The Unweaving

by D. P. Prior

  The kryeh flapped furiously a couple of feet above their chairs and let out ululating screams as the wires that connected them to their consoles ripped free in sprays of blood.

  Nameless’ voice tore Shader away from the gruesome sight. “Gandaw, laddie. Your sword!”

  This time, he simply slackened his grip, and the Sword of the Archon launched itself at Gandaw like a comet. Gandaw threw up both hands and instinctively ducked, but even before the blade reached him, it struck something solid and rebounded. For a brief moment, a sphere of blue light flickered around Gandaw and then vanished.

  Shader snatched the returning gladius from the air as the kryeh on the lower levels screeched and flew at Gandaw. More of the creatures flocked overhead, gathering into a tightly packed wedge and diving. Gandaw scattered them with a fireball, and the few that pressed their attack squawked as they struck his invisible barrier. In a great cacophony of beating wings and cawing cries, they spiraled about the chamber in a frenzy, crashing into walls and bumping off the apex, as if all they wanted was to break out.

  “I should have seen that coming,” Gandaw said through gritted teeth. “Just need to teach them who’s master, that’s all.”

  He exploded a fireball against the ceiling, obliterating the lone mirror that hung there. Half a dozen kryeh dropped, smoldering and lifeless, hitting railings, bouncing, and ending up crumpled on the floor. The rest descended like a murder of crows onto the ground floor consoles. Their caws turned into mournful wails, and they started to rip out tufts of their own hair with hands that were utterly human, save for the long-taloned fingers. Many scratched at their breasts, leaving trails of crimson streaking down their feminine torsos. The legs, though, were anything but human; they were articulated like a bird’s, with three claws at the front and one at the back.

  Shader spun round as Gandaw detonated another fireball, this one above and behind the kryeh. They let out a collective squawk and took to the air once more. They wheeled as one toward Gandaw, then shied away. They circled Shader, passed over Nameless, and looked like they were starting to regroup for a concerted attack when the squawking took on a different sound: less frenetic; more triumphant. And then, in a mass of beating wings, they swooped toward Rhiannon’s unmoving body.

  Nameless had already seen it, and he was closer. Even as Shader started to run, the dwarf was in the thick of the kryeh, bellowing a song at the top of his voice, and scything about with his axe. Each swing drove the kryeh back a few paces, but they instantly flapped closer again. Most switched their attack to Nameless, but a few bypassed him and alighted on the console Rhiannon was draped over.

  Shader hurled the gladius, shearing the head clean off a kryeh. As the sword returned to his hand, he reached Rhiannon and dragged her back from the console, letting her slump to the floor at his feet.

  Nameless burst through the cloud of wings threatening to smother him, whirled back to face it, shook his axe like a madman, and roared. The kryeh dispersed, but then they flew behind him in an arc and came at Shader.

  “Sorry, laddie,” Nameless yelled above the din. “Unintentional.”

  The gladius was a dazzling blur as Shader cut and chopped, hacked and slashed in every direction. He ducked, wheeled, spun, and kicked, eyes taking in every move the kryeh made, predicting every attack. The sword fed golden fire into his limbs, making them faster than thought and tireless. It felt featherlight in his hand, yet each blow he delivered was brutal, solid, and utterly devastating. For an instant, he almost stopped in awe at what he was doing, but then resumed his impeccable focus with a series of thrusts and cuts that sent two more kryeh to the pile of bodies atop Rhiannon.

  Nameless’ axe rose and fell with grunts of effort. Mostly, he was just hitting air as the kryeh flapped and fluttered away from his strikes, but then he found his timing and started to aim a little ahead of, a little behind the target, and soon, he was adding his own kills to the pile.

  Above, on the next tier, Gandaw hurried along the walkway toward a metal staircase that led up to the next level. Before Shader could react, a kryeh raked its claws across his coat collar, narrowly missing his throat. He backhanded it away, and as it gathered for a renewed attack, he plunged the gladius between its breasts.

  “Gandaw!” he cried toward Nameless. “Stop him. I’ll hold them!”

  “Got you, laddie!” Nameless shouted back. Clutching his axe to his chest, he ducked down and charged through the kryeh. One of them followed him, clawing from behind, but Nameless twisted, turned, and swung for it with almost casual grace. The kryeh fell to the floor in two pieces, and Nameless reached the steps and started upward.

