by Edward Cox
‘I was as surprised as you, Angel.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s nice to know that not everything we were told was horseshit. Bit of a shock to wake up to, though.’
‘It has been a strange time indeed,’ Van Bam said, looking into the tunnel mouth that led to the Nephilim’s cavern. ‘Has Bellow informed you of the situation?’
‘He’s told me enough,’ Angel replied. ‘He explained that Buyaal wants to send Fabian Moor a little help.’
Van Bam nodded. ‘Where is Bellow now?’
‘I left him sitting on his boulder,’ Angel said. ‘He’s making plans to get us home.’
‘Did he tell you what these plans are?’
‘Sort of.’ Angel shrugged. ‘He says it’s probably better if he tells you himself. He wants to see you.’
Van Bam hesitated, looking Angel over. ‘Are you sure you are—?’
‘I’m fine, Van Bam,’ the healer interrupted. ‘Stop worrying.’ She held out the basket to the illusionist. ‘Here, take a fig, and then off you go.’
Van Bam took one from the basket, but simply stared at it.
‘Go and see Bellow,’ Angel said forcefully. ‘I want to talk to Namji, anyway.’ She smiled sympathetically at the young Aelf. ‘Come on, woman. Let’s leave the boys to it.’
As they headed down the path, Van Bam heard Namji say, ‘What’s going on?’ To which Angel replied, ‘Probably something homo-erotic, and I’d rather I didn’t know more than that.’
Suddenly buoyed to have Angel back to full strength, and with her usual humour intact, Van Bam smiled and entered the cave, eating the fig as he headed down the tunnel to Bellow’s lair. The fruit was ripe – juicy and sweet.
Once more entering the Nephilim’s bejewelled cavern, Van Bam climbed the steps to the plateau of the huge boulder. Gulduur Bellow was sitting as he had before: dressed in a brown habit and cross-legged by the golden flames of a magical fire. Before him sat an empty stone bowl. On one side of it was a knife with a curved blade – big for a human, small for a Nephilim. On the other side of the bowl lay a long, thin stick, its tip sharpened to a point – a wooden scriber.
Van Bam noted that the symbol for the House the Nephilim were searching for, the Sorrow of Future Reason, had disappeared from the ground.
‘Ah, my friend,’ Bellow greeted. He had tied his unruly hair back into a tail. ‘You have seen Angel?’
‘Yes. And my thanks for healing her.
‘My pleasure. Now come – sit. Your journey home will begin before long.’ The giant tapped his temple suggestively. ‘Buyaal will make his move very soon.’
Van Bam remained standing and felt a fluttering in his gut.
‘Don’t worry yourself,’ Bellow said. ‘There is time enough to hear the rest of my story. Though, if you don’t mind, there is something I would like to ask you first. Please, sit.’
Van Bam did so, and the giant towered over him. Bellow was clearly excited by the prospect of another conversation.
The giant said, ‘Earlier, you and I were discussing myths and legends. Did you know that the denizens of the Labyrinth also have stories told about them, Van Bam? And they have reached my ears.’ Bellow’s blue eyes considered the illusionist for a moment. ‘I have heard a tale that the Resident of Labrys Town is himself a blood-magicker.’
‘Ah … yes. That is true.’ Van Bam tried to stop an apologetic lilt creeping into his voice. ‘His name is Gideon, and it is widely accepted that one of his ancestors was a Nephilim.’
‘Gideon,’ Bellow whispered. He clasped his massive hands together and held them to his chest. ‘That one carrying the blood of my herd should find himself such a worthy home … It pleases me. It pleases me very much, Van Bam.’
Van Bam smiled with his lips clamped firmly together, fearing that the giant would ask more; fearing that he would have to explain how the power in the blood of the Nephilim herd had turned Gideon into a borderline psychopath.
‘Perhaps I could ask you a question in return,’ Van Bam said. ‘It concerns your people.’
‘You must feel free to ask me anything,’ Bellow replied with a smile that revealed tombstone teeth.
Van Bam hesitated, licked his lips. ‘The blood-magic of the Nephilim,’ he said. ‘Is it potent enough to match the power of the Thaumaturgists?’
