Against the Unweaving

by D. P. Prior

  Apparently the monk liked to think of himself as the Gray Abbot, although he’d been born Alphonse LaRoche in the region known as France before the Reckoning. He’d worn an eye of the Statue of Eingana as part of his Nousian Monas. A spectral creature—the Gray Abbot thought of it as undead—had stolen the Monas…

  Gandaw switched off the screen. Superstitious claptrap, but what could you expect from a religious man. Just as the screen faded, he caught sight of another name, the name of the knight LaRoche had sent to retrieve his Monas: Deacon Shader.

  Absently, he punched the name into his vambrace and sent it as a message to Mephesch, trusting that the homunculus would get his meaning and start a data search.

  Relaxing back into the chair, he sent a mental coupling signal to his exoskeleton and scores of microfilaments shot through the weave of his clothes to attach to the projector seat, leaving him festooned in a tangle of blinking lights that looked like a bioluminescent anthozoan. He closed his physical eyes and opened their virtual counterparts.

  Gandaw threw up an arm as a cavernous maw thrust towards him, rows of thorny teeth extending all the way to the back of the throat. Needles pricked his skin and calm was restored in an instant.

  “Back away from the projector, you ignorant brute.” He was pleased that his voice retained its coldness.

  The picture shook as the mawg retreated, its yellow eyes coming into focus above a long snout rimmed with fur. It appeared to be a female, for what it was worth.

  “Master,” it growled and offered a grotesque parody of a bow. “I shaman of mawgs. My name is Varg—”

  “Yes, yes.” Gandaw cut across its fawning with a tone of extreme boredom. “I know what you are. What you call yourself is of no matter to me. Why have you contacted me?” This had better be good.

  The mawg gestured to the mass of hunched and shaggy forms behind it. They parted, and two mawgs dragged a diminutive figure into sight. Gandaw almost gasped. It was a homunculus, as far as he could tell, no bigger than Mephesch, and yet the creature had milky white skin and eyes as red as blood. An albino. It was dressed in black and brown leather and a blood-stained dark cloak.

  The homunculus looked directly into the screen, eyes widening as it focused on him. “What magic is this?”

  “Science,” Gandaw said in his most matter-of-fact voice. “There’s no such thing as magic. I would have expected your kind to know that.”

  The homunculus looked him in the eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Being what you are.”

  “Which is?”

  “Interesting.” Gandaw touched a finger to his lips. “Quickly, now, where are you from?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  The shaman roared and jutted its snout towards the homunculus’s face.

  “Sarum,” the albino seemed to sag and some of the insolence left his eyes.

  “Originally?” Gandaw asked. There were no homunculi on Earth, and the only ones to visit had been sent by him to harvest specimens. Was it possible this one didn’t know what it was?

  “Like I said, Sarum. I was born there. My mother was—”

  “Impossible,” Gandaw snapped, and instantly regretted it. More fluids flooded his veins, restoring equanimity. “It is of no matter. Shaman, what are you doing with this creature?”

  The shaman’s snout came back into view. “Found it under city, Master. Ate its friends. Kept this one to show you. Knew it shouldn’t be here.”

  Not bad for a mindless brute, thought Gandaw. The mawg was right. He’d always known the homunculi were devious, but what did this new discovery mean? He didn’t like mysteries, they were a side-effect of a flawed universe. “You’d better kill it.”

  Another channel opened and Mephesch’s voice crackled in his ear. “This Deacon Shader is the same knight who drove our mawgs from Oakendale.”

  An image of a tall man appeared in a window beside the homunculus and the shaman. He wore a tall broad-brimmed hat which shrouded his eyes in shadow. The face was gaunt and angular above a white surcoat and long black overcoat.

  “I retrieved this from the satellite when I followed up on an echo from the statue. If I’m not mistaken, Deacon Shader has a piece of the statue. It could even be the body.”

  The shaman let out an excited yelp. “He does, he does. Seen him in the city house, we have. Came to aid music man who had serpent’s body. Must have taken it from him.”

