The City of Night Neverending

by Steven Lochran

  He walked down the new street with purpose, keeping a watchful gaze as he went. The feeling he’d had of walking through a dream was shifting now to something else. It wasn’t a dream that he’d stumbled into. It was a memory. A memory of this very street, peopled with friendly faces, its sights and sounds filling his head in dazzling bursts.

  There was the hut where a kindly old woman had lived, who used to give him candied figs as a treat. What was she called? Bara Jin? Baba Jeer? The name played at the edges of his mind like someone plucking at a tapestry’s loose thread. That sensation only grew stronger as he passed the next house, which had belonged to a large family.

  Grandparents, great-grandparents, nearly a dozen kids and their ever-harried parents had all lived under its roof, but they had all seemed contented despite the bedlam. He remembered the games of Capture the Kronosaur and Starfish or Swordfish he had played with the kids on lazy afternoons, pushing past sunset and the increasingly irate calls to dinner.

  He remembered one boy in particular, his best friend in the world, and the day they declared themselves sworn brothers by sharing so many goblets of salt water that they were retching the rest of the night away. The memory brought a faint smile to Joss’s face, even as the boy’s name eluded him. Though it was only a small smile, a fragile smile, it was hard won. And it was just as easily lost as he came to the next house on the street.

  It was the yellow door that he saw first. While the courtyard had grown as untamed as the school’s playground, the paint on the door was unscathed. It was as bright and glossy as he remembered, even though it had been left hanging open. Uneven brickwork led out from the front step, winding through the dry grass up to the gate where Joss stood, his hand resting hesitantly on the latch. With much uncertainty, he pulled open the iron gate and stepped onto the overgrown path.

  As he came to the front door, he was surprised to see the fig tree that he’d reminisced about with Naveer’s impostor. Again he wondered how the creature could have known so many details about their lives. But despite how much that troubled him, he nevertheless marvelled at the small miracle of the tree and the fruit that it somehow still bore.

  Reaching for one of the ripened bulbs, his arm brushed an overhanging branch. Wind chimes clinked musically above him. The sound was enough to send him tumbling back into memory, but rather than losing himself all over again he forged ahead into the hallway, pocketing the fig as he went.

  Centipedes and silverfish scattered at his approach, with even the boldest insects shying away as he removed Qorza’s Scryer from his pocket. The receiver signal was a flat line but that wouldn’t affect the illuminator function. Triggering it, Joss cast some light in the darkness. He could almost hear his younger self giggling as the projection of his naming day shimmered before him while he explored the cottage. Outside, the wind chimes continued to ring and tinkle, scoring his journey as he went from the hallway into the parlour.

  As it had been in his mother’s study, it looked as if someone had only just stepped out of the room and was expected back at any moment. Firewood was still stacked beside the small hearth. A quilted blanket had been left strewn across the upholstered settee, its squares depicting clear skies, full fishing nets and endless oceans. Dark brown leviathan oil still filled each of the lamps that were in every corner and on every tabletop, waiting to shed light on the pages of all the books that had been piled up around the room. Joss was about to stop and scan some of the titles when the Scryer cycled over again.

  ‘Ancestors save me …’ he said without thinking, staring up at the recording of his parents’ wedding day as it was cast against the whitewashed ceiling, the timber beams bifurcating both his mother and his father. He watched as they again looped their matching necklaces over each other’s heads, and squeezed the Scryer so hard that the casing threatened to crack, cutting off the illumigram and plunging the entire room into darkness.

  The sounds around him grew louder. First the Scryer’s little whirring motor, then the chittering of the insects, and then the beating of his own heart, which resonated in his ears like the footsteps of a thunder lizard. Only when his heartbeat had slowed did he open his hand again, letting the light out. The image of himself as a baby had returned, and it was with that joyful face floating before him that he continued exploring.

  He passed the washroom, with its dusty copper tub and mould-spotted washbasin, and came to a room that was fairly humming with significance. His childhood bedroom. A short iron-frame bed, with a pterosaur mobile hanging above it, a matching chair and table, a toy box, and a soft cotton rug on the timber floor. Unsteady on his feet, Joss lurched into the room and sat down on the feather-stuffed mattress.

