“By the mercy of the Living Flame and the Seven Emissaries, I knew I was a fool to accept this job,” said Kazravid, shaking his head. “But I can think of nothing better.”
“Run!” said Nasser as the doors shuddered again.
They sprinted across the laboratory, making for the towering mirror. Caina ran past the rows of steel tables, past the dead slaves leaking corrupted blood. The Mirror of Worlds rose before them, its arcane aura washing over her.
“I shall go first,” said Laertes, and he took a deep breath and stepped towards the mirror.
And then he stepped through it, the glass rippling as he vanished. Nasser followed suit, then Anaxander, Strabane, and Kazravid, and then Nerina, Azaces hovering over her like a shadow.
Caina took a deep breath.
This was an extremely bad idea.
Then she stepped into the glass, the Mirror swallowing her whole.
Chapter 21 - Black Mirrors
For a moment Caina felt the sensation of falling, of tumbling endlessly through a wall of gray mist. She felt herself being squeezed, as if she was wearing a corset with the laces drawing ever tighter.
Then the mist cleared away, and for the third time she found herself standing in the netherworld.
It had changed little since her last visit on the day that Corvalis had died. The gray, featureless plain stretched away in all directions, the colorless grasses waving in a wind she did not feel. Black clouds writhed and billowed overhead, moving far faster than clouds moved in the material world, arcs of eerie green lightning leaping in silence from cloud to cloud. Strange objects floated overhead, pieces of broken statues, stairs that went nowhere, towers and trees hanging upside down.
It looked the same…but Caina realized that something was wrong.
Horribly wrong.
She turned and saw the rift.
“Oh, gods,” she whispered. “Oh, not this again.”
A blazing gash of golden fire filled much of the sky. It was identical, utterly identical, to the rift Caina had seen in the sky over New Kyre on the day the Moroaica had attempted to finish her great work. That rift had pulsed and writhed, but this rift was…frozen. Like a footprint, perhaps, a preserved memory.
She felt the weight of Callatas’s ledger in her pocket.
Or a crack, a weak spot in the wall between the worlds.
The Moroaica had summoned unthinkable sorcerous power, and when she had died, her spell had collapsed. Where had all the power gone? Had it been like a flood surging against the walls of a levee, eroding it bit by bit?
There were other, smaller rifts scattered across the sky. If Callatas’s research had been right, these were the cracks between the worlds, and somehow they were vital to his grand plan.
Caina turned, seeking the others. She heard angry voices in the distance, and while trusting one’s senses in the netherworld was folly, the voices sounded like Kazravid and Laertes. That seemed promising, so Caina set off in that direction.
The clouds rippled overhead for just a moment, and Caina glimpsed the city.
A golden-walled city floated far overhead, wreathed in the writhing black clouds of the netherworld. Caina saw soaring towers and arching domes, all of them built with grace and beauty. She had seen this city before, both in her dreams and in the painting at the Tarshahzon Gardens.
Iramis.
It was an echo, just like the rift. The sorcery Callatas had used to destroy the city had been so powerful that it had left an echo in the netherworld that resonated a century and a half later. Even as she looked, she saw the ghostly echoes of Callatas’s fire dancing around the towers of Iramis, devouring the domes and the spires.
She looked away from the floating city, pushing away her fears. Right now, she had to focus on survival, and she doubted the cracks had made the netherworld any safer.
Caina broke into a sprint. Her shadow-cloak rippled of its own accord, billowing in the strange energies of the netherworld. The dead gray grasses rustled around her boots, and Caina crested a low ridge.
She saw Nasser and the others standing at the base of the ridge, weapons drawn.
And pointing at each other.
“What are you?” shouted Kazravid, his bow drawn.
“I confess,” said Nasser, “I am as at much a loss for the effect as you are.”
His left fist was glowing. Blue fire shone through the black leather glove, as if his left hand and forearm had been transmuted into azure flame. Nerina stood next to Nasser, clutching her crossbow, and a haze of shadow seemed to writhe around her.