  “The signal is very faint,” Mephesch continued, “but it’s coming from within the Templum of the Knot. The big surge that set the kryeh off has resulted in a flurry of activity around the Council buildings, some of which is headed towards the templum.”

  “Show me,” Gandaw said as needles jabbed him repeatedly.

  Another window overlaid the images of the homunculus and the shaman. Gandaw squinted to make sure he was seeing correctly. Hordes of what looked like freshly disinterred corpses were shambling about outside the building known as Arnbrook House. The view panned to show a troop of cavalry riding in the direction of the templum. Their steeds were skeletal, the riders armored in rusty mail and wielding chipped and age-worn weapons.

  “Someone is using Eingana’s power to locate the other pieces.” The realization hit Gandaw like a block of ice in his stomach.

  “I agree,” Mephesch said. “The strongest signal came from Arnbrook House, but it’s moved and I can’t get a fix on it.”

  Gandaw didn’t like this. All these centuries waiting like a spider for a fly to fall into its web and now some outsider was going to beat him to the prize. “Shaman, take your mawgs to the templum. We must get this piece before our rival does.”

  A chorus of whimpering sounded from the mass of mawgs around the shaman. “We can’t, Master. My people are frightened of the things they’ve seen. We can’t kill the dead.”

  Gandaw’s fist clenched and he grimaced as a hundred needles pierced his skin all at once.

  “I’ll go,” the albino homunculus said.

  “What?” Gandaw was on the brink of switching off the projector.

  “I’ll get the statue for you. I have some expertise in these matters. It’s what I’m paid for.”

  “Paid for?” Gandaw didn’t pay for things. People either did what they were told or…

  The homunculus pressed his face right up to the screen. “I am Shadrak the Unseen. Tell your creatures to let me go and I’ll get your statue.”

  He was a homunculus. How could Gandaw trust such a creature? He opened one physical eye and glanced at the black gauntlet, an orange light indicating it was partially charged—at least enough for a demonstration. He thrust his hand into the gauntlet and made a fist. Shadrak glanced up at the black form materializing above his head, eyes widening in terror as the fingers of a gigantic black hand curled around him.

  “I see everything,” Gandaw said, giving a squeeze. “If you betray me, I have the means to wring the life-essence from your body. You will be nothing more than a dried out husk. Do I make myself clear? There will be nowhere you can hide from me. I have eyes and ears everywhere.”

  Shadrak nodded. Gandaw was satisfied he’d got the message. He released his grip and tugged his hand from the gauntlet, its giant counterpart dissolving from view.

  “Bring the statue to the Anglesh Isles. I will instruct my shaman Krylyrd to expect you.”

  Without the use of a planeship it was the best he could do. The gauntlet couldn’t bring matter across the worlds—which was quite an irritation—but if the receiver beneath the amphitheater in the mawg settlement could be synchronized with the projector, he might be able to fabricate a temporary portal. If only those blasted hybrids hadn’t stolen the last of his planeships, things would have been so much easier.

  Shadrak slipped from view and the shaman came back into focus.

  “As for you,” Gandaw said, “get back to your ships. Join the rest of the hive on the ocean. There is another piece of the statue approaching Sahul, and this time the guardians are mer
ely human.”

  The shaman’s eyes flared and it let out a low growl as Gandaw flicked off the projector. He was about to stand when a warning LED flashed on his vambrace. At the same instant, Mephesch appeared on the top level, as if he’d just stepped out of the wall.

  “Something’s happening on screen 55.” The homunculus was shaking. “There’s a tremor running across the web covering the black hole.”

  “What?” Gandaw became aware of the pounding of his heart. LEDs were going off all over his vambrace and the needles were piercing deeper than usual.

  “Something has left the Abyss,” Mephesch said, his brows furrowed. “Also heading for the templum.”

  Gandaw saw the consternation on the homunculus’s face and shivered. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he’d seen something else as well: the slightest curling of Mephesch’s mouth in what was either a grimace or a smile.

  THE COMING TERROR

  Elias was dying for a piss, and as if that wasn’t enough, he was freezing. The sun had set some time ago, and the chill night had cast its mantle of darkness over the templum. He dared to peek out from the cart at the sound of horses clattering down the Domus Tyalae. How many more knights were coming? How many did they need to root out a handful of priests and three fighting men?