  The Scryer was still buzzing in his hand. Holding out his palm, he watched the illumigrams dance around him as if he were stargazing, while with his other hand he plucked the fig from his pocket and pressed it between his lips. The taste was so bitter he wanted to spit it out, but he forced himself to swallow.

  On the wall opposite him, his parents smiled and laughed, while somewhere out there in the unnatural night his friends were in a cage. And all he could do was sit here, on the edge of his childhood bed, and grieve for everything that he’d lost, and everything he was yet to lose.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  AN EXECUTIONER DRESSED FOR DUTY

  DRAKE screamed and thrashed, but the knife in his hand held him fast. Admiral Ichor stood unmoved by the cries of pain, while Gnarl grinned with wicked delight.

  ‘Come now, boy. Surely you’ve experienced worse in your life,’ the admiral said. ‘I didn’t so much as graze a bone! I’m more precise than an ethereon with my instruments.’

  ‘Let him go!’ Hero demanded, jumping up from the table.

  ‘Nobody said you could move,’ Ichor replied, while Gnarl gestured for the guards to hold her back with their swords and spears.

  ‘Let! Him! Go!’ she said again as she lurched against the blades that barred her way.

  Admiral Ichor looked blankly at her as he leant across the table, took a jug of seashine, and ripped the cork out with his teeth. Spitting the cork onto the floor, he took a swig before speaking. ‘Well … the last thing I would ever want to be is a bad host. If you wish this delicate butterfly unpinned so badly, young lady – so be it!’

  Grabbing the handle of the dagger, Admiral Ichor yanked it loose. Drake tumbled back in his chair, gripping his hand as tenderly as he could while trying to stem the bleeding. Hero again surged against the guards keeping her in place. A single gesture from Ichor was enough to have them stand down, and she was immediately at Drake’s side to help him with his injury.

  ‘Let this be a warning. Start answering questions or start counting your scars.’ The admiral turned to Edgar. ‘What about you, boy? Anything to say that might prick up my ears?’

  Edgar looked at Ichor, looked at Drake and his bloody hand. ‘His name is Josiah!’ the young prentice blurted.

  ‘Josiah?’ Admiral Ichor said. He looked taken aback, and shared a curious look with his man Gnarl, though he was soon chomping on another toothy grin. ‘Well, I’ll be a sonovasiren! How do you like that? I’m not the only Josiah sailing the Silver Seas, as it transpires. Whaddya say, Gnarl?’

  ‘My interest is mightily piqued, Admiral.’

  Ichor chortled, before turning his attention back to Edgar. ‘Go on, lad. Tell me more.’

  Drake and Hero were staring at Edgar in shock, both of them taken aback by his readiness to talk. Ignoring their silent admonishments not to say anything else, Edgar continued: ‘Well, he may go by Josiah … but he’s better known as “the Rex”.’

  ‘The Rex?’ Ichor said, lifting a shaggy eyebrow, while Drake and Hero’s expressions shifted to confusion.

  ‘That’s right,’ Edgar replied. He looked at the admiral with defiance as he explained. ‘They call him that because he’s the King of Thunder Realm. He took down a tyrannosaur single-handedly with no weapon but a single bola and his wits. I saw him do it with
my own eyes, tracking the beast through a rocky maze so that he could corner it and overpower it. He’s the greatest hunter that Thunder Realm has ever seen, and if he’s here it’s because he tracked you down and is now just biding his time until the exact right moment to strike. If I were you, Admiral, I wouldn’t bother trying to find him. I would take my men and I’d run as far from here as I could get. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Ichor stared at the pale young prentice. He stared at Gnarl. The slightest hint of doubt clouded his face. And then he unhinged his jaw to expel the most raucous laugh that any of the prentices had ever heard.

  ‘The Rex! Oh, you almost had me there!’ The admiral sighed when he’d regained himself, wiping tears from the deep wrinkles around his eyes.

  ‘Laugh all you like. We’ll see how funny you find it when the Rex has you cornered and at his mercy,’ Edgar told him.

