Wrath of Storms

by Steven McKinnon

  ‘Stuff could’ve been added later,’ Serena suggested. ‘Someone could’ve copied the previous artist’s style.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’ Gallows didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Maybe we need to separate fact from myth for it all to make sense.’ Serena knew she was grasping at straws, but there was so much in her visions that confused her. Like the mural, they were just glimpses of something—not the whole picture.

  ‘And the plural is cannon,’ Ventris said.

  ‘Whatever,’ Gallows said.

  ‘Ventris, how did you get out last time you were here?’ Serena asked.

  ‘Back the way we came—which you should do now, girl.’

  ‘Not ’til I have answers. What else did you find?’

  The pirate shook her head. ‘A door at the northern end of the library. One of my men found it and stepped over the threshold—I watched his skin boil. I’d never heard a human scream like that before… But by all means, go ahead.’

  ‘Tell me where the door is and I’ll pass through,’ said Enoch.

  ‘It could kill you, stone man.’ Tiera motioned to Ventris. ‘Let’s send her.’

  ‘I was created to withstand adverse environments—if the mists harm me, I have a better chance of enduring them than you. Serena, let me go ahead and see what I can uncover.’

  ‘You can’t go alone,’ Serena said. ‘We can figure something else out.’

  ‘I must—something lurks inside me, connected to this place—it erupted in Frosthaven and Lunosdatter’s laboratory. I’m afraid of what will happen if—’

  ‘You say it like you’re the only one with a dangerous power. Ventris, point the way.’

  Serena followed Ventris down an aisle skirted with towering bookcases, Gallows and Tiera at her heels.

  ‘This is it.’ Ventris stood in front of an arch carved into the wall.

  ‘Well, that “door” looks very much to be a wall,’ said Gallows. ‘The mysteries of Palthonheim abound.’

  Ventris gave Gallows a sidelong glance. ‘Touch it and see for yourself, funny man.’

  Serena agreed with Gallows; the portion of the wall looked identical to the one next to it, save for the inset arch. It didn’t possess any joints or hinges, and ran flush with the rest of the wall.

  Enoch held his hands against the arch.

  Nothing happened.

  Tiera cleared her throat. ‘Ignium charges.’

  Enoch held up a hand. ‘Wait.’ A vertical line materialised in the centre of the wall, splitting it in two.

  A door opened. Vapour sucked through the gap—and beyond, a stone corridor shimmered and warped, the air stained with muddied yellow, reds and greens.

  Enoch stepped into the passage and through the irradiated mist. His form stretched and shimmered like a heat mirage—but he survived.

  ‘Enoch, wait!’ Serena stepped forward.

  Gallows grabbed her. ‘That shit will burn your insides.’

  ‘No—it won’t.’ She pulled away, strode through the gap—and the mist parted before her. She stepped further inside, and the mist closed around her, shifting like a dancing aurora.

  ‘What the hell?’ Gallows asked.

  ‘I just knew.’ The answer sounded weak, but it was the best Serena had. ‘Wait there.’

  She marched ahead at Enoch’s side.

  ‘Like we have a choice,’ said Gallows.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Enoch traced the gilded walls with his fingers, sensing no texture, no temperature—and yet he remembered how cold the gold felt on his fingertips.

  ‘You’ve been here before,’ Serena said.

  Enoch pulled away and kept walking. ‘I… have. I don’t know how or why, but I remember this place. How did you know the radiation wouldn’t harm you?’

  Serena shook her head. Her expression told Enoch she wanted to explain but couldn’t. ‘I’m glad it’s you with me, Enoch. I can’t get inside your head. If what I saw inside Ventris… If I go crazy, it’s good to know I can’t hurt you.’

  They walked in silence through the passage. Enoch couldn’t detect any scents, but memories flitted in and out. Poplar trees, roses… Bleach, pure alcohol… Ignium… Treacle… Gunpowder…

  ‘My memories from before are fragmented, but I recall being outside Palthonheim’s walls,’ he said. ‘We engaged the enemy… My men died, Korvan and I were the only survivors. We escaped, but the poisons surrounding Palthonheim claimed us. We must have been brought into the city. I believed the doctors of Dalthea turned us into monsters, but after Lunosdatter’s experiments, I’m not so sure. I think the scholars saved us.’

