Evolution (Demon's Grail Book 2)

by Amy Cross

  “You are thinking of the Book of Karakh?” Skellig asks.

  I turn to him.

  “There will soon be a new book,” he continues. “You, Emilia, will have a hand in writing the text, and for thousands of years from now, new generations of spider warriors will use the new book as a guide. Perhaps the old book had some... imperfections.”

  “I want to speak to my father,” I tell him.

  “In time. He is making final preparations right now for the battle. You must do the same.”

  “When do we set out?”

  “There is no point hesitating,” he replies calmly. “If we start marching this evening, we can cover most of the ground in darkness and reach Gothos by dawn. Victory is so close, and you shall be the one who leads the army.”

  “And I get Abby Hart,” I mutter darkly. “Gothos will fall, and Abby Hart will die at my hands. The sooner the first spiders reach Gothos, the sooner we can get this started.”

  He smiles. “The first spiders have already reached Gothos.”

  I turn to him.

  “The vampires don't know it yet,” he continues, “but as they gather and build their plans, we have already infiltrated their most preciously-guarded sanctum. Even now, they are completely unaware of the enemy in their midst.”

  Part Five

  The Enemy Within

  Abby Hart

  I still remember waking up in a large bed all those years ago, in a dark room, with just the light of a single candle burning in the corner. I was just a child back then, a girl who was starting to learn the truth about her destiny.

  A thousand lifetimes ago.

  ***

  It's just a pile of ruins now.

  The first time I came to Gothos, with my father, the house was beautiful, albeit a little rundown. It was like something from hundreds of years ago, with high-ceilinged rooms and huge windows that looked down over ballrooms, banquets and impossibly ornate hallways. I still remember the sight of Gwendoline sitting at the piano, and Diana struggling to keep the household going despite the fact that no-one else seemed to care. There was honor in this place, and a sense that the old traditions had to be upheld even if times were changing. Now there's nothing left but cracked old walls, broken windows and the overreaching darkness of an eternal night.

  Even the garden has been left to rot.

  “Did my father do this?” I ask, stopping at one of the main doors and turning back to Absalom. “Did he tear the place apart?”

  He shakes his head. “Gothos had simply reached the end of its natural life. It knew the time had come to die, but...” He stops next to me and looks up at one of the windows. “It had to stay a little while longer. I think maybe the house sensed that it would be needed one final time.”

  “You make it sound as if it's alive,” I tell him.

  “It is, in some ways.” He smiles, before pulling the door open. “What's wrong? Do you think something can't have a soul, just because it lacks legs and a mouth? Tell that to the Slank Houses of Mirror Miyam as they contemplate the eternal sunrise, or to the trees of the Great Library as they watch the deeds of man. Sometimes the quietest, stillest of beings can be the most alive. So of course the house of Gothos can have its own thoughts and sorrows. It's not dead yet.”

  “How long since you were last here?” I ask.

  “Too long,” he mutters, “or maybe not long enough. When I was a young man, I had a...”

  I wait for him to continue. “You had a what?”

  “It doesn't matter,” he says finally, although I can see a hint of sorrow in his eyes. “Even the best of us must die some time, Abby. Let's just say that you're not the only one who hears the rustle of ghosts when she comes to this place. I truly never believed that one day I'd be back here, preparing for another war.”

  “This is the house from my dreams,” Jonathan says, his voice filled with awe as he catches up to us. “I saw it sometimes when I was asleep. I wish I had my sketchbooks with me, I could show you the drawings I made each morning. Every window was exactly the same, the whole place came to me in dreams. How is that even possible?”

  As Absalom heads inside, I turn to my brother. “We were born with certain memories,” I tell him. “I don't know exactly how it works, but I felt the same, many years ago before I ever came here. Patrick brought me, he wanted me to experience part of our heritage and...” Pausing, I turn and look back out across the plain, toward the mountains, and for a moment I remember that strange night, many years ago, when I met an old man who told me a little about the history of Gothos, and then I found my father in the snow, and then...

  That was the night I first saw my mother.

  “There are ghosts here,” I continue, turning to him. “The best thing to do is just -”

  “I don't need your advice,” he says firmly.

  “It's not -”

  “I'm not like you,” he adds, interrupting me again as he pushes past. “I don't care about ghosts. I don't live in the past.”

  “Wait,” I call after him, “I want to talk to you about Ash -”

  “Don't bother.”

  “But Jonathan -”

  “Just don't!” he snaps, turning back to me for a moment. “There's no point discussing what happened, it's not like you can bring her back. Just try not to get anyone else killed the next time you feel the need to prove yourself, okay?”

  I want to tell him that I'm sorry, but I know there are no words that can possibly do justice to what happened. He seems to have latched on to Ash, maybe seeing her as a kindred spirit lost in this strange world, and he's taken her death particularly hard. Before I can think of something to say, I see movement ahead and I realize that Absalom is talking to several people who have emerged from deeper in the house.

