by D. P. Prior
“Recovered, I trust?” Gandaw said. Only hours ago, the Thanatosian had been lying in pieces in a stasis tube.
HaMavet ran slender fingers down his body and inclined his featureless head. The blades that adorned his harness like splinted armor glistened, and one hand hovered above the handle of the pistol Gandaw had instructed the homunculi to give him.
“I am… better than before.”
That would be the effect of the forced regeneration following vivisection. HaMavet was, after all, just another flawed organism of someone else’s universe, and before Gandaw could find a use for him, he needed to know him inside out. He’d accomplished the latter with his usual scrupulosity. No fiber, no cuticle, no enzyme, no cell had gone unscrutinized, and while nothing’s perfect, HaMavet’s anatomy, not to mention his abilities, was a great improvement on anything Gandaw had found on Aethir or Earth. Thanatos, the homunculi had called the dark world they’d snatched him from, a planet of pure hostility. It hadn’t figured on any of Gandaw’s charts, but it was undeniably there, once he’d been shown where to look. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one little bit. There was about it something of the dread he got from the Void. Neither could be accounted for in his theories, but it was of no consequence. If he was right about the Unweaving, and he undoubtedly was, the slate would be wiped clean, and then there’d be no more nasty surprises.
He tapped out a sequence on his vambrace, and a projection beamed forth: Shader, the black-haired woman, and the albino, Shadrak. The memory of the homunculus’s bullet shattering his borrowed skull threatened to break the surface and was swiftly quashed.
“These three were spotted by a sentroid in the Dead Lands. They must have followed me from Earth.” Mephesch had reported an impact with the mountain’s shields. It appeared one of the missing plane ships had been found after all this time. “There was another with them, a creature of the Sour Marsh.” At the tap of a button, a second hologram sprang up showing a tall man with pointed ears. He wore an ever-shifting cloak that seemed to have been woven from foliage, and he carried a bow. Not one of Gandaw’s, and not from Earth, which either meant he was something altogether unaccounted for, or one of the horrors from beyond the Farfalls.
“You told me yours is a planet of death,” Gandaw said.
HaMavet was motionless. He had no eyes, but Gandaw knew he was drinking in every detail of the holograms. All living things were targets to the Thanatosian. Even Gandaw himself. The only difference was, he had something HaMavet wanted.
“You said you are harvesters. Your people live only to slaughter.” No reaction. “Track them, and kill them.” He was taking no chances. A lot could happen in seventy-six hours, and although nothing could penetrate the Perfect Peak’s defenses, he’d learned long ago from Maldark and the dwarves never to underestimate his enemies. “Succeed, and I will return you to Thanatos.”
HaMavet gave an almost indiscernible bow.
“Be cautious,” Gandaw said. “The small one has a gun like the one you carry.”
Faster than thought, HaMavet’s pistol was out of its holster, and a blast reverberated around the chamber, ever diminishing until it was swallowed by the darkness of screen 55. There was a moment’s silence, and then a kryeh on the second tier flopped backward and pitched over the railing.
HaMavet spun the gun on his finger and snapped it back into the holster.
Impressive. The weapon must have been totally unfamiliar, but already the speed, the accuracy… Gandaw nodded his approval and then glared at the blood pooling from the kryeh onto the burnished floor.
Mephesch clicked his fingers, and a team of homunculi came running.
384 WAYS TO KILL
Shadrak had thought up far more than a dozen ways of killing the hunchback; he’d reached thirty-two and was still working on it. Blade to the balls, smother him with a cloak, throttle, drown, poison, garrote—if only he had Albert’s cheese-cutter—bludgeon, shot to the head, shove him off a cliff, bury him alive… He’d come up with twelve variations on each, imaging three-hundred and eighty-four scenarios in all, each checked off with a finger. Didn’t help his mood none there was dirt under the nails. Shog knew what germs were in among all the filth, but out here, in this cesspool of a swamp, there was sod all he could do about it.