  As the newcomers came into view, the temperature plummeted further until Elias felt his teeth chattering and his fingers started to turn blue. The pressure in his bladder had reached bursting point and the hairs on the back of his neck were sticking up. Dread descended like a million tiny insects burrowing through his skin, a fearful panic that prickled along his veins and made him shake uncontrollably. He leapt up from the blankets and jumped from the cart, running for the tree line. One of the new knights steered its horse to intercept him and Elias’s limbs turned to jelly, sending him sprawling and gibbering to the ground.

  The rider dismounted. Elias heard the rasping of a sword being drawn. He forced himself to look at the knight, who was dressed in a tattered once-white cloak that flapped like a shredded sail, even though there was no wind. A full-faced, pocked and rusty helm stared back at him. Even the now raised sword was chipped and dull, thick cobwebs clinging to the blade. Elias covered his face with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Don’t kill me!” he squealed, and immediately hated himself for being such a wuss. If only he still had the statue. And then he had one last desperate hope. “You’re with Dr. Cadman, yes? Looking for the statue? I used to have a piece—a big piece actually, the whole body.” He held up his hands to show just how big, probably exaggerated a little. “I know all about the Statue of Eingana. Don’t kill me and I’ll tell you where it is. I’ll tell you everything.”

  The knight stayed his hand and another figure, ghostly in form, drifted over to hover in front of Elias like an unnatural shadow.

  “What do you know?”

  “I know who has the body.”

  The wraith turned away dismissively.

  “And I know the geezer who used it to bring about the Reckoning and who now works to keep it from you.”

  “Take him to Dr. Cadman.”

  Hands of ice dragged Elias to his feet and dumped him unceremoniously across the saddle of a horse—a horse without flesh. The knight remounted and they cantered down the Domus Tyalae.

  Still spineless, Elias thought, hot piss drenching his trousers and already starting to chafe his inner thighs. Some things never change.

  ***

  “They’ve got the bard!”

  It was Hugues’ voice.

  Shader instinctively drew the gladius and joined him at the window, straining to see in the silvery moonlight. Gaston looked up, the ghost of a sneer crossing his face before he lowered his eyes to his boots. Maldark stood, hammer at the ready, apparently awaiting Shader’s lead.

  “Coming?” Shader asked as he strode to the doors and began to unbolt them.

  “You can’t go out there,” Gaston said, rising from his pew.

  “He’s right,” Cadris piped. “You’re putting us all in danger. Mater?”

  Ioana suddenly looked like the strength had leaked out of her. She blinked rapidly, holding a shaky hand up in front of Cadris, one finger raised and wagging slightly. She opened her mouth to say something, but it was another voice that spoke.

  “Help him.” All eyes turned towards the sacristy where Rhiannon stood clutching her arms across her chest, an expression like a mortal wound on her face. “Please, Deacon. Help him.”

  Shader watched her over his shoulder as he and Maldark took hold of a door handle each. Rhiannon gave him the slightest of nods, a hollow gesture that may have been gratitude.

  Shader threw back his door and stepped outside with Maldark close behind. The knights of the White Order were stunned into inaction and Shader took full advantage, striding straight towards them and throwing his voice with authority. “Release the bard. Now!”

  The knights turned to each other, lost in indecision. Shader knew he had them, knew if he pressed home his advantage…

  Justin Salace rode forward, face twisted with rage. “You have no right—”

  He never finished the sentence. Shader leapt at him and dragged him squealing from the saddle. Justin flailed about with his arms and legs but Shader cracked his head brutally against the stone of the driveway until he stopped moving. Shader stood and immediately pushed his way in amongst the mounted knights, none of whom moved to stop him. Maldark shadowed him, glowering malevolently. Shader could just see Elias’s motley-clad form draped over the saddle of a horse passing round a bend in the Domus Tyalae. There was something about the horse… An old familiar terror washed over him, and his chest began to tighten. Breaking through the ring of the White Order, he started to give chase, but stopped. A new force emerged from the darkness beneath the trees to block his path.