  The kryeh surrounding Shader rose into the air. At first he thought they were going after the dwarf, but then they began to circle overhead, cawing mournfully at the mass of dead bodies heaped on the floor.

  Shader took the opportunity to extricate Rhiannon from the bodies that had fallen on her. She moaned when he dragged her out of the pile. He brought the gladius toward her, directed a stream of golden light into her chest. The instant it touched, Rhiannon screamed, and the front of her leather corset started to smolder. She whipped her arm up, grip still tight upon Callixus’s unearthly sword. Black flames licked about the blade, hissing and spitting. Her eyes flared, and she swung the sword at Shader. He caught her wrist, pressed her down against the floor. She gasped, and the fierceness left her as quickly as it had come.

  “Deacon? What… Oh, my shog!”

  She pushed him off and got to her feet. Her eyes fixed on Nameless, who was pounding across the walkway above. Gandaw was halfway up the steps to the next level, and he seemed not to have noticed the dwarf hot on his heels.

  Rhiannon lurched forward and stumbled. Shader steadied her by the elbow and then shoved her toward the steps as the kryeh dived once more. He hacked one out of the air as it sped at Rhiannon, but another made it past. He called out a warning, but she was already in mid-swing, and the black blade sliced into human flesh, exiting through the leathery membrane of a bat-like wing.

  Shader backed up the steps behind her, fighting a furious defense. A talon grazed his cheek, then another cut him above the eye and sent a stream of blood across his vision. He willed the gladius to heal him, but nothing happened. It felt heavier in his grasp—more like a normal sword. Even as he blocked another claw and hacked down through a skull, he wondered what he’d done, how he’d lost the sword’s favor again. But he can’t have done, he realized; he was still holding it, wasn’t he? And there was no burning sensation in his hand. Perhaps it had limits. Perhaps it was conserving its power for something more, for something he couldn’t do by himself.

  Rhiannon reached the walkway and set off at a run. A trio of kryeh moved to block her, but she bashed one aside without breaking her step, and dropped to the floor, sliding beneath the others on her knees. When she reached the end of her slide, she flowed back to her feet, whirled, and delivered two powerful blows that put an end to the pursuit.

  Shader tripped over the last step and fell back onto the walkway. Immediately, the kryeh swarmed over him, biting, scratching, clubbing with their fists. He dropped the gladius and covered his face with his hands, tucking in his elbows to protect his sides. He drew his knees in and tried to roll clear. The skin of his face, legs, and arms stung in a dozen places. Desperate, he rolled onto his front and, keeping his head down, splayed out his fingers in search of the gladius. A kryeh landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He slumped, still clawing the cold metal floor for the sword. He heard Rhiannon call to him; heard her footfalls coming nearer, and then a reverberating clunk sounded from above, and the room was plunged into shadow.

  The kryeh squawked and flew toward the ceiling. Shader pushed himself to his knees and caught a glimpse of the homunculus—Mephesch—who’d both helped and betrayed them. He was standing over a console on the level below. He looked up, directly at Shader, gave an enigmatic smile, and then turned his eyes toward the conical chamber’s apex. Shader
followed his gaze, passing over Nameless on the second tier, gaining on Gandaw. The Technocrat was oblivious, staring up at the ceiling with a look of horror on his usually impassive face.

  “No!” he cried. “Mephesch! Mephesch, what is happening? We are not shielded. I am not shielded!”

  A hole had opened up, and the walls at the top of the cone were slowly receding into the level below. A fierce wind blew down the funnel, buffeting the kryeh as they swarmed through the aperture and out into the black. Because that was all Shader could see: a sphere of absolute darkness hanging above the Perfect Peak, pulsing, beating like a gigantic, malevolent heart. With every beat, it swelled and grew denser. Its oppressive weight was almost tangible, and a sickening wave of wrongness rolled through Shader, sending him reeling back against the railing.

  Rhiannon stumbled and clutched her stomach as she gazed up at the burgeoning dark. Steadying himself, Shader picked up the gladius, strode over to her, and led her by the hand toward the next flight of steps up.

