—organized and administered by the Thousand Temples and its spiritual leader, the Shriah—came to dominate the entire Three Seas. The great Anagogic Schools arose in response to the Inrithi persecution of sorcery. Using Chorae, the Inrithi warred against them, attempting to silence their blasphemies.
Then Fane, the upstart Prophet of the so-called Solitary God, united the Kianene, the desert peoples of the Great Carathay, and declared war against the Tusk and the Thousand Temples. After centuries of jihad, the Fanim and their eyeless sorcerer-priests, the Cishaurim, conquered nearly all the western Three Seas, including the holy city of Shimeh, the birthplace of Inri Sejenus. Only the moribund remnants of the Nansur Empire continued to resist them.
War and strife ruled the South. The two great faiths of Inrithism and Fanimry skirmished, though trade and pilgrimage were tolerated when commercially convenient. The great families and nations vied for military and mercantile dominance. The minor and major Schools squabbled and plotted. And the Thousand Temples pursued earthly ambitions under the leadership of corrupt and ineffectual Shriahs.
The First Apocalypse had become little more than legend by this time. The Consult and the No-God had dwindled into myth, something old wives tell small children. After two thousand years, only the Schoolmen of the Mandate, who relived the Apocalypse each night through the eyes of Seswatha, could recall the horror of Mog-Pharau. Though the mighty and the learned considered them fools, the Mandate’s possession of the sorcery of the Ancient North, the Gnosis, commanded respect and mortal envy. Driven by nightmares, they wandered the labyrinths of power, scouring the Three Seas for signs of their ancient and implacable foe: the Consult.
And as always, they found nothing. Some argued that the Consult had finally succumbed to the toll of ages. Others, that they had turned inward, seeking less arduous means to forestall their damnation. But since the Sranc had multiplied across the northern wilds, no expedition could be sent to Golgotterath to settle the matter. The Mandate alone knew of the Nameless War. They alone stood guard, but they were both blind and a laughingstock.
Thus was the World when Maithanet was elected Shriah of the Thousand Temples and called the First Holy War, a great expedition to wrest Holy Shimeh from the Fanim. Word of his challenge spread across the Three Seas and beyond. Faithful from all the great Inrithi nations—Galeoth, Thunyerus, Ce Tydonn, Conriya, High Ainon and their tributaries—travelled to the city of Momemn, the capital of the Nansurium, to commend their strength and treasure to Inri Sejenus. To become Men of the Tusk.
Internal feuds plagued the First Holy War from the outset, for there was no shortage of those who would bend the campaign to their selfish ends. The Inrithi host marched victorious nonetheless, winning two great victories over the heretic Fanim at Mengedda and Anwurat. Only with the Second Siege of Caraskand and the Circumfixion of one of their own would the Men of the Tusk find common purpose. Only when they discovered a living prophet in their midst—a man who could see into the hearts of Men. A man like a god.
Anasûrimbor Kellhus.
Far to the north, in the very shadow of Golgotterath, a group of ascetics called the Dûnyain had concealed themselves in Ishuäl, the secret redoubt of the Kûniüric High Kings ere their destruction in the First Apocalypse. For two thousand years the Dûnyain had pursued their sacred study, breeding for reflex and intellect, training in the ways of limb, thought, and face—all for the sake of reason, the Logos. They had dedicated their entire existence to mastering the irrationalities of history, custom, and passion—all those things that determine human thought. In this way, they believed, they would eventually grasp what they called the Absolute, and so become true self-moving souls.
Some thirty years previous, Kellhus’s father, Anasûrimbor Moënghus, had fled Ishuäl. His reappearance in the dreams of the brethren fairly upended the order, given the Dûnyain repudiation of sorcery. Knowing only that Moënghus dwelt in a distant city called Shimeh, the elders dispatched Kellhus on an arduous journey through lands long abandoned by Men—to kill his apostate father.
But Moënghus knew the world in ways his cloistered brethren could not. He knew well the revelations that awaited his son, for they had been his revelations thirty years previous. He knew that Kellhus would discover sorcery, whose existence the forefathers of the Dûnyain had suppressed. He knew that given his abilities, Men would be little more than children to him, that Kellhus would see their thoughts in the nuances of their expression, and that with mere words he would be able to exact any devotion, any sacrifice. He knew, moreover, that eventually Kellhus would encounter the Consult, who hid behind faces that only Dûnyain eyes could see—that he would come to see what Men with their blinkered souls could not: the Nameless War.
The Consult had not been idle. For centuries they had eluded their old foe, the School of Mandate, using doppelgängers—spies who could take on any face, any voice, without resorting to sorcery and its telltale Mark. By capturing and torturing these abominations, Moënghus learned that the Consult had not abandoned their ancient plot to shut the world against Heaven, that within a score of years they would be able to resurrect the No-God and bring about a new war against Men, a Second Apocalypse. For years Moënghus walked the innumerable paths of the Probability Trance, plotting future after future, searching for the thread of act and consequence that would save the world. For years he crafted his Thousandfold Thought.
Moënghus had prepared the way for his Dûnyain-born son, Kellhus. He sent out his world-born son, Maithanet, to seize the Thousand Temples from within, so that he might craft the First Holy War, the weapon Kellhus would need to seize absolute power, and so unite the Three Seas against the doom that was their future. What he did
not know, could not know, was that Kellhus would see further than him, think beyond his Thousandfold Thought …
That he would go mad.
Little more than an impoverished wayfarer when he first joined the Holy War, Kellhus used his bearing, intellect, and insight to convince ever more Men of the Tusk that he was the Warrior-Prophet, come to save mankind. He understood that Men would render anything to him, so long as they believed he could save their souls. He also befriended the Schoolman the Mandate had dispatched to observe the Holy War, Drusas Achamian, knowing that the Gnosis, the sorcery of the Ancient North, would provide him with inestimable power. And he seduced Achamian’s lover, Esmenet, knowing that her intellect made her the ideal vessel for his seed—for sons strong enough to bear the onerous burden of Dûnyain blood.
By the time the battle-hardened remnants of the First Holy War laid siege to Shimeh, Kellhus had achieved absolute authority. The Men of the Tusk had become his Zaudunyani, his Tribe of Truth. While the Holy War assailed the city’s walls, he confronted his father, Moënghus, mortally wounding him, explaining that only his death could realize the Thousandfold Thought. Days later Anasûrimbor Kellhus was proclaimed Holy Aspect-Emperor—the first in a millennium—by none other than the Shriah of the Thousand Temples, his half-brother, Maithanet. Even the School of Mandate, who saw his coming as the fulfillment of their most hallowed prophecies, knelt and kissed his knee.
But Kellhus had made a mistake. Before reaching the Three Seas and the Holy War, his passage across Eärwa had delivered him to the lands of the Utemot, a Scylvendi tribe renowned for warlike cruelty. Here he had struck a murderous compact with the tribe’s chieftain, Cnaiür urs Skiötha. Moënghus had also fallen into the hands of the Utemot some thirty years prior, and had used the then adolescent Cnaiür to murder his chieftain father and effect his escape. The youth had spent tormented decades pondering what had happened and had come to guess the inhuman truth of the Dûnyain. So it was that Cnaiür and Cnaiür alone knew the dark secret of Anasûrimbor Kellhus. Before his disappearance, the barbarian revealed these truths to none other than Drusas Achamian, who had long harboured heartbreaking suspicions of his own. At the coronation, before the eyes of the entire Holy War, Achamian repudiated Kellhus, whom he had worshipped; Esmenet, whom he had loved; and the Mandate masters he had served. Then he fled into the wilderness, becoming the world’s only sorcerer without a school. A Wizard.