  The corridor wended on and ended in an open archway. Beyond, a statue shimmered and warped.

  ‘Is that a fountain?’ Serena asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Enoch followed her out of the passage. The rose petal-pink of a summer sunset blossomed in the sky, fading and brightening. In the centre of the fountain stood a marble statue of Aerulus, sword held high, a demonic Orinul warrior lying dead at his feet.

  ‘Do you believe the Gods were evil?’ Enoch asked.

  Serena didn’t answer straight away. ‘I don’t know what to believe. Ventris is a liar. So’s Thackeray.’

  ‘But you’ve seen something.’

  ‘Yeah. I’ve been having these… Visions. Seeing the Gods. Gallows is the only one I’ve told.’

  ‘You did the right thing in talking about it with someone.’

  The fountain sat in the middle of a courtyard. Enoch remembered walking through it before, with Korvan. He remembered scholars lining the upper floors and balconies, looking down on the courtyard. He remembered the flutter of autumn leaves and the song of the wind.

  ‘Korvan…’

  ‘Huh?’ Serena asked.

  ‘Korvan wasn’t a soldier, not at first—he was a man of science… He loved this courtyard.’

  ‘That monster?’

  Enoch brushed past Serena. ‘We were human, once. He was raised in Dalthea, but born in Idaris.’

  Serena rolled her eyes. ‘Doesn’t surprise me.’

  ‘Not every Idari is evil,’ Enoch said, his tone harsher than he’d meant. ‘His mother and father were driven out of Idar-Vankhur.’

  ‘Why?’

  Sorrow swelled in Enoch’s chest—at least, the memory of it did. ‘He was born without pigment in his skin—he was reviled for being different. His mother and father fled to Dalthea, where so many wanderers end up. The ignicite rush provided work for anyone who could hold a pick-axe, so his father made a living in the mines, his mother in the textile mills. And Korvan… He grew up and studied anthropology. I think he needed to know why his own people feared him.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Because this is where he confided in me. I didn’t know him very well, and I apologised for the mistakes I’d made. As a man of science, he volunteered to join my unit on the expedition to Palthonheim. I believe he felt he might find some answers as to what made him… And he died for it. That poor man.’

  The corners of Serena’s lips turned down. ‘I’m sorry for what happened, Enoch—but whoever Korvan was died a long time ago. He’s a monster.’

  Enoch screamed and rounded on Serena. He grabbed her and pinned her against the fountain. She squirmed, but she was powerless. ‘And can a monster not find redemption?’

  His stone hands closed around her throat, and he squeezed. Serena batted at his forearms, but he didn’t relinquish his grip.

  ‘En…’

  Then an unusual, strident voice boomed, ‘Stop!’

  Enoch did so. He stepped back, his eyes wide and his own throat clenching. What have I done? ‘Serena… I…’

  She slipped away from the fountain, massaging her throat and refusing to meet his eyes.

  ‘I… I’m sorry.’ Enoch wanted to reach out and reassure her, but fear rooted him to the ground. Conflicting memories clashed in his mind, like a cracked mirror reflecting contrasting images.

  A figure
glided across the courtyard—the source of the voice: An old man draped in a light grey robe—a man Enoch didn’t recognise but felt a connection to.

  The man halted in front of Serena, clasped his hands together, and bowed. His nails were immaculate, his skin aged but flawless. The pulsing sunset gleamed on his bald head, and he addressed Serena without opening his eyes. ‘Are you all right, girl?’

  Serena stepped back. ‘Yeah. I’m fine.’

  Enoch’s head dropped. ‘I’m sorry, Serena. I fear I’m still recovering from Lunosdatter’s torments. Coming here was a mistake.’

  The old man swept his thin arms out. When he spoke, his voice rolled with melody, like two identical voices harmonising with one another. ‘You have nothing to fear any longer—either of you.’ The man regarded Enoch. ‘It is good to see you again.’

  Enoch said nothing at that.

  Serena took two steps away from both men. ‘Who in all hells are you? How did you make him stop?’

  ‘The mind is a powerful but fragile thing,’ the old man said. ‘Enoch tal Meridian may not remember me, but I’m the man who saved his life—and I knew my voice would return him to his senses.’