Mud slurped at his boots, smothered his britches, and stuck to his cloak like a lead weight. The air beneath the mangroves grew even more stultifying than his thoughts, and the stench of rotten eggs steamed from the bogs. Twice, three wolfish heads burst to the surface, swaying atop sinuous necks. At first, he’d assumed there were three creatures, but on the second appearance, he spotted the hump of a scaly back, and it was clear all three heads belonged to the same beast.
It weren’t just Dave had him riled, mind. It was also the elf. Those looks he’d given, like he knew some big shogging hilarious secret he didn’t have the balls to share. It was bad enough putting up with the piss-taking as a kid—the dwarf jokes, and the “look like you’ve seen a ghost” crap. Yeah, he was different. Yeah, he was a freak, in most people’s reckoning, but then to have some pointy-eared tree-hugger make out like he weren’t even human… And he weren’t the first, neither.
Then the bitch, Rhiannon, was constantly grumbling about food, but there was fat chance of finding any, far as Shadrak could see—least anything he’d want to shove down his gullet. The odd snake, brightly-crested lizards, and turtles with bony spines protruding from their shells didn’t exactly work up no appetite.
What was most unsettling, though, was the course of the suns. They climbed and fell in the sky with no rhyme or reason. Soon as dawn came, midday sweltered, then cooled into dusk, which was immediately followed by a second rising. An hour later, midway through their arc, the suns dropped like falling apples, and the swamp was shrouded in night. Could’ve been the Sour Marsh screwing with things, or maybe that’s just the way it was on this shogged-up world. Less than a day, and he’d already had enough of it.
Shadrak weren’t no idiot; he knew what made him tick: he was a creature of routine and habit. How was that s’posed to work when there weren’t no way of gauging time, when the suns didn’t know their asses from their heads?
When they stopped to make camp, he slipped away by himself. He imagined the others thought he was scouting, making sure there was nothing creeping out of the dark, but truth be told, he was sick to death of the hunchback’s ear-bashing of Shader and his ‘scarlet woman’. One more word, and he’d have killed the shogger—all three-hundred and eighty-four ways. And he’d have taken his time about it, too.
Silver limned the tangled undergrowth as the enormous disk of one of the moons glided into the sky. The two smaller moons followed, washing the foliage with a wavering half-light.
He could still hear Dave bollocking Shader for not acting when he had the chance, telling him his eyes should be on Nous, not on the flesh of his whore. He tensed, listening for Rhiannon to explode. The bitch was a hellcat; he had the cuts and bruises to prove it. But it was Shader’s voice that shut the hunchback up. Pity Shadrak couldn’t make out the words, but whatever they were, they’d done the trick. Probably the knight would have to beg his insipid god for forgiveness now, because it was doubtful Dave would have stopped for anything less than a cuss backed up by a threat. Shadrak knew men. Knew religious types, too. Only one who’d surprised him over the years was Bovis Rayn, and to be honest, the surprise hadn’t worn off none, either. How could a man look so serene when you poisoned him then blew his brains out? Didn’t make sense, if you asked him.
He felt a familiar warmth at the edges of his awareness, knew it was Kadee smiling and shaking her head. She understood, right enough. Least she thought she did. But Kadee was a child in her understanding. Shadrak loved her for it. Loved the peace it gave her, but when all’s said and done, she was just another superstitious Dreamer.
The presence left him, and he instinctively drew his cloak about his shoulders. This weren’t the time for ghosts from the p
ast. Weren’t the time for grieving, neither. The way Shadrak saw it, he had a couple of options. It’s not like he was cut out for this saving the world kind of thing. That was best left to hero types, like Shader—or rather, what Shader most likely considered himself. The reality was, Nousians weren’t no better than Dreamers. They were all just people hiding from the truth, praying to their imaginary friends. Didn’t matter how complicated they made the bullshit, it was still bullshit, at the end of the day. Say one thing for killing folk, say it makes you honest. Everyone bleeds when you cut them, and most everyone shits themselves when they kick the bucket. No amount of dressing that up with fancy spiritual talk changed the cold hard facts.
“Don’t forget, we have a contract.”—The sound of the wind whispering in his ears.
