by D. P. Prior
The golden sphere seemed to taunt them. It revolved around an invisible axis and then drifted slowly away.
“A light in the darkness,” Shader said with wry humor, paraphrasing the passage from the Liber.
“Makes me feel a whole lot better.” Rhiannon took a step toward it.
“Wait,” Shader said, foreboding clawing its icy way up his spine. “Maybe Shadrak was right.”
Rhiannon released his hand. “Don’t see him coming up with any better ideas. Either we follow the light, or we stand here until morning. And we don’t even know if that will ever come. I’m going. Do what you like.”
With that, she strode after the sphere, heedless of the dangers that might lurk underfoot. Shader sighed and jogged to catch up with her, but no matter how much they quickened their pace, the sphere maintained the same distance ahead of them.
The undergrowth fell back like an invitation. Shader didn’t like it one bit but could see no other choice. The best he could do was be prepared for the worst and pray he was strong enough to deal with the threat when it came.
The sphere set a zigzag course that seemed to follow a muddy track through the mire; only, when Shader looked back, the path had gone, covered over by dense vegetation. Up ahead, crepuscular light tinged the sky, revealing the jagged tops of distant mountains. Shader had no sense of direction other than that particular landmark. The dwindling stars were in unfamiliar constellations, and no sun had yet risen above the horizon. When the sphere gave an agitated wobble and fizzed off into the sky, Shader and Rhiannon were left stranded in the gray-blue half-light.
They entered a clearing surrounded by the silhouettes of twisted trees. The ground squelched underfoot, sometimes bursting like a blister to seep foul smelling fluid over Shader’s boots. Rhiannon made no complaint, despite wearing only sandals. Her expression was stony, almost vacant, as if she despaired of ever getting out of there.
With a speed that should have been unnatural, the sun rose from its lair beneath the mountains, its golden glow brightening the sky into a canvass of pastel violet. Another sun rose behind it, smaller, and yet climbing higher, until the two settled like a pair of crooked eyes, and the sky turned to cobalt. As if taking their cue from the suns, or the departure of the sphere, hulking shapes began to lumber from the surrounding trees.
Shader stepped away from Rhiannon, forcing his body to relax, the gladius held loosely in his right hand. He heard the scrape of Rhiannon drawing the black sword. She was looking back the way they had come, where more of the creatures were stalking toward them. She flicked her hair out of her eyes and took a two-handed grip on the sword.
The creatures walked like men and carried weapons—clubs, stone axes, spears—but they were scaly, like lizards, and colored the greens and browns of the swamp. They had ridged foreheads and pinprick eyes ringed with yellow. Cavernous mouths revealed fangs like a serpent’s and long flicking tongues. Most of them were naked, save for a few in tattered skins from some hairless beast.
One of the creatures, smaller than the rest, pushed to the front and held up a three-fingered hand to halt the others. This one was garbed in filthy gray trousers and the remains of a tunic. It wore a black gauntlet on its right hand, a glove almost comically large. Tongues of bluish flame raced about the fingers, of which there were four plus a thumb.
“Humans in Sour Marsh,” it said with a slight lisp. “So rare, so rare. From Qlippoth, yes? Come to frighten Gandaw?”
“Qlippoth?” Shader said. “What’s that?”
The lizard-man raised the gauntlet to indicate the mountains. “You know. Everyone knows.”
Shader shook his head. “We’re strangers here.”
“Bah,” the lizard-man said. “City folk, I say. Long way from home, but not strangers. Skeyr Magnus not stupid. Skeyr Magnus take power from Gandaw.”
The lizard-man made a fist of the gauntlet, and the blue flames flared momentarily. A replica of the gauntlet appeared in the air and began to swell to an enormous size.
“Impressive,” Shader said. “But I’ve seen that before.”
Rhiannon drew back Callixus’s sword, eyes tracking the giant hand—it was identical in every way to the one they’d seen Gandaw use above the Homestead. Shader did his best to remain relaxed, but he trusted his instincts to kick in at the first sign of attack.
“Long time ago, maybe,” Skeyr Magnus said. “But now glove is mine. Gandaw weak without it. Skeyr Magnus new technocrat soon.”
“You’re sure about that?” Shader said. “Only, I saw an identical hand a few hours ago.”
