SMOKE AND BLADES

by D Elias Jenkins

  Gaunt stepped cautiously around the partition wall and saw the battered old standup piano in the corner. A boy sat at the instrument, pale and skinny, lost in concentration. The tune was the most beautiful thing Gaunt had ever head and strangely familiar to him. A spotlight shone gently on the boy as he played. Gaunt took a step towards him.

  “That’s a fine composition you’re playing son. You write that yourself?”

  A woman’s voice came from the shadows.

  “He can’t hear you. He can’t speak. He can’t hear anything.”

  Gaunt stepped forward into the light and strained his eyes but all he could see was a vague silhouette.

  “Well that’s a shame. To be missing out on his own music.”

  The shadow lit a rillo and the little coal danced in the dark.

  “It’s all he does. Just plays and plays. Keeps me company, not that he knows it.”

  Gaunt nodded. He looked around the deserted bar. He could feel his thoughts becoming foggy with the strange murkiness of a dream. He knew his mind was fading as quickly as his body and feared that if he lingered in this half world much longer he would be a confused ancient figure like the man who brought him here.

  “Quiet night.”

  The woman nodded from the shadows.

  “It’s after hours.”

  The thirst had not abated since Gaunt had entered the bar.

  “Any chance of a drink from the bar? I have money.”

  The woman laughed.

  “If you share one with me it’s free.”

  Gaunt stepped towards the bar and reached out for a bottle of Beardance and two glasses. Sitting on the bar was a large brown earthenware jug with a stopper on it. On it was carved Tips.

  “Sounds about perfect.”

  The woman stepped out of the shadows, tentatively. Tears had welled in her eyes and she stared at Gaunt as if uncertain he was really there. One hand slowly reached out and touched his arm. Her voice was shaky and quiet.

  “I see so many illusions here. Phantasms of the mind brought on by desire and loss. I don’t know if you’re real.”

  Gaunt stood up before her. He felt exactly the same. For months he had dreamt of seeing his wife again yet now that he stood before her it seemed too incredible to be true. It was overwhelming.

  When he spoke, his voice was a weak and broken as her’s.

  “I crossed over…to find you. To bring you back. Is it you?”

  The woman stared at him for a long time. She was as perfect as Gaunt remembered her. Every contour of her face brought him peace.

  She exhaled a sob of disbelief that broke into an ecstatic smile.

  “John? John!”

  Izzy ran into his arms and in that moment the gloom of the half-world was illuminated. They remained like that for what to either of them could have been centuries. John felt her hot living tears wet against his cheek and her breath in his ear.

  “You came back for me.”

  Gaunt hugged her tight, tight enough to crush. He would never let go again.

  “There’s no door I won’t kick down to find you, sweetheart.”

  As the jealous dead listened in envy from behind every window in town, John and Izabella Gaunt made love on the dusty floor of the deserted inn.

  It was almost impossible to judge time in the half-world, but Gaunt imagined they had lain there for several hours. They had talked and smoked and drunk shots of Beardance. They had reminisced about holidays they had taken, about missions they had been sent on and then they had danced on the creaky floorboards. Izzy’s head was nestled into his shoulder as they gently swayed back and forth. Occasionally distant piano music could be heard as the ghostly child materialized and played a few bars, before fading out again to some other plane.

  Finally Gaunt spoke.

  “We have to leave now Izzy. We have to go back.”

  Izzy nuzzled closer into him.

  “If you take me back to the world, I won’t be the same, John. I’ll be a shadow of what I was.”

  “We’ll be together again.”

  “Yes.”

  “We can finish what we started. Save the city.”

  Gaunt looked at the door that led back out into town.

  “They won’t let us leave will they?”

  Izzy stood next to him and took a deep breath.

  “They certainly won’t let one of their own walk out of here, no. This place won’t let us both leave anyway. The amount of souls here needs to remain in balance.”

  Gaunt looked to his wife, and then back at the earthenware stoppered jug that sat upon the bar.