‘How interesting.’ Bellow’s smile faltered and he narrowed his eyes at the illusionist. ‘Once again, I detect an accusation behind your question, Van Bam. I think what you’re really asking is could a Nephilim defeat a Thaumaturgist – or a Genii – in combat?’
‘I do not mean to cause offence,’ Van Bam said quickly. ‘But after you repelled Buyaal’s attack, he seemed frightened of you.’
‘So you’re wondering why I didn’t take the fight to him. Kill the Genii, perhaps? End the threat that Buyaal poses to the Labyrinth?’
Van Bam averted his eyes. ‘It had crossed my mind – yes.’
‘Then you should learn to speak your mind, Van Bam.’ The giant’s smile returned. ‘I think Buyaal was more shocked than frightened. I did not retaliate because I do not know if I could defeat him, and I’m sure that he is just as uncertain. We both have much to lose.’
‘I see,’ Van Bam said.
‘However, I am convinced that Buyaal sought my hiding place because he had every intention of killing me – along with you, Angel and Namji. But I think that when he was faced with the reality of his intention, he was not quite so sure of himself.’
‘Hence his hasty departure,’ Van Bam added.
‘The truth is, there has never been an occasion when the Nephilim and the Thaumaturgists have fought. I cannot tell you if we could match their power. Though a clue to the answer might be found in the story that I wish to tell you.’ Bellow tapped his lips. ‘Take off your clothes, please.’
Van Bam froze. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Your clothes, Van Bam – lay aside your glass cane, and take them off.’ The giant picked up the curved knife that lay beside the stone bowl, and then seemed confused by the fact that the illusionist hadn’t moved. ‘The magic in your veins needs to be empowered,’ Bellow explained, as if it were an obvious thing. He used the knife to point to the bowl and stick as if the gesture answered everything. ‘Blood-magic. If you want to get home, you need to be naked, Van Bam.’
‘I … excuse me?’
‘Please don’t be afraid,’ said Bellow, ‘but I’m going to need a lot of blood for this.’
And then, with no hesitation, the giant took the knife and sliced into his wrist.
Van Bam watched in alarm as Bellow held his hand over the stone bowl, and the blood ran hot and free from the ends of his long fingers like water pouring from taps. The bowl filled with sickening speed. When he had collected enough, Bellow whispered a word that he seemed to blow upon his wound. His skin sealed, and the cut on his wrist became just one more scar amidst a plethora of others.
‘Earlier, you were asking me about the Nephilim’s creator – the Progenitor,’ the giant said, as he picked up the long wooden scriber. ‘I would like you to know the truth of my race’s origin, Van Bam. It might hold the answers to your questions. I want you to know that my people and your people are distant cousins.’
Bellow dipped the sharpened point of the scriber into the blood. ‘The Nephilim are the Timewatcher’s dirty little secret, you see. We were created as hybrids. We are blended, merged – we are part Thaumaturgist, and part human.’
The illusionist stared at the giant. ‘Excuse me?’
‘If you want to hear my story, Van Bam, then please stand up and take off your damn clothes.’
‘What was her name?’ Denton asked.
‘Red,’ Marney replied.
As the old empath gave her an understanding smile, Marney dabbed the bruises on her face with a cloth soaked in cold water. The deserters had burned her
clothes; she now wore a dark green private’s uniform, and a pair of worn but sturdy boots.
The two empaths sat at a table in an officer’s tent. It was pitched at the base of the mountain that seemed to serve as the centre point of Ghost Mist Veldt’s sprawling and otherwise flat landscape. The tent belonged to a serious and unemotional Aelf called Jolyn, a general in the Timewatcher’s army. Its interior had been stripped to a bare minimum. The canvas floor was dusty, and the walls breathed in and out with the wind. But at least it was warm inside.
The table, together with Marney and Denton’s chairs, were the only items of furniture in the tent. Upon the table sat a flask of water, some hard bread and dried beef, but neither empath ate or drank. At one end of the table were rolled maps and a pile of letters. Marney could imagine the host of stern-faced, dusty-uniformed Aelfirian officers who had stood around this table, studying maps, planning the war.
