by D. P. Prior
A column of mist was forming at the foot of the jetty. Shadrak watched, mesmerized, as it swirled and took on human shape. He backed away towards the trees, but something made him stop. This was no black wraith with burning eyes. He gasped as he recognized the creased dark skin, the beaded grey hair, and those eyes of sparkling green that could warm his soul no matter how far he fell.
Kadee.
Shadrak walked and then ran to the jetty, tears spilling down his cheeks, arms open wide. Kadee smiled, her whole face lighting up with that look that told him she loved him, no matter what. Just before he reached her, she held up her hands.
‘You must not touch me, my baby fellah. I am here and I am not.’
Shadrak caught a glimpse of ghostly trees behind her, set against darkening alien skies.
‘Kadee.’ He folded his arms across his chest and made no attempt to disguise the tears. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘I know,’ she said.
‘I’ve grown rotten without you. I’ve turned into everything you hate.’
Kadee’s eyes glistened with moisture, but her smile held firm. ‘I could never hate you, my son.’ She glanced over her shoulder at something Shadrak couldn’t see. ‘I cannot stay,’ she said, ‘but there is someone I want you to meet. He can help you, Shadrak, just as he helped me.’
A figure formed beside Kadee—a man, brown-robed and hooded. As Kadee began to dissolve back into the mist, the newcomer raised his head and Shadrak shielded his eyes from the glare spilling from beneath the cowl.
‘Kadee!’ Shadrak held out a hand as if he could pull her back.
‘She is safe,’ the man said in a voice that reminded Shadrak of a breeze rustling the leaves in a forest.
‘She’s dead,’ Shadrak said. ‘How much safer can you get?’
The man touched the tips of his bone-white fingers together. ‘The world is full of mysteries, Shadrak. Believe me, your mother will be much safer if you are prepared to act. You have been graced with favour, Shadrak. If not for the love of others you would have been slain at birth.’
Shadrak felt the dark spaces of his mind welling up, clamouring for attention. He tried to frame a question, but the man waved him to silence.
‘Now is not the time. Answers do not come so easily. You have to earn them. But first you have to trust.’
Shadrak trusted no one. Not since Kadee had died in any case. The hooded man seemed to read his thoughts.
‘That’s why I asked Kadee to introduce us. She trusted me and now you must.’
‘Who are you? What do you want?’
The man threw back his hood and Shadrak fell to his knees, blinded by the blaze.
‘I am the Archon, and I will not stand idly by and watch the worlds fall. You have aided the enemy, Shadrak. You had little choice, I grant you, but your actions have brought us one step closer to destruction. What we do from now on affects the lives of the three worlds, Shadrak: of Earth, and Aethir, and Thanatos where the innocent dead are trapped. If you help me, you help Kadee. If you refuse, you will remain blind to what is going on, an ant in a game of giants.’
The light faded as the Archon pulled his hood up. Shadrak blinked until his sight was restored and then climbed to his feet.
‘Everyone wants something.’ Shadrak folded his arms over his chest. ‘The shogging masters, Cadman, Gandaw, and now you. Only you’re worse than the rest of ’em, ain’t you? Thought you could use Kadee to get to me.’
‘She understands,’ the Archon said. ‘You would do well to learn from her. Any woman who would take in a creature like you and give it the love of Nous should be listened to.’
‘Yeah, yeah, like you know her better than I do. Like you know the first thing about me.’
‘I know what you are.’
Shadrak took a step closer, fingers curling around the handle of the thunder-shot. ‘Then fucking tell me.’
‘You think a pistol will harm me?’ The Archon’s voice rumbled like a gathering storm. ‘Even if it were loaded it would be useless. Nothing you could do would have the slightest effect. Frightening, isn’t it?’
Shadrak started to tremble, in spite of himself. I’ll find something, you shogger. Like it always did with him, the fear turned to anger. He opened his mouth to let it out, but the part of his mind that kept watch on his thoughts, words, and actions stepped in. He listened to it because it had served him well on so many occasions. Bide your time, Shadrak. Bide your time. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it for Kadee’s sake.’