  “So if I put my soul in that jar, and you hid inside me, we could potentially just walk right out of here.”

  “Spies to the end, sweetheart?”

  Gaunt smiled grimly.

  “Yes. And as usual, we’re here to steal something.”

  The doors of the inn swung wide and John Gaunt stepped alone out into the town square.

  It was silent apart from the low howling of the wind and the occasional creaking of the old buildings. Above him the galaxies still wheeled and the purple clouds corkscrewed along the vast wormhole towards their unknown destination. He squinted towards the fountain in the centre of the square with its little green beacon. Gritting his teeth he stepped off the porch and made the slow walk across the dusty street.

  Gaunt’s failing heart began to beat faster as he neared the fountain. With each step he remembered the blood-red fountain of Zalenberg where he and Izzy had been torn apart by Jonas Reach and his Fallen bodyguard. His mind flashed the memory of pain back to him, except now he knew that these were Izzy’s memories of the moment blending with his own. For a second he saw through her eyes, felt her last moments of life.

  Gaunt’s steps faltered and the intensity of the memories almost brought him to his knees. Then he heard a familiar voice in his mind.

  Keep going John. You’re almost there.

  Gaunt steadied himself and stepped up to the fountainhead. He unslung the bag from his shoulder and reached out for the statuette. The instant he did so a hundred pairs of eyes lit up behind the windows of the town. Gaunt froze and the hairs on his neck prickled.

  “They’re not gonna let us do this, Izzy.”

  The voice in his head again.

  You’re alive. Not for long but you’re alive. That makes you faster than them.

  Gaunt glanced around him and saw that the citizens of Nobody Home were starting to emerge. Windows creaked opened and doors pushed ajar by damp fingers. Pale bulbous scalps with a few straggly hairs emerged into the light. The pale flabby bodies of the drowned dragged themselves across the splintered wood. The skin faded in and out of existence, revealing maps of nerves and veins beneath. Their breath came in short angry gasps as they dragged themselves closer or hobbled on stricken limbs.

  Don’t let them touch you, John. They’ll drain the last of your life.

  Gaunt didn’t need told that he didn’t want these things to touch him. His skin crawled as he stared at them.

  Then he regained his composure and lifted the statuette off its plinth and shoved it into his bag. It was heavy and made him suddenly realize how tired he was. As soon as it was removed the pale Wights became invigorated by new energy and started to crawl faster towards Gaunt. Their jaws dripped with thick drool and their filthy fingernails flexed as they got closer.

  Gaunt started to slowly back off. He looked behind him down the dusty path out of town that led back to the portal. The old man had told him it wasn’t even safe to tread boot upon.

  It’s all right John. You won’t forget while we’re together.

  Gaunt chewed his lip as he remembered the journey to get to town.

  “Right now it seems like a long way off.”

  Gaunt turned back to the slavering horde of somber souls that advanced upon him.

  Run John. Run from the dead!

  John Gaunt turned heel and ran towards the hope of life and vengeance with every mote of
his being.

  30

  The Vigilante stepped off the boat onto the southernmost point of the Isola di Lament. Behind him the Wraith quietly followed.

  He looked up through his mask at the high walls surrounding the necropolis that had once been used as a prison island. Now it interred only the dead, solitary confinement with no reprieve.

  As he walked towards the gate, he had a strong feeling that these walls now were designed to keep the living out, and let the dead have their own somber carnival.

  The main gate was open, unguarded, like an invitation.

  The Vigilante took off his constricting mask, and let John Gaunt breathe the free air.

  He looked back at the stretch of black water separating him from the festivities of St Crafton’s Day. He could still see the fireworks but felt an infinite distance from the life they celebrated.

  Across the narrow stretch of water of Free Reign’s natural freshwater lake, a slightly different strain of reality permeated everything. The sorcery springs bubbled up and mixed with the water, creating a natural probability barrier between the Warrelwall and the Isola di Lament. The empaths could sense it a clear as two different kinds of music but even the ordinary citizens could sense the change in atmosphere, like walking from a busy marketplace into a quiet church.