“Have you been replaced with demons?” said Strabane, his sword ready. Azaces and Laertes stood before Nerina and Nasser, both men ready to fight. Anaxander stood between the two groups, hands raised to cast a spell, eyes darting back and forth.
“That is mathematically improbable,” said Nerina.
“That is not an answer,” said Kazravid.
“Exactly what a demon would say,” said Strabane.
Nasser raised an eyebrow. “I am sure many demons of the netherworld are obsessed with mathematics.”
“Enough,” said Laertes. “This is ridiculous. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Anaxander,” said Kazravid. “Use a spell. See if they are spirits or not. Or if they have been possessed.”
Anaxander offered a wary shrug. “There is no spell that can determine if someone is possessed or not. Otherwise I would have recognized the nagataaru within Tarqaz. We can only wait until they manifest sorcerous powers.”
Kazravid gestured with his bow at Nasser’s glowing hand and the haze around Nerina. “I think that certainly qualifies.”
“Idiot,” said Laertes. “You waste time with this…”
They all began shouting at once.
Caina took a deep breath, and then another.
“Shut up!” she roared at the top of her lungs, using one of the stage voices that Theodosia had taught her.
They fell silent and looked at her.
Caina yanked the ghostsilver dagger from its sheath and held it up. The blade shone white as it reacted with the sorcerous aura of the netherworld.
“Your blade,” said Kazravid, “it’s…”
“Glowing, yes, I noticed,” said Caina, striding towards them. “I’m not blind. This is a ghostsilver dagger, Kazravid, and ghostsilver is proof against sorcery. That glow? It’s a reaction to the sorcerous power of the netherworld. The shadow around Nerina? She took wraithblood for years, and wraithblood is sorcerous in nature. So she, too, is reacting to the netherworld. And Nasser’s hand? You saw him crush that Immortal’s skull with a single blow. I don’t know what happened to him, but a normal man can’t do that.” She waved her dagger at them. “They’re not demons or spirits. The netherworld is simply reacting to them, like a fish leaving ripples in a pond. If we fight each other, we will make ourselves vulnerable to the hostile spirits.”
Kazravid scowled and opened his mouth to answer…and then terrain rippled around him.
The gray dead grasses changed, becoming green and vibrant while hills rose around them, though the sky remained black and riddled with green lightning. Caina recognized the plains of western Anshan, a place Kazravid would have visited often in his youth.
Then the savannah vanished, returning again to the dead gray plain.
“What the hell?” said Kazravid. “I don’t understand. What just happened?”
Another ripple went through the ground, this one centered on Laertes. Massive trees rose from the earth, ancient oaks spotted with green moss, and the gray plain transformed into a wrinkled carpet of thick roots, boulders, and ferns. Caina suspected the trees were from the forests of the Imperial Pale, the barbarian-ruled lands beyond the northern boundary of the Empire. Laertes stepped back, his eyes widening in alarm, and the forest vanished and transformed back into the gray plain.
“What the hell is happening?” said Kazravid.
“Listen to me,” said Caina. “If we are get
ting out of here alive, you need to do exactly as I tell you.”
“And what is…” said Kazravid.
He froze in mid-sentence.
For an instant Caina wondered if he had been shot or stabbed, but his mouth hung open, his eyes unblinking. She saw that the others had been similarly frozen, caught between breaths. The plain of the netherworld was gray, but the writhing sky overhead blazed with emerald lightning. Yet all the colors had leached away, and the rippling sky had frozen.
“Again?” muttered Caina.
“My dear demonslayer…have you utterly lost your mind?”
Samnirdamnus appeared out of nothing. This time he wore the form of the Emperor Alexius Naerius of Nighmar, an old, white-bearded man robed in solemn black, his eyes ablaze with the smokeless fire of the djinn.
“Oh, years and years ago,” said Caina.