  All the colour drained from the admiral’s face. ‘Now don’t test me, son. You may have tickled me with that fanciful little story of yours, but I find threats a lot less amusing. Unless I’m the one making them, of course. Then they’re the damned height of entertainment. Speaking of which …’ Admiral Ichor fixed his gaze on Hero. ‘What about you, lass? Got anything to say about this “Josiah”, or “Rex”, or whatever fool name you call him? Or need I make a threat, and then make good on it soon after?’

  ‘Tend to his wound first,’ Hero insisted, holding Drake’s hand between hers.

  Ichor only rumbled with impatience. ‘Very well. We’ll start with sterilising it, shall we?’ he said, taking the jug of seashine and pouring it over Drake’s hand. The clear liquid practically hissed as it hit his flesh, making him cry out in pain all over again. ‘There. Sterilised. Now, let’s discuss the whereabouts of Josiah the Rex, shall we? Or maybe I’ll just let my knife slip again.’

  ‘Why trouble yourself, Admiral? Surely it’s obvious that they’ll resist you to the last,’ a voice echoed from the corner of the room, where a dark figure now floated from the shadows. He regarded them from behind his stone mask, his black feather cloak shivering as if alive.

  ‘Lord Thrall,’ Admiral Ichor said, and bowed his head in respect. ‘I was merely questioning the prisoners so that we might better locate the fugitive.’

  ‘You were making sport of it, Ichor. You know as well as I that we have far more effective means of hunting down the intruder, as well as more pressing matters to address. The preliminary rituals are almost done. The time of sacrifice grows near.’

  ‘Apologies, my lord,’ the admiral said, bowing low.

  But Thrall’s attention was quickly stolen by the scoffing noise that came from Hero. ‘Just our luck to run into you again,’ she sneered at him. ‘It might have been impressive that you’d found someone to order around if he wasn’t such scum-sucking guttertrash.’

  The masked man regarded her coldly, with a gathering tension in his fists. She glowered in response, staring him down.

  ‘Enough of this foolish nonsense,’ Thrall snapped, turning away from her. ‘If this Josiah is too cowardly to return for his allies, then we’ll just take matters into our own hands. Ichor? Release the beasts. They’ll find our quarry for us.’

  A small cough came from the corner of the room as Gnarl cleared his throat. ‘Lord Thrall, if I may …’ His mechanoid eye glowed bright as it widened as far as it could. ‘Do we really need to concern ourselves with this boy? Surely it would be best to focus our efforts on the ceremony.’

  Thrall turned his predatory gaze on him. ‘You’re questioning my orders,’ he said as he crossed the room, his robes cutting the air like a razor.

  ‘Orders, my lord?’ Gnarl replied, eye twitching. ‘It was my understanding that we all kneel as one before the majesty of the Shadow God.’

  Thrall loomed before the trembling pyrate, an executioner dressed for duty. Drake, Hero and Edgar looked at each other uncertainly. Even Ichor appeared tense, as concerned by what was about to happen as his captives were.

  But then Thrall softened. ‘You’re right, of course,’ he said, his benevolent tone allowing Gnarl a moment of respite.

  Just one small moment.

  ‘But some of us kneel lower than others.’

  Thrall clamped his fist around Gnarl’s face. The pyrate screamed, but the sound was muffled by the taloned glove pressed against his mouth. His flesh reddened, his screams growing more pained and panicked as the glove erupted with arcane energy. It steamed and spat and sputtered, frying Gnarl to a blackened crisp.

  Edgar shrank from the gruesome sight as Drake and Hero watched on, transfixed. By the time Thrall was done, there was nothing left of Gnarl but his mechanoid eye, rendered blind atop a pile of ashes.

  Clenching his fist and cracking his knuckles, Thrall didn’t even turn as he addressed the admiral. ‘Ichor?’

  The pyrate leader, his gaze fixed on the ashes, struggled to find his voice. Luckily for him, it didn’t take too long. ‘Yes, my lord?’

  ‘I trust there’s no need to repeat myself.’

  ‘No, my lord,’ the admiral replied, shaking off his daze. ‘We’ll release the beasts immediately. The boy will be in our custody even sooner than that.’