  It was no accident that after the war, the Fallen who had been taken in were housed on the island. No one in Free Reign could deny their contribution to the war effort but it was a different matter looking at their funereal faces in peacetime. Next to the ruins of the Old City’s cemetery they had constructed their somber village. The pale green stone they favored made the island glow with a sickly light and the spires of their habitations stuck up into the night like dragon’s teeth. The sorcery of the pools had warped the once beautiful willow tree that stood at the northernmost point of the island until it grew a hundredfold, looming over the entire town like a pale vulture. The essence of the Fallen had turned it from verdant bloom to the colour of bone decades ago.

  The Fallen who lived here were a pious lot, their self-imposed halos causing them constant pain as they dug into the ancient flesh, the sorcery in them curbing the creature’s darker natural instincts. Their entire town was akin to a monastery, with the beings living lives of quiet contemplation and prayer, seeking redemption.

  The Vigilante kept a steady hand on the handle of his pistol.

  All except Rammiel Emberdark and his little gang.

  He walked through into the moonlit cemetery, weaving between simple graves and elaborate tombs.

  The Vigilante noticed a large family tomb, the white marble door ajar. Gaunt drew his pistol and stepped into the cold damp darkness of the tomb. He breathed in the mossy air, the stale odour of decay, and something else.

  He saw steps leading down into the earth. Somewhere below there was a faint flickering light, a candle or lantern. Behind him the Wraith quietly purred, sensing danger. Gaunt nodded to it and whispered.

  “I know it smells like a trap to me too. But we always knew that we’d have to walk in to the dragon’s mouth if we wanted to steal its teeth.”

  His hand felt hot with sweat on the pistol as he slowly descended. To his left he saw a room, containing a bed, a water basin, a small table and a full length mirror. It was empty of life, except for the slowly dying flame of a candle.

  He descended further, and came to a thick iron door. Around its frame were symbols etched deep and faintly glowing.

  This was a place of ritual, of Angelic binding and of dark forbidden magic.

  Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

  For a moment he did not recognize what he was seeing. A human body so distorted loses its sense.

  Whatever had happened here, it was over. There were the remains of candles, flickering stubs, half drunk wine glasses. Angelic script was etched into the stone walls and ceiling, covering every inch.

  In the centre was a broken and empty vessel that had once been a girl.

  She lay bound, naked and spread-eagled on a wooden frame that looked to Gaunt like a stretching rack. Her once beautiful face was twisted in a grimace of shock and agony.

  The grim centerpiece of her being was a void.

  Her entire abdomen was missing. All that remained was a huge chasm of burnt and ragged flesh. Her intestines were spread all around the frame, the walls around her painted with blood and viscera. It was as if she had swallowed a bomb.

  Whatever orgy of souls these criminal Fallen had indulged in was over.

  The dark sorcery was thick in the air and burned the Vigilante’s lungs. He placed his mask back on and let it filter out the poisonous residue of the ritual.

  Suddenly the heavy iron door to the chamber slammed shut with a hollow thud.

  Gaunt spun and raised his pistol but there was no one there.

  The candle stubs flickered as another heavy door concealed behind a curtain swung open and three somber Fallen walked into the chamber. They wore long robes and ornate jewelry. Deep tribal markings had been etched in to their skins. The most noticeable thing about them was the absence of halos. Instead their foreheads were circled with a deep puckered scar. In the depths of their skull sockets, tiny dark eyes peered out at Gaunt with mocking expression.

  They took up position in the chamber and clasped their hands in a parody of piety. The Wraith hissed and drifted forward but the Vigilante held up his black gloved hand.

  A slow hand clap reverberated in the shadows on the passageway beyond the door. The Vigilante thumbed back the hammer of his revolver. Then a familiar voice called out.

  “I have to say John, I really thought being dead would slow you down.”

  The Vigilante let his pistol lower a few inches. Behind him the Wraith’s raggedy form bristled in the ether.