  “And this must be Abby Hart,” one of the strangers says, stepping toward me with a smile. He's older than me, with the features of a forty or fifty year old human but, undoubtedly, much older than that. “I've heard so much about you,” he explains as he shakes my hand. “My name is Joshua. I knew your father once, long ago. I have to admit, in recent days I have often wished that he could be here with us at the moment. He had a way of making problems disappear, often using brute force. Perhaps...” He pauses. “Well, perhaps you share some of those qualities.”

  “Don't count on it,” I reply, feeling distinctly awkward.

  “I'm worried about the fact that spiders are so close to Gothos,” Absalom says, coming over to join us. “That's a pretty bold move for them to make. Have you heard anything from our scouts?”

  “All but one,” Joshua tells him. “Ferran has still not returned from the road, and he was due back several weeks ago. It's not like him to stay out of contact.”

  “Then we must assume something has happened to him,” Absalom replies.

  “Let's not panic just yet,” Joshua continues. “There are other -”

  “No,” Absalom says firmly, “Ferran is far too reliable to simply disappear. He'd have returned if he could, which means something stopped him. We have to assume that he found spiders in the area he was checking, and that he was prevented from leaving, most likely killed. I think the spiders might be preparing to attack us right here at Gothos itself.”

  “Impossible,” Joshua replies. “They'd never dare.”

  “They've tried before,” he points out.

  “And failed,” Joshua says firmly. “We're safe here, I'm sure of it. If the spiders had any intention of attacking Gothos, we'd know about it by now.”

  “Not necessarily,” I tell him. “I agree with Absalom. I think we're in more danger than you realize.”

  “With all due respect,” Joshua replies, “you're basing that fear on instinct alone. The council has analyzed all the information, they have access to far more than simple superstition. There's not a lot we can say with certainty, but Gothos will not be attacked. The spiders are too weak and too cowardly, and too superstitious. You must both trust that the council understands the situati
on with great clarity.”

  Absalom sighs. “I need to speak to the council. I need to make them see reason.”

  “And who are you?” Joshua asks, turning to Jonathan. “There's something in your eyes, a hint of familiarity...”

  “I'm Abby's brother,” Jonathan replies.

  “Then -” Joshua pauses, before sharing a worried glance with Absalom. “The existence of a second child was never part of the prophecies.”

  “Prophecies change,” Absalom tells him. “They're like rivers. Sometimes they force their way through everything that stands in their way, and other times they change course to get around obstacles. They always get where they're going in the end, though.”

  “Still...” It's clear that Joshua is shocked by Jonathan's existence. “We must consult the council and find out what they think. If this change has occurred, there might be others. Ripples in the fabric of fate.”

  “You'll have to excuse Joshua,” Absalom continues, turning to me. “He tends to get a little melodramatic with these things. He's one of those vampires who sometimes ends up paralyzed with indecision while he tries to wrestle with questions of fate and destiny. Personally, I think it's best to let those things sort themselves out and worry about what's right in front of us. It's not as if the fates take any notice of our deliberations, anyway.”

  “The council will be concerned,” Joshua mutters, turning and hurrying along the corridor. “Absalom, come! They will want to hear from you!”

  “I'm sure they will,” Absalom replies. “I just hope they actually listen this time.” He turns to me. “Abby, before I go and speak to a bunch of old men, I have something for you.”

  “I don't want anything,” I tell him.

  Reaching into his pocket, he takes out a small white box, carved from bone but undecorated apart from a simple clasp on one side.

  “I have been debating whether or not you should have this,” he continues. “You spend so much time talking about the past, and I didn't want to encourage that, but...” He pauses, as if he's still uncertain. “This is the last Creolian petal left in existence. Do you understand what that means?”

  I shake my head.

  “In this box,” he explains, “there is a petal that can be used to contact the dead. Just by opening the box and exposing the petal to air, you will establish a link to one dead soul. The petal is fragile, it will crumble to dust within just a few minutes, but until it does so... You will be able to speak to anyone you choose, anyone who has passed on to the other side, and it will really be them.” He hands the box to me. “Use it wisely, because you only get one chance. If I were you, I would wait until I needed advice from someone. Save it for your darkest hour.”

  “Do I have complete choice over who I summon?” I ask, feeling a trembling sense of anticipation in my chest.

  “Complete choice.”

  “So I could even speak to...” I pause, tempted to open the box immediately. “My father?”

  “If you so wish.”

  Glancing at Jonathan, I can see the eagerness in his eyes. At least I've met my father and, to some extent, a vision of my mother, whereas he has never come close to either of them. Maybe this box will finally let him come to terms with who we are and where we come from.

  “We can share it,” I tell him. “When the time is right.”

  “I...” He pauses, clearly tempted, before taking a step back. “Keep it for yourself,” he says finally. “We have enough trouble dealing with the present and the future, there's no need to keep digging up the past.”

  “But our parents -”

  “Are dead. What good would come from speaking to them for just a few minutes? I'm going to take a look around this place, maybe see if it's completely identical to my dreams.”

  I want to call after him, to make him stay, but instead I simply watch as he hurries along the corridor. Ever since Ash's death, my brother has clearly been struggling to even look at me, and I can tell he blames me for what happened.

  He's right.

  “Give it time,” Absalom says after a moment.

  “He's starting to hate me.”