  ‘See that it’s so, Admiral,’ Thrall said, walking from the room. ‘Or it will be your ashes I’m dusting from my hands next.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  A THUNDERBOLT OUT OF A CLEAR BLUE SKY

  A GREAT black wave rose into the sky, hiding the sun. Joss stared up at it, his feet sliding uneasily on the gilded roof of the Tower Memoria, his grip on the peak slipping. He could see faces in the water, all sharp teeth and dark intentions. He felt the first wet drops fall on his head. And then he woke up.

  He was lying in his childhood bed, soaked in sweat, the pterosaur mobile hanging motionless above him and the purple rays of Naveer’s protective dome streaming in through the window like moonlight. His mother’s journal was propped on his chest, still open on the so-called Rakashi Revelations. The warnings and predictions they made whirled about inside his head.

  Perhaps if Naveer had been who he’d said he was, Joss could have asked him about his mother’s work, could have gained some insight into these seemingly ancient prophecies and their connection to the modern world. But with ‘Naveer’ revealed as an impostor, it was as if Joss had lost his parents all over again. The thought struck him with the force of a cannonball, knocking the breath from his lungs as the wisp scar flared again. It burned his skin beneath the pages of his mother’s book, and though he rubbed at it to alleviate the discomfort, it continued to ache.

  A noise sounded in the distance. Still kneading his chest, Joss dismissed it at first as being the wind – until the stationary wooden pterosaurs overhead reminded him that there was no wind down here at the bottom of the ocean. He climbed off the bed and unsheathed the Champion’s Blade. If Naveer’s monstrous double was looking to cause more strife, Joss would be all too happy to accommodate it.

  In the hallway he heard the same noise again, clearer this time. It sounded like it was coming from outside, possibly down the street. He walked out into the courtyard to listen. Again the noise sounded, and to Joss’s ears it was disturbingly familiar. If he were to guess at it, he would have said it was the snarling and sniping of a raptor on the hunt. But surely that wasn’t possible here, so far from Thunder Realm – was it?

  Despite how foolish he felt in doing it, he sheathed the Champion’s Blade and drew his humming knife. The knife felt minuscule by comparison, but he knew it would offer him more protection if the alarm he was feeling turned out to be warranted.

  Then, from the darkness of the street, there emerged the largest and wildest raptor that Joss had ever seen, with scarlet feathers that flickered like flames. It had probing little eyes that were alight with an uncanny intellect, its nostrils flaring as it searched out its prey. And it wasn’t alone. Two more creatures of almost equal size followed it.

  Though they were predatory animals by nature, these three
looked to have had those instincts honed by a master’s hand. There would be no escape once they’d found their victim. Not when they were so close. Joss gripped his humming knife tight and readied himself for what was to come.

  As one they saw him. The alpha’s lip curled, baring a mouthful of thorny fangs as it snarled at him. Joss had grown so used to raptors that it surprised him how frightening they could sound. But they weren’t the only ones who could make an intimidating noise. Shifting his feet into position, he assumed the first stance of a pacifying song, and began.

  The humming knife carved the air around him as he flowed from one position to the next, the small spriggan runes on its blade twinkling like stars at twilight. The metal quivered in his grip, scattering vibrations up his forearm, while a melancholy tune resonated throughout the empty street. The raptors’ heads bobbed and swayed in time with the music, though it wasn’t enough to keep them still. While they hadn’t attacked him, they were still drawing closer, one purposeful step at a time. He ignored the chuffing noises they made, the rattle of their tongues against their teeth, and focused solely on the song his knife was singing.

  Still the raptors advanced, slow but steady, and their movement was enough to splinter his concentration. Sur Verity wouldn’t struggle like this, Joss knew. She would have these lizards completely under her spell and running in formation by now, each of them eager to do her bidding.

  The alpha was so close to Joss that he could feel its moist breath on his skin. It looked as if it was struggling against an invisible chain, desperate to get at Joss, to tear his flesh apart and lap up all the mess left behind. The only thing keeping it from tackling him to the ground and ripping open his throat was the song Joss was singing with his humming knife, though how long that would last for he couldn’t say. Already his muscles were growing weary, the repetitive act of slashing the air with his blade exhausting him. He wondered if he could keep the song going as he backed away. How far would the raptors follow him, struggling against the tune that was meant to lull them into submission? Could he outrun them? Trap them? His mind searched desperately for a solution.