  “Nous!” he cursed, the blood freezing in his veins. “The Lost.”

  Scores of armored knights on fleshless horses spilled across the road. The riders wore corroded armor beneath the faded tatters of Nousian surcoats, their shields jagged-edged and corroded, their swords brown with age. A shadowy wraith drifted to their fore, its spectral form garbed similarly in full armor and a white surcoat, ghastly red eyes burning through the slit of its visor.

  “Callixus.”

  The wraith grew a fraction more substantial. “Shader.”

  The knights of the White Order had regained their composure, a group of about twenty moving in behind Maldark and Shader to cut off any retreat. The others maintained their cordon around the templum. Shader glanced back towards the open doors from where Ioana watched, her face impassive.

  Callixus followed his gaze. “Priestess,” he hissed. “We are coming.”

  Shader took a step towards him, but Callixus instantly vanished in a wisp of black smoke. The skeletal steeds before Shader stamped and scraped their hooves, snorted soot and flame. The death-knights sitting astride them lifted their visors as one, jaws clacking in a macabre semblance of laughter. Shader stiffened, and would have panicked had it not been for a surge of warmth from the gladius. He drew his longsword and stood doubly armed before the assembled host. Maldark swung his hammer in a wide arc that drove back the White Order. “’Tis too late for the bard,” he bellowed. “We must get back inside!”

  “You go first,” Shader said. “I’ll be right behind.”

  “Aye,” Maldark growled. “Let’s get to it.” He crunched his hammer into the head of a horse that got too close.

  Shader lost sight of him as the dwarf barged his way into the throng, bashing left and right and bellowing at the top of his voice, “For God, for Aethir, for Arnoch!”

  And then the Lost charged, shrieking a deathly battle cry. Shader moved to intercept the first knight, who slashed down at him with a rusty broadsword. He sidestepped with ease and decapitated the cadaver with a fierce backslash. The head spun to the ground and glared up at him, teeth still chattering. The skeletal horse twisted its neck
and tried to bite him, its headless rider thrashing about blindly with the sword. Shoulder-charging the steed, Shader knocked it to the ground. Bones splintered, ligaments snapped, but both horse and rider continued to drag themselves towards him.

  Shader danced away from the sluggish attacks of four more knights before weaving in amongst them, hacking this way and that with both blades.

  ***

  Rhiannon watched over Ioana’s shoulder as Maldark surged through the White Order, turning back to deliver a thumping blow to a shield. The knight screamed, his shoulder suddenly jutting at an impossible angle. The dwarf moved from foot to foot with surprising agility and awesome balance as he spun and twirled his way back into the ranks of the enemy. A sword slashed dangerously above his head, but Maldark was saved by his height. He swung at the rider and knocked him flying into the man behind. A horse kicked him in the lower back and Maldark roared, spinning on his heel and striking it with such force that it wobbled and then slumped to the floor.

  Rhiannon strained on tiptoe for any sign of Shader, but there were too many mounted knights in the way. She felt her skin crawl and turned to see Gaston behind her. “Help them!” She grabbed him and swung him onto the road. “Get them back inside!”

  Gaston wavered for a moment, looking from the fight to Rhiannon. “I t-t-told them not to go out there. It’s not my f-f-fault.”

  “Go to them!” Rhiannon took hold of Gaston’s collar and shook him.

  He gripped her wrists and squeezed, eyes hard and glinting dangerously. “They’re already dead!”

  Rhiannon felt her face tighten into a grimace as Gaston let go of her and tried to step back into the narthex, but she held onto his collar and blocked the way. She glanced about for support, but Ioana looked like she’d been struck dumb, rooted to the spot, and the others hadn’t left the nave. Only Cadris caught her gaze, and he turned away, patting down his hair.

  “You spineless bastards!” She shoved Gaston into the wall.

  He rebounded and tried to get past her, but Rhiannon punched him full in the face, sending him reeling to the floor. She was immediately on top of him, ripping his sword from the scabbard and rushing outside.