“This is not a joking matter,” said Samnirdamnus. “You are almost certainly going to die here.”
“Then you should have warned me,” said Caina, “about the nagataaru in Tarqaz’s head.”
Samnirdamnus shook his head. “I did not know of it. A nagataaru in the mortal world can elude my sight. The djinn of the court of the Azure Sovereign have warred against the nagataaru since before your race walked this world, and they have grown adept at concealing themselves from us.”
“Fine,” said Caina. “I might be the one you have been looking for, or I might not. I don’t know what that means, and at the moment I do not care. But I do know that we both oppose Callatas, and if you want me to continue opposing Callatas, then you had better give me some help.”
“For the Balarigar, the slayer of demons foretold in prophecy and song,” said Samnirdamnus, “you haggle like a fishwife.”
Caina folded her arms and stared at him. “What price do you want for your assistance?”
The djinn smiled. “Actually…you have already paid the price for my assistance.”
“How?” said Caina.
“You will understand in a moment,” said Samnirdamnus. “Your plan is sound, basically. Proceed in that direction,” he pointed, “and you shall find the gates to the netherworld you encountered earlier. Given your sensitivity to sorcery, you shall be able to sense them from a long way off.”
“How far?” said Caina.
Samnirdamnus shrugged. “Perhaps three miles. Or seven. Linear distance has little meaning here, much like time itself. Expect the distance to change even as you make the journey. Which I would do quickly, if I were you.”
“The phobomorphic spirits,” said Caina. “They’ll be hunting for us.”
“They can sense emotions,” said Samnirdamnus, “and your plucky little band of thieves carries powerful emotions, do they not? You will face other dangers than merely the predators of the netherworld.”
“The terrain,” said Caina. “It mirrors your thoughts.”
“Precisely, my darling demonslayer,” said Samnirdamnus. He looked around at the ring of arguing thieves. “And your companions have some dark thoughts in the vaults of their mind.”
“Then we had better hurry,” said Caina.
“You understand,” said Samnirdamnus. “And you really should hasten. You’ll want to be back in the mortal world before the nagataaru find you.”
“The nagataaru?” said Caina, alarmed. “The one inside Tarqaz’s head, you mean.”
“Why, no,” said Samnirdamnus. “It will be more than that.”
“How many more?”
“All of them,” said Samnirdamnus.
Caina blinked.
“You see,” said Samnirdamnus, “I think you might be the one I have sought. If you live through this, you might well be. But the nagataaru know that I have been looking for you. They will know that you have twice killed one of their hosts, one at the Widow’s Tower and one in Callatas’s laboratory.”
“Azaces finished off Tarqaz,” said Caina.
“The nagataaru do not care about him,” said Samnirdamnus. “They care about the Balarigar. They fear what she may yet become. Which means they are going to try very hard to kill you. Spirits can only affect the mortal world by using a mortal host or through the intervention of sorcery. Here, we have no such limitations. They will seek you, and if they find you, they will kill you.”
“That’s why you’re helping me now, isn’t it?” said Caina. “The nagataaru are your enemies. By coming here, I have moved against your enemies. So you can offer me a little aid.”
“I am pleased,” said Samnirdamnus, “how quickly you grasp the reality of the situation. And you were correct about one thing, Balarigar. You might be the one I have sought…but you cannot be if you are dead.”
He vanished, and suddenly color and motion returned to the world around Caina.
“…that?” said Kazravid, finishing the sentence he had begun a heartbeat earlier.
Caina took a deep breath, recovering her balance as a wave of dizziness washed through her. These little talks with Samnirdamnus always left her with a splitting headache.
“Ciaran?” said Nasser, his left hand shining with a steady pale glow.
“Listen to me,” said Caina, turning in a circle. “We don’t have much time. That thing in Tarqaz’s head? It’s got friends, and I think they’re coming for us.”
Strabane spat into the colorless grasses.
“Then we had best find the gates back to the mortal world,” said Nasser.