Didn’t quite account for the Archon, though. Weren’t even certain he had veins, never mind blood flowing in them, and if he ever shit, you could bet it didn’t stink. Weren’t clear to Shadrak exactly what he was, and that was never a good thing. Know your enemy, he always said. Or rather, know your target. Till he did, best thing to do was play along and pick up what tidbits of information he could.
“Not showing yourself today? C’mon, don’t be shy.”
Warm air blasted Shadrak’s back. He spun, pistol already in his hand.
The Archon hovered an inch above a pool of bubbling mud, hands tucked into the billowing brown sleeves of his habit. The cowl was like a cavern sheltering a bonfire.
“I need you to keep him alive.”
“Shader?”
“He must reach Sektis Gandaw’s mountain. You understand this?”
Shadrak twirled his pistol and holstered it. “Do it yourself, if it’s so important.”
“As I said, we have a contract.”
“Sue me.”
The Archon threw his hood back, and white fire burst forth.
Shadrak flung himself face-first on the ground. “All right, all right. Contract. I got you. Keep Shader alive.”
“The Deceiver is near. He knows we are failing, that our last hope is weakening. Return to Shader and be vigilant.” The Archon pulled his cowl back up.
Shadrak lifted his head, blinked to make sure he could still see, then climbed to his feet. “I ain’t stupid. I know I’m out of my depth with this stuff. What I don’t get is why you don’t do something yourself.”
“You are my hands and feet, Shadrak. You and certain others. I am of the world above. I dare not act directly, for justice would demand the same for my foe.”
“Yeah, but what if I—”
But the Archon was gone.
He’d been about to ask, “What if I fail? What if I can’t help stop this Unweaving?” Surely it was better to give the job to someone else. Someone who gave a damn. “Shogger.”
“Takes one to know one,” Rhiannon said. She strode straight past him without even a look.
“Guess that’s why they call me ‘the Unseen’,” Shadrak muttered under his breath.
So, the Archon was from some other realm, and he was afraid of acting directly in case someone else did the same. Someone presumably as powerful as him, if not more so. Didn’t take a lot to work out he was talking about the Demiurgos. Weren’t exactly much, but it was a start.
He turned to watch Rhiannon disappear into the mangroves. He supposed she must have enjoyed the hunchback’s company as much as he did. With any luck, she’d drown in quicksand, or get eaten by the three-headed bog beast. If he had an iota of Bovis Rayn’s faith, it would’ve been tempting to pray for that.
Heading back toward the camp, he gritted his teeth as Dave started up again, about how it was grace that had brought him here, grace that sent him to show Shader the way.
“Grace, my ass,” Shadrak muttered. He was about to add that it was more likely some capricious twist of fate, when a thought struck him. Grace didn’t transport freaks like Dave between the worlds, but he damned well knew what did.
He slipped the pistol from its holster as he stormed into the clearing. The hunchback was squatting by a sputtering fire that was more smoke than flame.
Shader stood apart from him at the edge of the camp, peering into the brush. “Rhia… Shadrak, did you see—”
“That way.” Shadrak cocked a thumb behind him. “Prob’ly yakking from too much bullshit.” He tramped right across the fizzing kindling and stuck the barrel of his gun in Dave’s face.
The hunchback’s eyes bulged from their sockets, a sickly yellow creeping over the irises. Drool trickled from his twisted lips. He tried to stand, but Shadrak pressed harder, and he fell onto his back. Shadrak crouched over him, grabbed a handful of collar, and put pressure on the trigger. “One chance, shogger. How’d you get here?”
“Shadrak,” Shader said. His footfalls drew close, and there was the unmistakable rasp of his sword being drawn.
“How’d you shogging get here?” Shadrak squeezed on the trigger. Just a fraction, but any more and it’d be too much.
Something sharp pricked at his back.
“Let him go,” Shader said.
“Last time I’m gonna ask.” Shadrak ignored the knight. Like the shogger had the balls to stab him in the back. If the roles had been reversed, would’ve been a different matter. He knew that from experience.
“Nous brought me,” Dave slobbered, his tongue suddenly too big for his mouth. “I came by his grace.”