‘I know what you’re going through, Marney,’ Denton said. He stared across the table at his protégée, who looked exhausted and miserable. ‘I remember the first person I killed, and how it felt. His face still haunts me.’
Marney didn’t reply. She had already decided that her dreams would be plagued by the broken Aelf called Red, and probably for the rest of her days. And the dreams would forever remind her how it had felt to control Red’s emotions, to make the Aelf believe it was a good idea to slash her own throat. But now was not the time to dwell on that. Since her empathic magic had recovered from the anti-magic spell, Marney had locked down her emotions, taking refuge in a state where she felt nothing.
Unwilling to meet Denton’s eyes, she looked at the pile of maps, letters and battle plans on the table. Soon, they would be archived, and the tent would be folded down and packed away. The Timewatcher’s army had already won the war in Ghost Mist Veldt. Spiral’s troops had been defeated, and that, ironically, had been what caused the trouble for Marney and Denton.
The empaths had arrived at Ghost Mist Veldt shortly after the Timewatcher’s army had clinched victory. General Jolyn’s troops had been in the process of rounding up the stragglers who had fled the final battlefield rather than surrendering; and they had been doing it with the aid of the strange, sentient magic that suffused this House. The magic had trapped and captured many of the fleeing enemy soldiers, but Matthaus and his cohorts had deserted from Spiral’s army weeks before that final battle. They had not learned that the fighting was over.
Jolyn had explained that she was unaware a small band of deserters had been trapped in the stone hut on the mountainside. She felt that in the long run they would have perished, anyway. But then Marney and Denton had stumbled upon them.
It was supposed that the magic of Ghost Mist Veldt had been confused by the arrival of the empaths. Viewing them as an unknown presence, an anomaly, it had tried to snatch them away, but somehow missed one of them, taking only Denton, leaving Marney at the mercy of Matthaus and his fellow deserters. Denton had needed one of Jolyn’s skilled magic-users to help him find the stone hut prison again.
Marney thought of Jantal and Nurmar, of their cruel and desperate fight to survive by any means. If she allowed herself to feel her emotions, she was sure she still wouldn’t lament their deaths. But when her thoughts switched to Matthaus, the old and grizzled veteran soldier, she didn’t want to acknowledge how she might feel about the Denton who had dealt with him: the cold Denton she had never encountered before. Denton the killer.
Perhaps she had let her emotions escape from her apathetic shield, perhaps Denton just knew his protégée too well, but he looked as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.
‘Is there something you would like to ask me?’ he said.
Marney hesitated, wondering if she was trying to deflect attention away from her own act of murder, but then said, ‘How many people have you killed, Denton?’
It was immediately obvious Denton didn’t like the question. But he mulled over his answer all the same, taking his rumpled hat from the table, toying with the wide and frayed brim.
‘Marney, I would be too ashamed to tell you how many lives I have ended during my service with the Relic Guild. But I’d also feel cruel if I let you believe that Red was a one-off – that you might not have to kill again.’
‘I know,’ said Marney.
And she did know. In the past, she had lain awake at night worrying about it, wondering when the day would come when her duties with the Relic Guild would include ending a life. Now that day had arrived, she understood that Denton was right: it would likely come again.
‘You and I are complicated creatures, Marney,’ Denton continued. ‘Our empathy keeps record of everything we see, hear, smell, taste and touch – an emotional memory that is locked tight within us forever. It is very difficult for empaths to forget anything. And you will remember them, Marney. Every face of every person who dies at your hand will be ingrained into your memory. Unless you care to magically remove them.’
Marney held the cool cloth to the bruise under her eye, her mind, numbed of emotion, finding logic and order in her mentor’s words.
‘No. We should remember them,’ Marney said. ‘And we should never forget what we’ve done.’
‘I think you’re right,’ Denton replied. ‘But it is just as important that we forgive ourselves for our actions. We kill only when necessary. The last and not the first resort.’
Marney nodded. ‘I hate to think that I’d ever reach a place where I could kill without compassion, Denton. I don’t want it to be easy for me, not like it is for someone like Samuel.’