“Lies,” Skeyr Magnus said, the giant fist shaking before him. “Only one glove. Skeyr Magnus steal it. Gandaw weak now.”
“When did you steal it?” Rhiannon asked.
“Long time ago, me said. You stupid? Not listen to Skeyr Magnus?”
“But Sektis Gandaw made this glove?” Rhiannon said. Skeyr Magnus gave a curt nod, as if that proved his case. “Then what’s to stop him making another?”
The lizard-man looked from the giant hand to the black gauntlet he wore, and a shudder rippled through his scales.
“Not possible. Gandaw weak. You will see. Skeyr Magnus new technocrat. You see. Gave own hand for glove. Much pain Skeyr Magnus felt. It burns onto bone. Much pain, but now much power. This, Gandaw fears.”
Shader’s eyes scanned the other lizard-men surrounding them. They were motionless, like heat-starved crocodiles in the Sahulian winter. If it hadn’t been for the tracking of their eyes, they could have been mistaken for statues carved from the dried vegetation of the swamp.
“The mountains,” Shader said. “Is Gandaw beyond them?”
“Stupid.” Skeyr Magnus unclenched his gauntlet, and the giant black hand vanished. “That way Qlippoth. You must know. Everyone knows.”
“Qlippoth?” Rhiannon asked. “What the shog’s that?”
“Bad dreams. Nightmares. No one goes there. Even Gandaw scared of it.”
Shader exchanged a glance with Rhiannon.“There was a light.” He drew a circle in the air. “A golden sphere that was leading us toward the mountains.”
“Wisp,” Skeyr Magnus said. “Only fools follow wisps.”
“So it wasn’t yours?” Rhiannon said.
“No, not mine. Come to lure you across mountains. Take you to Qlippoth. You lucky Skeyr Magnus found you.” The lizard-man waved his hand to take in the swamp. “Sour Marsh overflows from Qlippoth. Bad place. Evil. But Gandaw will not come here.”
Rhiannon glanced at Shader then back at the lizard-man. “So, you’re hiding from Gandaw?”
Skeyr Magnus puffed out his chest and glared, his yellow eyes darkening to amber. “Waiting only. Building army. One day take Perfect Peak.”
Shader frowned. “Gandaw’s mountain?”
“Many guards,” Skeyr Magnus said. “But one day, Skeyr Magnus have big army.”
“How soon?” Shader asked, sensing the possibility of an alliance. “You know Gandaw has started the Unweaving. There’s not much time left.”
“Bah,” Skeyr Magnus said. “What Unweaving?” He looked around as if to emphasize the point that nothing had changed. “Lies to scare, make slaves of all. Skeyr Magnus no slave. He not scared.”
“We are looking for the Perfect Peak,” Shader said. “Can you help us get there?”
Skeyr Magnus thumped his hand into the palm of the gauntlet. The surrounding lizard-men shook their spears and advanced a pace.
“You not take science. Skeyr Magnus take it. Become stronger. Skeyr Magnus new technocrat. You see.”
“We don’t want the bloody science,” Rhiannon said, but Skeyr Magnus thumped his hand again, and the lizard-men started to close the circle.
A thunder-crack blasted from the trees, and Skeyr Magnus yelped. Smoke billowed from his gauntlet, and blue flames crackled over its surface. He raised the gauntlet to his eyes and gaped at the hole that had been punched straight through it.
The lizard-men turned to the trees, seek
ing out the source of the attack. Skeyr Magnus shook with rage and clenched the glove into a fist. Sparks flew off, and then he began to spasm as they danced along his scales. Smoke effused from his limbs, and froth bubbled around his mouth.
The lizard-men turned back to him, as if awaiting his command. He shook violently and fell to the ground, body wracked with seizures.
“K–k–kill,” he stammered.
Suddenly animated, the lizard-men surged toward Shader and Rhiannon. Another thunder-crack boomed, and a lizard-man dropped with a hole through its chest. Something was thrown, and a blinding flash of light erupted, scattering a group of the creatures and almost incinerating one.