  The walls of the cone continued to retract. As they passed beneath Shader’s level, he saw just how dense they were, each level sitting within that below in concentric circles, each with its own rooms and passageways sandwiched between twin walls of scarolite at least ten feet thick. Down and down they went, level by level, until the heart of the chamber, with its tiered walkways and flickering screens, was little more than a skeletal framework, completely exposed to the raging elements.

  Shader looked down over the railing and felt himself swaying like he was on the crow’s nest of the Aura Placida. Not that he’d braved those heights, but Elpidio had, and the wind whistling in from above seemed to echo the boy’s screams when the mawgs ripped him to pieces.

  They were hundreds of feet up, atop what was now the truncated summit of the Perfect Peak. Far, far below, the white sands of the Dead Lands swirled and formed into tortuous vortices that spun wildly in every direction. The mangroves at the edge of the Sour Marsh were stretched to impossible heights and bowed beyond breaking point. The gloaming skies were fractured, like broken glass, and way off in the distance, a cordon of shimmering fog whirled dizzyingly up into the heights, ever expanding to engulf more and more of the hazy, unreal landscape.

  Nameless’ roar focused Shader back on the walkways. Up above, the dwarf charged and swept his axe down on Gandaw with awesome power. The same sphere of brilliant blue flashed and sparked all around Gandaw as the axe head lodged within it. Nameless hung on with both hands and pushed his boots against the sphere in an effort to free it.

  Gandaw swung his metal hand toward Nameless, lightning crackling between crystal-tipped fingers.

  Shader cried out and started to run. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he heard Rhiannon curse, knew she was following.

  He drew the gladius back in a last desperate effort, even though he knew it would be futile.

  Flame swelled upon Gandaw’s palm, and Nameless’ helm jerked up as he realized the danger.

  Something huge and dark smashed into Gandaw from above. His protective sphere spat blue sparks, buckled, and fizzed out. At the same instant, Nameless yelped and fell on his rear, still clutching his axe.

  Gandaw was momentarily stricken, gawping wide-eyed at the massive black fist that had struck him. It was the same as the one that had caused such carnage at the Homestead, disembodied and the size of a cart. Down below, a fearsome clamor arose as hundreds of lizard-men swarmed into the chamber from the top of the truncated mountain. They must have been there all along, Shader realized, clinging to the outer casing until the walls were lowered. More of Mephesch’s scheming? More duplicity? He recognized Skeyr Magnus among them, making a fist with a smoking gauntlet. He must have fixed it after their fight in the Sour Marsh, although only just, by the looks of it.

  Skeyr Magnus made a jabbing motion with the gauntlet, and the giant fist responded by hammering into Gandaw. The Technocrat crashed through the railing but managed to cling on with his desiccated hand. From the other, he discharged a barrage of fireballs that sent the black hand spinning away.

  Nameless leapt to his feet and ran at Gandaw, swinging the axe down at the hand holding onto the railing. A coil snaked out of Gandaw’s armor and wrapped around Nameless’ ankles, tripping him and whipping him into the air. Nameless hacked through the coil and fell, landing heavily. Gandaw used both hands to pull himself up and back onto the walkway.

  Shader pulled Rhiannon into him as the tide of lizard-men rolled past them on their way to the next level. They ran, leapt, and bounded, some of them scaling the railings in their frenzy to get at Gandaw. It was easier to go with the flow than fight against it, and so Shader held on tight to Rhiannon and let them be swept along by the horde until they reached the steps and climbed up.

  The black hand righted itself and soared back toward Gandaw. This time, he blasted it almost casually and then tapped out a sequence on his vambrace as the hand was repulsed once more.

  The first of the lizard-men to reach him, he backhanded with such force it ripped the creature’s head clean off. He kicked another straight through the railing and out above the Dead Lands, where it flailed and screamed as it plummeted toward the ground hundreds of feet below. Just as the main tide threatened to hit him, though, Gandaw took a step back, let off another fireball, and then ran for the steps to the next level.

  A trio of silver spheres rose out of the Dead Lands and tore into the lizard-men with sizzling bursts of lightning. Clouds of smoke plumed up, carrying the stench of roasted flesh and ozone. Some lizard-men panicked and scattered, seeking the cover of consoles, chairs, the bodies of the fallen, but the spheres pursued them relentlessly, cutting them down in their tracks.