  Serena frowned at that, but she didn’t say anything.

  Enoch stared at his hands. You may have saved her life, too.

  ‘Will he go crazy again?’ she asked.

  The old man raised his chin. ‘My dear, while I am here, you will not come to any harm.’

  Serena didn’t look convinced. ‘What’s your name? Who are you?’

  It took the old man a moment to answer. ‘Like your friend, the secrets of Palthonheim have rendered me ageless. I am the Scholar City’s last remaining guardian—I am eternal, sustained by the technologies created here—condemned never to leave the boundaries of the city, but entrusted with its safety.’

  Serena arched an eyebrow. ‘Did your parents run out of ink when they put that on the birth certificate?’

  The old man chuckled. ‘The souls who shaped this place surrendered name and nationality. It is simpler to tell you my occupation—I am a sculptor here in Palthonheim, and a scribe. I’ve been waiting on you for quite some time.’ The ageless man leaned forward, clutched his hands to his chest and said, ‘You have many questions, and I will answer them as best I can. Follow me.’

  Serena followed the old man through a wide, deserted avenue. Palthonheim changed around her. Not just the shifting colours of the sky, but the buildings; one moment, a large sandstone customs house stood by the banks of a still river, squatting like a gluttonous frog; when Serena looked again, it had been replaced with a mound of rubble.

  Small bridges arched over shimmering streams, frozen in time. In a lonely field of dry mud, an old, iron bandstand stood. Its roof stooped like weakened shoulders, once proud but fallen into disrepair without an audience to invigorate it.

  It reminded Serena of pictures she’d seen of Dalthea’s Old Town Square. She’d never seen it in its prime, with its vibrant gardens and shimmering, living lakes; she’d only seen its dead, gnarled trees, its dry riverbeds, its scuzzers lurking in shadows.

  Enoch kept his distance from her; right now, she was glad of it. Something wasn’t right and she couldn’t trust him—or herself.

  And here I am in the weirdest place in the world, putting my trust in a nameless, ancient stranger.

  ‘What happened to this place?’ she asked the Ageless.

  Without turning his head, he said, ‘Palthonheim’s genius was its curse. Mankind’s ambitions grew too wild—and as an overgrown forest will inevitably succumb to a purging fire, so too did Palthonheim. Our engineers believed a superior power source lay at the heart of a volatile ignicite vein. They were correct—but they ruptured the vein, unleashing a chain reaction that obliterated the landscape, twisting and corrupting it. A hundred thousand souls lived in Palthonheim—the greatest minds of the world, all gone—our greatest treasures locked away, never to benefit mankind. A tragedy. Everyone perished while I cowered, alone.’

  The old man couldn’t mask his sadness. Serena had gone most of her life without friends, but she couldn’t imagine loneliness on that level.

  ‘Are you familiar with the story of Auferustrina?’ the Ageless continued.

  Serena shook her head. The fact the old man knew she was doing it without opening his eyes was the least strange thing about this place.

  ‘Ah, well,’ he said. ‘Suffice to say, some powers should have remained with the Gods.’

  ‘But you survived?’

  The old man’s head lowered. ‘Yes. I did. I sealed myself in my home, but it had already begun… I had no time to warn the others. I was there for a year before I ventured outside.’

  The deeper they got into Palthonheim, the more twisted its architecture became.

  Dark towers with black façades rose high, the shifting sky concealing their peaks and stretching their shadows. Granite homes with warped stone sat in rows. ‘Professors’ Square’, a sign read. Windows rippled like a stone breaking the surface of a lake, glass droplets suspended in mid-air. The homes were all empty, as far as Serena could see, and the air carried no scents, no cold nor warmth. There were no motorcarriages, no evidence that anyone had ever lived here.

  Nothing about it made sense, yet it all seemed to fit together. Like Frosthaven. And Dalthea.

  The flagstone road crested in shallow dunes—like someone had smoothed over an earthquake without fixing the damage.

  For an old man, the Ageless marched with some speed. When Serena caught up with him, she said, ‘You’re alone? In all of Palthonheim?’

  It took him a moment to answer. ‘When you do what you love, you are never alone.’