Shader spun just in time to parry a spear thrust aimed at Rhiannon. He stepped inside and rammed the gladius into the lizard-man’s eye. Rhiannon ducked beneath another blow and swung the black sword. Shader thought it lacked speed and power, but unnervingly, the blade sliced through a reptilian neck like butter, and the head rolled to the ground. Rhiannon looked momentarily stunned but then had to turn to block a savage axe blow. The haft of the axe shattered on contact, and the black sword followed through, spilling the creature’s guts in ropes of steaming offal.
Shader whirled, skewering a lizard-man, spinning past a spear tip, and ducking beneath a club to eviscerate its wielder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shadrak emerge from the trees, shrouded in black and flinging razor stars with deadly accuracy. Two lizard-men fell before they could reach him, and then the assassin tumbled in among a group, stabbing with two daggers, bobbing and weaving.
Rhiannon threw the black sword up to block a club, but the impact sent her sprawling into Shader.
Skeyr Magnus regained his feet and yelled something that was drowned out by the din of battle. The cordon of lizard-men pressed in, and Shadrak was lost from sight. Shader stabbed another, but the blade got caught between the creature’s ribs. As he strove to pull it free, the lizard-men behind shoved, and the creature fell on top of him. Rhiannon drove the black sword through its head and swung to intercept an axe blow. Shader rolled to his knees, parried an overhead strike from a club and slashed his blade across the attacker’s thighs.
Shadrak tumbled in beside them, sprang to his feet with a dagger in either hand, and jabbed left and right, each time finding his mark.
“What did you have to fire for?” Rhiannon yelled as she dodged an axe and hacked down, smashing through scales and bone.
Shadrak was too busy to answer, stepping and turning like a dancer, punching repeatedly with his daggers. Shader took a blow to the right shoulder, and his arm went numb. He switched the gladius to his left hand and slashed it across the creature’s face.
A massive lizard-man reared up, swinging an axe with a two-handed grip. Shader turned to meet it, but an arrow ripped through its neck, and the giant toppled. Two more arrows cut into the lizard-men in rapid succession, and a tremor ran through the massed attackers. Another arrow struck, and then the lizard-men were running for the trees with Skeyr Magnus leading the way, his arms and legs pumping furiously, looking like nothing so much as a panicked chicken. Within moments, the clearing was still, and then a tall man stepped into view.
Shadrak drew his arm back to hurl a knife, but Shader caught hold of his wrist. Before anyone knew what was happening, the albino had slashed the back of his hand with his other dagger. Rhiannon punched him full in the face, and Shadrak stumbled backward.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Shader. “I—”
“Heat of battle,” Shader said. “Happens all the time.”
He was about to apply pressure with his hand, when he felt warmth radiating from the hilt of the gladius.
“Not to me,” Shadrak said, staring at the ground. “Won’t happen again.”
“Too bloody right it won’t,” Rhiannon said. “Want me to bandage that?”
“No need,” Shader said. The bleeding had stopped, and new skin had already formed over the wound.
“What the shog?” Rhiannon said.
Shadrak looked up, and his eyes narrowed. If he was spooked by the healing, he was giving nothing away.
Shader sheathed the gladius, shook his head, and turned to face the newcomer.
The man was dressed in browns and greens that could have been woven from the undergrowth. A thick cloak hung to his ankles, its colors shifting to match the trees behind it. His face was angular, his complexion fair. The tips of pointed ears poked through shoulder-length golden hair, but it was the eyes that were his most arresting feature: like softly lit verdigris, unwavering and yet gentle, seeing more than Shader wished to reveal. A quiver of arrows poked over one of the man’s shoulders, and he held a recurve bow in his left hand.
A half-grin curled one side of Rhiannon’s mouth. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “You’re an elf? Now I’ve seen everything.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “If it can be dreamed, then it is likely to exist. Like a maiden with a black sword, a warrior with an enchanted blade, and a homunculus with a pistol.”
Shadrak scraped his dagger blades against each other. “Homunculus? What’s that s’posed to mean?”
“Pistol?” Rhiannon said. “You mean that piece of Aeterna-tech he keeps waving around like he’s gotta compensate?”
“Shog off,” Shadrak said. “And it ain’t from Aeterna, so it can’t be Aeterna-tech, got it?”
“Ancient-tech, then. Point about compensating’s the same, though.”