The Archon swept his arm in wide arc and behind him the air parted like a curtain to reveal a gleaming metal passageway. ‘This Maze of yours beneath the city of Sarum, do you have any idea what it is?’
Shadrak peered past the Archon, recognizing the corridor leading to the hub of the Maze.
‘Must have been left by the Ancients,’ he said. ‘I’ve found stuff in there that don’t belong in our day.’
The Archon drifted closer, the hem of his robe inches above the ground. ‘It is a plane ship,’ he said. ‘Made from scarolite ore by the homunculi of Aethir. Is that a name you recognize? Homunculus?’
Shadrak’s mind was opening up like an infinite void. There was something…something he remembered, but it refused to come into focus. ‘It’s what he said…Cadman. When he took the bullet out…He said…’
‘Serve me well and all will be revealed. Come.’ The Archon stepped into the corridor. ‘I will show you how to work this ship, then you will be a far more effective player.’
Shadrak followed him inside, gawping as the jungle vanished like a fleeting vision. The cold metallic surfaces felt like home. It was a relief to be away from the relentless heat of the Anglesh Isles.
‘What d’you want me to do?’
‘Nothing you’re not used to. Wait. Observe. And when the time is right,’ the Archon twitched his index finger, ‘pull the trigger.’
THE FALL
Aethir: Anno Domini 1980
(276 Years Before The Reckoning
Amber fire gushed from the maw of Eingana, engulfing the philosopher. The cavern floor split open beneath the old man and smoky tentacles coiled about his burning body. The giant serpent hissed and thrashed, its tail smashing a row of Kryeh from their seats. Wires ripped free of flesh, wings flapped and screens died. Malevolent laughter rumbled from the depths, and then there was a thunderous crack as the floor sealed. There was no trace of Aristodeus.
Maldark shuddered. He noticed that Sektis Gandaw stood well out of range, despite his bravado.
‘So much for philosophy. So much for causes. You see,’ the Technocrat sounded like an admonishing parent, ‘it is useless to deny the truth. Nothing can stand against pure science. Nothing! Not Eingana, not your meddling philosopher friend. Not even the fabric of the cosmos.’
A thick chain choker cut into Eingana’s neck the more she struggled.
‘Look,’ Sektis Gandaw said. ‘See how easily she is harnessed like all the other forces in the universe. Aristodeus might have thought himself clever, but all his sophistry didn’t save him from the fire. He nearly swayed you, Maldark, nearly won you over. But I designed you dwarves better than that. I would say you made the right choice, but everything was already written in your blood.’
Maldark lowered his eyes as the homunculi began to drop down on cables, seeking purchase on the scales of Eingana’s head. The great serpent snapped one up, crunched down and spat blood. The others took the opportunity to land atop her head and hammer home their needles. Eingana screamed, her tail rippling and coiling like a corkscrew. The chief homunculus, Mephesch, waited until four needles were in place and lines were connected. As his colleagues jumped clear, Mephesch threw the switch.
Eingana stiffened.
A fierce pounding resounded about the chamber. Sektis Gandaw frowned and tapped a button on his vambrace, sending a sentroid hovering towards the metal doors. Maldark moved closer as the doors began to buckle. His Marshall, Dagar, foll
owed.
‘More hybrids?’ he growled. ‘Thought we’d got them all.’
Maldark wasn’t so sure. He’d seen a few of them flee with the Great Spider when they’d finally realized their doom and the doom of their beloved Eingana.
The dwarf knights formed up in front of him, grim faces staring towards the door. Their tabards were red with the blood of the hybrids and many had holes torn in the links of their armour. Maldark hefted his war-hammer and waited.
The sentroid surged forward as the door exploded inwards. It fired a beam of light that bounced harmlessly off a huge chunk of scarolite being wielded as a shield. The black metal spun and hammered into the sentroid, sending it crashing into the wall. It dropped like a stone and split open on the floor—a steaming metal egg that continued to whir and click.
A gargantuan black man burst into the room, snake’s head hissing, muscles swollen and thickly veined.
‘Traitor!’ Mamba spat at Maldark and charged.