  Right. Sure. ‘You’ve been here since the city fell?’

  Still marching ahead, the old man raised his index finger. ‘An inquisitive mind—a precious commodity, as we learned here. But an inquisitive mind is never satisfied, don’t you find? There is always something more to uncover, something new to learn. No amount of knowledge will ever sate that curiosity. Our gift. Our folly.’

  A thousand more questions ran through Serena’s mind. ‘Before, when you said you’ve been waiting for me—what did you mean? You know what I am?’

  The Ageless turned, beaming—as much a man could with his eyes clenched shut. ‘I do not know your name or anything of your life—but I am the foremost scholar on the Fayth—and of sirens, amaraxes, shadow dragons, and all the other myths of the world. As far as I can tell, you are the last Siren.’

  ‘I thought you were a sculptor?’

  The old man’s mouth crinkled. If it was possible, Palthonheim became even quieter. ‘I am a great many things.’

  ‘Where are you taking us?’ Enoch demanded. ‘Danger lurks in this place—I can feel it.’

  Yeah—me too, Enoch. Serena kept her distance from him.

  ‘Yes,’ the Ageless said. ‘Tragedy has befallen Palthonheim. This once great seat of knowledge now lies cold and empty. But fear not—I will one day restore it to its glory.’

  ‘Reckon you have your work cut out for you,’ Serena said. ‘The world thinks this place was destroyed.’

  ‘Well—that certainly explains why I receive so few visitors.’

  ‘Where are you taking us?’

  ‘My, you do have an inquisitive mind. You’d have done well here, before ruin visited us.’

  ‘Um, thanks. You didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘I am taking you to the birthplace of the Gods. Their cradle. Their grave.’

  After ten minutes walking in silence, the old man brought Serena and Enoch to a long, isolated building with a colossal dome at the end. Battlements crowned its blonde sandstone walls, and towers shouldering smaller domes rose at its corners.

  The old man stopped by a large, oak door. ‘The library is Palthonheim’s greatest collection of the works of man and Gods—but this is her real treasure.’

  Serena angled her head back. ‘Is it a fortress?’

  ‘Not
quite.’ With shaking hands and tremendous effort, the Ageless pushed the door open. ‘An observatory.’

  The Ageless carried a lantern with a candle. It wrapped the old man in a pulsing, orange glow, but did little to penetrate the dripping darkness surrounding him.

  ‘It took years of research and calibrations, numberless hours, tireless work, to perfect our apparatus.’

  For all the awe in the old man’s vibrant, harmonising voice, Serena wasn’t impressed. Debris crunched under her feet, and cracked white tiles sat on the floor, wrenched from the walls and left to gather dust. The stench of stale alcohol and bleach burned in her nostrils—after so long without feeling or smelling anything in Palthonheim, it made her dizzy.

  ‘A medical wing.’ Enoch eyed the walls and ceiling like something might burst through and grab him. ‘This is where my life was saved.’

  Serena couldn’t ignore the worming fear that came with looking at Enoch now. She recalled running in terror from him in Dalthea’s sewer system, before she knew who he was. But the more she learned of Enoch now, the more keen that terror became.

  ‘Ah, here we are.’ The Ageless halted by a set of ornate iron doors. Symbols of the Indecim were set into it in wrought-iron: Swords, staffs, wings—even Nyr’s boatman on the left-hand door, ferrying souls across a river for those who died in peace, and her Valkyries on the right, for those who died in battle. No harps, though.

  The Ageless turned to Serena. ‘Are you ready?’

  From hidden depths, pipes hissed and creaked. ‘Sure.’

  The doors opened with a scrape. Serena and Enoch followed the Ageless into a vast, round room. Ignium lanterns dotted the wall, their amber glow reflected in the curves and mechanisms of a giant brass telescope.

  Serena walked to the telescope’s viewing platform, and ran her hand over its smooth rails. An array of dials and switches pleaded with her to test them. ‘Can I…?’

  ‘By all means,’ the Ageless said. ‘It’s been some time since anyone looked to the worlds beyond.’

  The Ageless glided towards a plinth set with a series of smooth stone orbs. He rotated them, and—without a sound—a crescent opened in the dome above, widening until the shimmering, shifting colours of the sky shone.