‘Samuel?’ Denton said, clearly surprised.
‘I’ve seen him kill before. He doesn’t bat an eyelid.’
Denton was troubled by his protégée’s words. ‘It is wise to view Samuel as a predator,’ he said. ‘You could argue that he is a natural born killer. But to believe Samuel kills without compassion? No, no, no, Marney – if that’s what you think of your fellow agent, then you haven’t taken the time to get to know him at all.’
The look Denton gave Marney was admonishing.
‘Hard to believe otherwise,’ she said. ‘It’s not as if Samuel ever likes to explain himself.’
‘I’m not saying that he makes relationships easy, Marney. Samuel is a complicated man. He wears his cynicism like a suit of armour, always keeping people at arm’s length. But within that hard shell is a person who is very much worth knowing. He was not always the man you know.’
‘What happened to him?’
Denton’s expression softened. He dropped his hat onto the table and sat back.
‘Samuel was a child when he first joined the Relic Guild, Marney. We decided that he was twelve years old, but we’ve never been sure of his real age. He had been living on the streets in the eastern district, you see. Barely knew how to speak when I found him. He was almost feral.’
Marney tried to imagine Samuel as a child, but couldn’t envision anything other than the surly, gun-wielding magicker that he was.
‘I don’t know how he managed to slip through the net of the child authorities,’ Denton continued. ‘For all I know, Samuel might have been born on the streets. But if you’re going to live in the wilds of a city, and you need to stay one step ahead of the authorities and street gangs, do you know what handy magical talent would be most useful?’
Marney managed a smile. ‘Prescient awareness, by any chance?’
‘Exactly.’ Denton sighed, his eyes sad. ‘When I found Samuel he had just murdered a vagrant who had tried to steal his food – scraps from a café dustbin. To this day, I don’t know if that man was the first person Samuel ever killed, but I doubt it, Marney.
‘Gene was with me when we took him to the Nightshade. We both felt sorry for Samuel – he was such a small and angry little wretch – and we took him under our wings. Gene and I taught him how to speak properly, made him more civilised, I suppose. I
don’t imagine anyone had shown him real kindness before. He wasn’t sure how to deal with it, to be honest. Eventually, he worked as a helper in Gene’s apothecary shop, and I took him on trips to Aelfirian Houses. Cooling his temper was no easy feat, though – nor was curbing his penchant for biting people.’
Marney couldn’t help but chuckle as Denton unconsciously rubbed his hand, obviously remembering a time when the child Samuel had sunk his teeth into it.
‘How old was Samuel when he became a full agent?’ Marney asked.
‘Well, that’s where things get a little complicated,’ Denton said. ‘We weren’t sure what to do with him at first. The younger agents were a little dismissive of Samuel. Macy and Bryant had no tolerance for a child. Angel was kind enough to him, but back then she was a little wild herself, and could be a bad influence on anyone. But Gideon seemed to have all the time in the worlds for Samuel. And let me tell you, Marney, the attention Gideon gave the boy was never kind in nature.’
Marney narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘Is that why they hate each other?’ she said. ‘Something that happened between them years ago?’
‘Oh, I don’t think it was anything specific, Marney. More a case of sustained and casual cruelty on Gideon’s part. Of course, the Resident back then was Sophia. Like Gene and I, she took a sympathetic view of Samuel. She had been determined to find a use for Samuel’s prescient awareness that didn’t end in killing. She wanted him to find himself, to develop into a solid, trustworthy man. Gideon didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all. He thought Sophia was showing Samuel favouritism. To be honest, I think he might’ve been jealous.’
‘Jealous?’ Marney looked disbelieving. ‘That would mean Gideon was capable of feeling anything other than spite.’
‘A little unfair, but I do see your point,’ Denton said. ‘However, the trouble with Samuel’s magic is that it doesn’t extend to other people. For example, he could not sense danger approaching me or you. Samuel can only use his prescient awareness to save his own skin. The instinct his magic gives him isn’t primarily to kill, Marney, it’s to survive.’