The dwarves rushed forward to protect their Grand Master. Dagar’s head was pulped by the snake-man’s first blow. Fangs snapped down to tear the face from another. The dwarves pushed forward and rained blows down on Mamba. The shield caught most of them, but an axe found its mark and the snake-man fell back.
‘Betrayer!’ he screamed, yellow eyes stabbing into Maldark like daggers.
Maldark caught Sektis Gandaw watching with cold indifference. He followed the Technocrat’s gaze to Eingana where the giant snake was solidifying, her glistening scales fading to matt. Maldark gaped, the bile rising in his throat. Eingana’s eyes flared with amber defiance even as she started to shrink.
‘Sssee!’ shouted Mamba.
The dwarves broke off and turned to watch the death of the serpent. A hushed awe settled around the cavernous chamber. How could they be sure this was God’s will? Had she not fallen through the Void from His heart? What if she really was God’s gift to them, as the dwarves had once believed, back before Sektis Gandaw had revealed her lies.
‘Eingana,’ Maldark whispered, tears running down his cheeks. ‘What have I done?’
Sektis Gandaw seemed to sense the change. He tapped out some combinations on his vambrace and the metal panels surrounding the chamber started to rise, smoke curling from behind them.
‘Help her,’ Mamba pleaded. ‘Pleassse!’
The dwarves were all watching Maldark, their eyes as damp as his own. He flicked his gaze around the room. The panels had opened a couple of feet and shimmering mist swirled beyond. He caught a glimpse of massive shapes in the alcoves.
‘Don’t be a fool, Maldark,’ Sektis Gandaw said, starting to rise towards the ceiling atop a metal disc. Mephesch was peering down from a balcony high above, his eyes narrowed, his mouth curling up at one corner.
Maldark flashed one last look at Mamba and then spun and hurled his hammer. There was a thunderous crash high up on the wall where Eingana was suspended from wires. The serpent was now no more than a small statue. Metal groaned and sparks flew. The hammer spun back through the air and landed snugly in Maldark’s grip. The statue that had been Eingana fell.
‘Flee!’ Maldark shouted as the panels fully opened and four metallic behemoths rolled out into the room.
Sparks danced about their armoured frames, which were conical like Sektis Gandaw’s mountain. Tubes emerged from their bodies and sprayed great gouts of fire at the dwarves.
Amidst the screams and the smell of burnt flesh, Maldark lunged for the statue. One of the metal monsters swung towards him, but he grabbed Eingana and dived. The stream of flame singed his hair as it passed overhead. Without looking back, Maldark sprinted for the door. He skidded on the carpet of charred and liquefying dwarf flesh that was all that remained of his men, but strong hands caught him.
‘Run!’ hissed Mamba. ‘And keep on running.’
IKRYS
Cadman entered the tower alone, leaving a cordon of death-knights outside. The door creaked in protest and he jumped out of his skin as a fist-sized spider scuttled out of his way. Literally out of his skin as the illusion of corpulence deserted him once more and he couldn’t be bothered to bring it back. Couldn’t even be bothered to count anymore. He was bone weary and wanted nothing more than to shut himself up for a century and sleep. He slipped inside and pressed his back to the door.
The ground floor looked the same as he’d left it all those years ago: a circular chamber crawling with cobwebs, thick with dust, and coated with a growth of fluffy black mould that hung in strips like peeling wallpaper. The walls were six feet thick and reinforced by granite buttresses. The door was oak banded with iron and fitted with an incredibly intricate lock Cadman had brought from Verusia. The centre of the room was stacked high with crates. For the life of him Cadman couldn’t recall what he’d packed inside them. A narrow stairwell wound its way upwards in a hazardous spiral with nothing to hold onto.
Braving the stairs to the first floor, he crunched his way across a carpet of dead cockroaches and lowered himself onto the scuffed and torn Chesterfield he’d shipped from Britannia. The leather was holding up rather well, considering the centuries he’d owned it.
Don’t make them like they used to.
Cadman lay back and pretended he was still in Britannia; back with his mother in the thatched cottage, reclining on the Chesterfield and dreaming dreams of discovery.