“Bollocks!” Shadrak said, and to illustrate the point, kicked Dave where it hurt. Only, the hunchback didn’t even wince.
“Shadrak!” Shader growled. “Don’t make me—”
“What?” Shadrak yelled, slamming Dave’s head into the ground and rounding on Shader. “The holy knight Deacon shogging Shader is gonna cut me down, is he? Had the chance before, and you didn’t take it. Why should this time be any different?”
“Are you presuming upon my mercy?” Shader brought the gladius up to Shadrak’s throat, but in the same breath, Shadrak had his pistol pointed at Shader’s heart.
And then it was gone. The shortsword moved so fast, Shadrak didn’t register until the pistol was at his feet and he was staring down the length of the blade, its tip a hair’s breadth from his eyeball. His heart skipped a beat, and then his thoughts were racing—sway back, sideswipe; stamp on his toes, grab the wrist; razor star across the jugular; break a kneecap. Shader’s cold eyes seemed to say he’d read each move and had it covered; whatever Shadrak did, he’d be dead before he drew breath. And so he took the only option remaining, for the time being. He did nothing.
“Mind telling me what that was about?” Shader asked without a trace of emotion.
“My plane ship,” Shadrak said. “It didn’t just disappear by itself, now, did it? Reckon we had ourselves a stowaway. How else do you think this shogger showed up like that?”
“Faith,” Dave said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Plane ship, plane ship! What need has the servant of Nous for such devilry?”
“You asking me to believe in miracles?” Shader said, cocking his head and narrowing his eyes at the hunchback.
Shadrak thought about making his move then, but the glinting metal virtually caressing his eyeball convinced him otherwise.
“Everyone wants a sign,” Dave countered. “Or are you too blind to see the graces Nous grants you?”
Shader’s lip curled, and he looked like he was going to spit an angry retort, but instead he sheathed his sword.
“You don’t believe that horse shit?” Shadrak said.
“No.”
“So what, you want me to torture him?”
Dave steepled his fingers, and a hard look came over his face.
“Be like getting blood from a stone,” Shader said. “I vote we work with what we’ve got. Let him lead us to these dwarves, at least until we come up with a better suggestion. Just have to keep an eye on him, that’s all.”
Dave snorted at that and set about poking the fire with a stick.
Shadrak picked up his pistol and wiped t
he dirt from it. He fished about in a pouch for a rag and proceeded to polish the barrel. “Oh, I’ll keep an eye on him, all right. You can count on that.”
Shader nodded and drew in a deep breath. “Good. Then that just leaves Rhiannon.” He turned on his heel and slipped into the brush.
The skin on Shadrak’s cheek pricked, the way it always did when someone was paying him too much attention. He looked up mid-polish and caught Dave’s sickly eyes appraising him.
“What you looking at, freak?”
The hunchback sucked in his top lip and nodded ever so slightly before answering. “Nous is merciful, brother. He will forg—”
“Don’t even think about it,” Shadrak said. “Heard enough of that crap for a lifetime.”
“Then surely you must—”
“How ’bout you shut the shog up and find something to roast on that sorry excuse for a fire. Least that way the bitch might stop grumbling when she gets back.”
Dave got to his feet and craned his neck to look over his shoulder at a dense tangle of vines.
“I’m joking, turd-breath. Ain’t nothing out there fit for eating.”
“Nous will provide,” Dave said.
Shadrak was about to cuss at that, but then the knotted vines shook, and trapped among their thorny strands was a white goat, bleating like it had no idea how it came to be there.
SALVE OF THE BLACK SWORD
The largest of the three moons bathed the swamp in silver, painting the drooping foliage with its sheen and lending it the cast of a dream.
More of a bloody nightmare.
Rhiannon plonked herself on a gnarled mangrove root just shy of a bubbling and spitting mire. Her sandaled feet trailed in the black sludge. No point worrying about it now, despite the fact it stank worse than shite and was probably crawling with leeches. Her calves were already caked from the day’s slog through it, and the hem of her robe was a besmirched ruin.