“They’re that way,” said Caina, pointing. “But listen to me. There are dangers here other than the nagataaru. You remember how the grasses changed to a savannah and then a forest?” The others nodded, staring at her. They were trusting Caina to get them out of here. “The terrain slowly changes to match what you’re thinking of.”
“Psychomorphic,” said Anaxander.
“Psycho-what?” said Strabane.
“A shorter way to say what I just said,” said Caina. “Phobomorphic spirits also prowl the netherworld. They take the form of your worst fear. So if you see some horror from your past running towards you, it’s not real…but it will try to kill you.”
“Sounds real enough to me,” said Laertes.
“Do what you can to control your thoughts and emotions,” said Caina. “The terrain will start to show your memories. If you see horrible things, try to ignore them. It won’t be easy. But you can do it. I have done it before.”
“And if we don’t do it, we’ll die in agony?” said Kazravid.
“Yes,” said Caina.
Kazravid snorted. “Well, that inspires me to calm.”
“We must move,” said Nasser. “Ciaran, the gates are in that direction?” Caina nodded. “Let’s go. Move at a jog. Save your strength if we must fight, but do not dawdle.”
He set off at a steady run, and the others followed. Caina ran with them, the shadow-cloak snapping out behind her, both from the wind of her passage and the arcane forces surging through the netherworld. The gray landscape rolled around them, and the sky twisted with the endless passage of thick black clouds. Over it all Caina saw the frozen echo of the golden rift, and the distant spires and domes of the image of Iramis. In the distance she started to feel the presence of a spell, a familiar spell.
The gates. They were getting closer. Two miles, she thought? Maybe three? She kept running, her eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of threat.
But then the terrain started to change around them.
There were flickers of the Anshani savannah and the northern forests, no doubt copied from the minds of Kazravid and Laertes. From time to time Caina saw the gleaming black walls and polished floor of a Magisterium chapterhouse, likely from Anaxander’s thoughts. The white-washed walls and shops and markets of Istarinmul blurred into existence and disappeared, and that could have come from any of them. There were other sights Caina could not identify so readily. A lush orchard, filled with trees bearing brilliant ripe fruit. A library stuffed with books, though no books that Caina recognized. A gladiatorial ring, the sands wet with the b
lood of slain fighters. A dry fountain of white stone, a crystalline statue of a woman standing upon the central plinth, her expression sorrowful, her hands outstretched.
“This is nauseating,” rasped Strabane. “The ground shouldn’t change like that, damn it all.”
“The rate of change appears to be accelerating,” said Nerina in her usual detached voice, but Caina knew her well enough by now to hear the tension. “There were thirty-five seconds between the first alteration and the second.” The fountain vanished, replaced by a street in Istarinmul. “Now we are down to about nine and a half seconds between changes.”
“The changes come faster as the netherworld acclimates to our presence,” said Caina.
The street vanished, replaced by a gleaming temple of marble, and Caina’s breath caught in her throat. Corvalis Aberon lay dead upon the ground, slain by the Moroaica’s sorcery. Pain flooded through her at the sight, as sharp and keen as if it had just happened. Desperately she wrenched her thoughts away from the horrid memory, and the image sputtered and jumped, melting back to the colorless gray plain.
“What was that?” said Kazravid. “It never flickered like that before.”
“One of mine,” said Caina, taking a deep breath. The running helped turn her thoughts from the past. “I forced it out of my head.”
“A bad memory?” said Nerina, breathing hard. The locksmith was in better physical condition than Caina would have expected. Well, wraithblood had likely destroyed her appetite, and the constant effort of using her tools likely provided some exercise.
“Very bad,” said Caina. The netherworld blurred into a shimmering palace courtyard, white walls of stone shining in the desert sun.
“So if we think about naked women,” said Kazravid, “then we’ll see naked women?”
“Maybe,” said Caina. That was certainly better than some of the alternatives.
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