  As Shader and Rhiannon made it to Nameless and helped him to stand, Gandaw joined in the massacre, blasting down into the lizard-men, and then he sent a devastating volley straight at Skeyr Magnus, who was still on the ground floor, no doubt letting his people take the bulk of the risks for him. Skeyr Magnus threw his gauntlet up to cover his face, and the black hand instantly appeared in front of him, fingers splayed, palm facing the onslaught. The fireballs exploded against it, and for a moment, it looked like the lizard-man would survive, but then his gauntlet burst into flame and sent sparks shooting across his skin. With a howl and a scream, he was slammed into the floor and lay there smoldering. The black hand winked out of existence.

  Rhiannon was already halfway up the steps before Shader realized she was no longer holding his hand. Nameless was right behind her. By the time Shader reached the steps and climbed up, she was yelling at Gandaw and charging with the black sword held high. Gandaw hadn’t seen her coming, but he still managed to get off a shot. Rhiannon must have predicted it, for she rolled beneath it and swung. A coil snapped out of Gandaw’s armor and caught her wrist, locking the sword in mid-swing. Gandaw brought his metal arm round till it was directly in Rhiannon’s face. Shader’s heart leapt into his throat, and his legs felt leaden as he pounded toward them. Nameless saw the opening, though, and threw himself at Gandaw, swinging his axe for all he was worth. It struck the scarolite armor like a thunderclap—and shattered.

  “Oh, shog,” Nameless said, as Gandaw aimed his metal hand at him instead.

  Fire blasted from the palm, and there was no missing this time. Nameless must have known, for he ducked into it and took the full brunt of the explosion on his great helm. There was a muffled boom, and flames flared briefly, but then fizzled out as if they’d struck water. Nameless fell like a plank, his black helm clanging against the metal of the walkway.

  Rhiannon kicked out at Gandaw. He swung his aim back to her, but before he could fire, Shader was there. He slammed the gladius into Gandaw’s transparent helm with every ounce of strength he could muster. The crystal—or whatever it was—cracked, and Gandaw gasped. The second blow sheared right through the metal hand, and Gandaw screamed.

  Shader expected a shower of blood; what he got, though, was sparking wires and a glimpse of moving cylinders in pl
ace of bones. He drew back the gladius for a thrust, but the coil holding Rhiannon reeled her in and smacked her against Gandaw’s breastplate. Another coil sprang out and wrapped around her neck, tightening, constricting, making her gasp and choke for every breath.

  Gandaw took a few steps back. His blue eyes blazed fiercely with either fear or rage; Shader couldn’t tell which, but within moments, they dulled. A halo of soft light irradiated the glass helm, and the crack Shader had made melted over until there was no sign of it.

  Gandaw raised his remaining hand. At first, Shader thought he was surrendering, but then he saw the flashing red light on his vambrace.

  One of the sentroids massacring the lizard-men broke off and soared to a position above Gandaw’s head. A beam of blue light shot from it and bathed Gandaw and Rhiannon, lifting them high into the air and bearing them toward the Statue of Eingana. The black sword fell from Rhiannon’s grasp and drifted like a feather all the way to the bottom.

  Shader cursed and started for the steps, when the other two sentroids sped straight at him and unleashed searing streams of fire. He threw up the gladius, and it answered with a surge of aureate brilliance that sent the beams back on themselves. The sentroids erupted in flame and crashed to the floor below.

  Shader quickly scanned the room as he raced to the steps. At least now the lizard-men would have a chance. But it wasn’t the chance he’d hoped for. Skeyr Magnus was back on his feet and barking commands. His scaly hide was charred and blistered, and smoke still rolled off of him. The few lizard-men that remained bounded over the edges of the walkways and escaped down the side of the mountain. Magnus gave Shader a last look, full of desperation, full of despair, and then he clambered down, out of sight.

  Futile, Shader thought, even as he climbed the steps. Utterly stupid. What did they hope to achieve by fleeing? He glanced up at the pendulous black sphere gyring above the Perfect Peak. They had only minutes—moments, even—before it ruptured, or exploded, or perhaps imploded to unmake everything there was; everything that had ever been.