The elf gave a deep bow. “Forgive me. I make too many assumptions. Too much time alone in the Sour Marsh has robbed me of my manners. Please, allow me to start again. I am Gilbrum Eloha, an elf of Qlippoth.”
Shader removed his hat and held it to his chest. He ran his fingers through the matted dampness of his hair. “The land of nightmares? Or was the lizard-man lying?”
“Skeyr Magnus?” Gilbrum said. “No, he speaks sooth, though he knows as little as his maker of the lands beyond the Farfall Mountains. Mayhap you Malkuthians know no more.” He indicated the jagged peaks with a wave of his bow. “Ours is a world divided, like night and day. The side of the Farfalls you call Malkuth was a place of sweet dreams until the Technocrat came from Earth. There is still great goodness in Malkuth, but Gandaw’s creations have wreaked much harm, and he has introduced life-forms alien to Aethir. Your kind, for example, the folk of New Jerusalem and its satellites.”
“Jerusalem?” Rhiannon said with a glance at Shader. “Isn’t that—?”
Shader silenced her with a hand. The mythical holy city mentioned in the Liber. It seemed that Earth and Aethir had certain things in common. This word, ‘Qlippoth’ he’d also seen in scripture. ‘Malkuth’ too, was a name dotted throughout the Liber, derived from an archaic language that only a few scholars in Aeterna understood. Adeptus Ludo, Shader’s mentor in the seminary, was one such. Try as he might, Shader couldn’t recall the meaning of either of them, but Jerusalem was a different matter: the City of the Luminaries. The place where Ain would be revealed in all his glory.
“You are not from New Jerusalem?” Gilbrum said.
“We’re not from Aethir,” Shader replied. “We came here from Earth in a…” He looked at Shadrak for help.
“Plane ship,” the assassin hissed through clenched teeth.
Gilbrum narrowed his eyes and studied Shadrak for a moment. “Yes, I have heard of such things. Vessels of Sektis Gandaw. It was your people, was it not, who taught him the mysteries of travel between the worlds?”
“If you mean humans,” Shadrak said, pointedly returning his blades to his baldric.
Gilbrum frowned but did not pursue the matter. “You two—” He indicated Shader and Rhiannon. “—wear the apparel of Maldark’s dwarves, though the symbol is different.”
“You knew Maldark?” Shader said.
“I know of his fall.”
Shader sighed. There was more to the story the elf presumably hadn’t heard, but now was not the time. “We are consecrated to Nous.”
Rhiannon thr
ust the point of the black sword into the ground and tapped out a rhythm on the pommel, seemingly unaware she was doing it. The black flames dancing along the blade kept time.
“I know nothing of this Nous,” Gilbrum said, eyeing Rhiannon warily. “Only what the Creator dreams. These things are mysteries to him, truths warped by the Liche Lord.”
“Blightey?” Shader said. “You’ve heard of him here?”
Gilbrum shrugged. “Is there any place not darkened by his touch? Even the Creator’s abode was not immune, and he still shudders at the memory. But Maldark’s fall had another source, one even more corrosive. Gandaw may have duped him, but there is always a hidden root to deception.”
“The Demiurgos?” Rhiannon said. “The Cynocephalus’s father?”
“The Creator is thus afflicted,” Gilbrum said. “But, yes, that is so. Maldark’s dwarves held to the form of religion while denying its power to save. They professed faith, but relied on their own judgment, and in the end, it was hubris that allowed Gandaw to sway them.”
Shader recalled Maldark speaking about how Gandaw had convinced the dwarves to betray the Hybrids and almost brought about the Unweaving once before.
“There is a home the Creator longs for,” Gilbrum continued. “A realm beyond the Void, where gods are men, and the mysteries are ever more ineffable. But he has never seen it, and never will. He remains where he was sired, cocooned within Aethir, which he dreamed for his own protection.”
Shader was about to ask what that meant, but Gilbrum’s green eyes flicked to the left, and he took a firm grip on his bow.
“Gandaw’s aberrations are returning—the lizard-men. Where are you heading? If you will permit it, I can lead you to the bounds of the marsh.”
“The Perfect Peak,” Shadrak said, thumbing in the direction they’d come from.
“The mountain of Sektis Gandaw? Then why are you traveling away from it?”
“Because he followed a glowing sphere.” Rhiannon cocked her head at Shader.