  “He's lost in a world that makes no sense to him.”

  “That's what I'm worried about.” I turn to him. “Maybe the easiest way to find some kind of sense will be to blame me.”

  “You're siblings. That counts for something.”

  “Siblings who never met until a few months ago. We don't have a connection, not really.”

  “Perhaps it's just hidden deep down.”

  I shake my head. “Jonathan and I might as well be strangers. Maybe it'd be better that way. The more he gets to know me, the more he dislikes me.”

  “I must go to the council,” he continues. “Abby, the reason I decided to give you the petal is that I hope it can provide closure for you. Speak to your parents one final time, say your goodbyes, and then move on so you can face the battle that is coming. I know the past is important to you, but it has come to overwhelm you. Maybe that's the reason...”

  His voice trails off.

  “The reason I failed at Jagadoon?” I ask.

  “I didn't say that.”

  “You didn't need to.”

  “The petal is a precious gift,” he continues. “This is a dark time for our species, and everyone here at Gothos would like to be able to speak to someone they've lost. Whoever you decide to contact, make it count.” With that, he turns to follow Joshua.

  “What about you?” I ask him.

  He glances back at me with a smile. “I'm still alive. For now, at least. You don't need a Creolian petal to ask me anything.”

  “That's not what I meant. Didn't you want to use the petal to contact someone? I mean, if you've been carrying it around for a while...”

  He pauses, and I can tell that the question concerns him. “It's for you,” he adds finally, before turning and walking away. “Use it wisely, Abby Hart. And when you're done with it, make sure you're ready to put the past behind you and face the future.”

  As he leaves, I stare at the box and consider running off to find some private place so I can open the lid and... A shiver passes through my body as I imagine what it would be like to see my father again, to be able to ask for his help, to receive his guidance... At the same time, there's also a part of me that would rather speak to my mother, to find out whether she thinks I can do this. Or I could summon Shelley's spirit, to beg for her forgiveness, or -

  Sensing movement nearby, I turn, expecting someone to be approaching, but there's no-one. I watch the shadows for a moment and the vines that cover the walls, but finally I tell myself that I'm simply jumpy, that there was nothing nearby at all. Damn it, this place is already starting to get to me. If I'm not careful, I'll start imagining enemies hidden around every corner. I guess that wouldn't be so difficult in a house that has seen so much history.

  Absalom

  Ten thousand years ago

  “More drink!” Makho shouts, holding his tankard up so it can be refilled by one of the servers. “This might be our last mortal night! I was drunk when I arrived at this dinner hall and I'll damn well be drunk when I leave!”

  “Not too drunk, I hope,” Edgar replies. “We must all be up at dawn to face the spiders.” He turns to me. “What about you, Absalom? You seem uncharacteristically quiet tonight.”

  Realizing that I've been silent for some time, I turn to him. “I was just thinking about -”

  “About Cerulesis?” He smiles. “I know that look. It's love, isn't it?”

  “This is no time for love,” I mutter, taking a sip of beer even though I hate the stuff. I'd rather be drinking tea. “This is the time for war.”

  “Love and war can co-exist,” he points out. “Maybe they even need one another.”

  “Have you heard anything?” I ask, unable to hold back a moment longer. “About Cerulesis, I mean... The last news I received was that...” I pause for a moment, realizing that maybe it's better not to know at all, especially if
the rumors are true. “They say she has been driven mad by her search for a perfect strategy to use against the spiders. They say she is considered dangerous now, that the council barely even dares approach her, but I can't believe that.”

  He doesn't reply instantly, but I can tell from the look in his eyes that he has heard the same stories. When he looks down at his tankard, it's clear that he's hoping I'll change the subject, but I feel as if I have to know the truth. After all, like the other soldiers in this hall, I will most likely die tomorrow.

  “She would never lose her mind,” I continue finally, trying to convince myself as much as anyone else. “She's too strong and too intelligent. Her strategies so far have helped us repel the spiders on several occasions, why would she suddenly let her sanity slip? Unless...” Pausing, I realize that I already know the answer. “Unless she has twisted her mind to such lengths,” I mutter, “that there is no way for her to recover.”

  “Perhaps you should ask her directly.”

  “I must not disturb her,” I reply, despite the great temptation I feel. “We spoke about it once, long ago. She said that I distract her too much, that I must keep away.”

  “And you don't think she might have changed her mind? How many years has it been since you were last in the same room with her, Absalom? Tonight of all nights, as she tries to decide how best to deploy our armies to face the spider onslaught, she might welcome a familiar face. Especially if, as the rumors say, she is mostly left alone.” He pauses, waiting for me to reply. “The woman you love, and who loves you in return, told you to keep away from her. Are you really going to take that at face value?”

  I take another sip of beer, as Makho pounds his fist against the table in a drunken call for yet more alcohol. Maybe the fool has got the right idea after all, maybe it would be as well to drink tonight, to chase away these troubled thoughts. That's certainly a strategy I've used a few times before, but tonight – with our armies preparing for the great battle tomorrow – I find that I simply can't get drunk. I raise my tankard to take another sip, but at the last moment Edgar reaches out to stop me.