  Jonas Reach walked out into the candlelight, still clapping his hands.

  His big square teeth broke into a grin.

  “I knew it was you when you nailed your first angel sculpture. I knew you were a finish-the-mission-at-all-costs type of guy, but uh…woah John. What have you done to yourself? You even still a man?”

  The Vigilante cocked his head and then raised the pistol and pulled the trigger.

  Faster than the eye could follow one of the Fallen lashed out an armoured wing that shielded Jonas in an instant. The bullet ricocheted off and pinged around the walls.

  Jonas held up his hands and bunched up his burly shoulders. In between mocking chuckles he spoke.

  “I surrender John, I surrender. Don’t shoot me I’m unarmed.”

  The Fallen’s wingblades flexed and it stared at him with its unblinking eyes.

  Jonas feigned ducking from imaginary rounds.

  “It’s an enclosed space John, easy now. End up shooting yourself. You know what that feels like, dontcha John? How are you still breathing, son? Last time I saw you, you were basically a water feature.”

  The Vigilante reached up and pulled back his mask. Gaunt fixed the terrorist with his unfiltered gaze.

  “Hide behind all the angels you want. They won’t save you.”

  Jonas reached up and stroked the puckered scar on the Fallen’s skull.

  “Well that seems to be exactly what they’re doing. Like my friend Emberdark did before. When he er, tore your wife open.”

  Gaunt felt his jaw tighten and his finger twitch on the trigger. Jonas flicked his head at the Wraith.

  “See you’ve got yourself a new lady friend now though, John. Very uh…well…”

  Gaunt narrowed his eyes.

  “No Jonas. No one new.”

  The big man stared at Gaunt for a moment, not comprehending the words. Then his eyes flicked to the floating Wraith in slow realization.

  “By the Spark. I thought it was a myth. Didn’t think anyone could actually do something that desperate. And you did it to your own wife. Well John you really are a very dark character. I don’t know whether that’s romantic or just tragic.”

  Gaunt put away his
pistol and drew his crow-head picks.

  “It’s neither. Just what’s necessary.”

  Jonas regarded the Wraith with disdain.

  “Izabella, I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

  In a flash the Wraith shot forward at Jonas with her deadly fingers raised. As a single entity the Fallen stepped forward and opened their mouths wide. Their jaws dislocated and the lips stretched to breaking point. The Wraith suddenly stopped short, caught in some invisible net. It twisted and turned and slashed its claws but could get no closer to Jonas. He just smiled.

  A low moan came from deep within the Fallen and the Wraith seemed to stretch and distort as if being pulled by ropes. It screeched in pain as slivers of its form tore away and into the maws of the Fallen.

  Gaunt stepped forward and immediately put a bullet through one dark angel’s face. It slammed against the wall and then crumpled. The other two immediately awoke and shielded Jonas with their wings. Jonas back off slowly down the corridor with the impenetrable shields in front of him.

  “Well feel free to come and join me upstairs for dinner John. We’ll all be waiting on you. Bring the wife, she can be the appetizer.”

  Gaunt tried to find a clear shot but before he could the door slammed shut, leaving him alone in the chamber.

  Gaunt rushed forward and knelt down next to the stricken Wraith. It jerked and fluttered in spiritual pain.

  “I should have known. Shouldn’t have brought you along here.”

  The Wraith reached up and stroked his cheek with her metallic talons. It pined softly for him. Gaunt stroked its cheek but it was as insubstantial as smoke.

  “You need to dissipate. There’s nothing you can do against these things.”

  The Wraith protested in a flurry of mewling sounds but Gaunt insisted.

  “I can’t risk it. I’ll handle this one.”

  The Wraith attempted to rise but was still recovering from the spiritual attack. Gaunt smiled down.

  “You know that I have the power to dismiss you as well as summon you, don’t you? You stubborn, beautiful woman.”

  Gaunt removed the tiny scroll from his coat and broke the seal. He muttered the prayer over the Wraith and it slowly began to fade, complaining all the way.