Science had been his first passion, a vast unsullied canvass tugging at his natural curiosity. He’d had other dreams too—a place of his own in the country; a smallholding—oh, he’d have paid someone to manage it, but there was something altogether satisfying about self-sufficiency; a good woman to share it with—children even, if he’d had a lockable study where he could get away from them. But it was science that had really fired him up; science that had led him to Oxford, and science that had finally taken him to Verusia. Not pure science by then; more of a fusion of the arcane arts with rigorous methodology. The sort of thing that got you ridiculed by one community and reviled by another. It was a path with only one logical conclusion. A path followed in the footsteps of Dr Otto Blightey, one time fellow of Oxford himself, and now a mythical bogey man who had proven all too real.
Cadman reached for a yellowish envelope speckled with insect droppings. He’d left it on the coffee table some considerable time ago. The address was smudged and almost illegible, but for the bottom line: Verusia. With a sinking feeling, Cadman slipped the letter out and scanned it. Oddly enough, he remembered sitting on this very sofa and agonizing over the wording. He’d written it shortly after his arrival in Sahul. An apology to Blightey for running out on him. An explanation; a plea for understanding, for forgiveness. It was the desperate hope of a desperate man appealing to reason, appealing for compassion. He’d not sent it. Cadman stuffed the letter back inside its envelope and dropped it back on the coffee table.
It had taken him centuries to work through the trauma left by Blightey and now, with one scaremongering fairy tale, he was straight back to square one.
Damn that tatterdemalion ragamuffin! What’s he have to go and put the frighteners on me for?
Jaspar Paris, Renna Cordelia, flying skulls that drank your spirit—all true. Cadman pushed himself up off the sofa. All too terribly true, and he only had himself to blame for raising the subject with the bard. No matter how far he ran, how much time passed, the threat of Blightey pursued him as inexorably as decay.
He took the stairs up to the second floor, noting with distaste that the canopy of his old four-poster was a sagging belly, the frame bowed, and the mattress a sodden heap with dense brown stains spreading across its surface. He made straight for the rusted ladder that led to a trap in the ceiling. His bony fingers rapped against the rungs as he ascended. The trap, warped by the centuries, refused to budge. Cadman directed his power at the stubborn wood until it crumbled into dust. He cried out as lesions cut into his bones. He could have used his pieces of the statue, probably should have, but something unsettled him each time he did. It w
as like the dip in temperature when a cloud covers the sun. At first he’d thought it was Blightey, but now he wasn’t so sure. Blightey had a distinctive presence, malignant and somewhat excitable, as if he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you. Whatever it was that followed Cadman’s use of the statue was almost detached, medical even—like a surgeon deciding where to make his first incision. It was deeply worrying. It could have been his own paranoia, he was well aware of that, but it never paid to take chances.
Clambering out onto the roof he walked to the edge of the parapet and gazed at the waning moon. Even that looked like a spectral skull leering at him from the heavens.
He frowned at the driver sitting stoically down below in the driving seat of the carriage. Cadman felt a deepening of his familiar chill as he recalled the maniacal cackle, the eerie effect of the moonlight on the driver’s back as they drove from the templum. It was the first time the man had shown any sign of life. Cadman shuddered. It had seemed like a veil had been ripped aside to reveal something beneath reality; something altogether more sinister and frightening than anything he’d ever imagined—and that was saying something. No sign of it now, though. The man was as lifeless as the zombies Cadman controlled. An empty vessel waiting for an animating intelligence. Numbers started bobbing up from the depths of Cadman’s mind. He tried to let their patterns lead him from his worries, but a niggling thought slipped through the net: unless his own subconscious fears had somehow been reflected in the driver’s uncharacteristic behaviour, someone, or something else must have entered him. Either that, or the man had been acting dumb all along.
His fingers fell to the pieces of statue the same way his thoughts turned to counting. Pulling out the fang and the eye, he brought them together. Warm amber light wafted from them like stardust. Cadman was about to put them away when he glimpsed something pass across the face of the moon. The tatters of his heart thrashed about wildly in his ribcage. Had he just spied the presence that came whenever he used the statue?