He heard laughter like the sound of stars being torn apart.
Beside him, Rowan stirred.
~
She opened her eyes.
Fuzzy light.
Scorching heat.
Cold stone beneath her, against her back.
A sound like a billion galaxies being crushed: dark laughter.
She blinked. She saw white like summer clouds, and then the dappled hue of fire interspersed with it. In the centre hovered a black, winged shape. It was laughing at her.
She felt the warm touch of Gabel’s limp shoulder, leaning against hers. She reached across and felt his face, and saw nothing but murky colours. Her fingertips felt his leathery skin, his sandpaper jaw. She touched his lips, hard like granite, cracked. She felt moisture, sticky and thick, coming from his scalp. Blood. She could smell the metallic scent of it. His flesh was rigid and creased and hard. His skin was burnt to a crisp. Her hand fell to his chest, and it was naked and sweaty and as hard as his face, but it was rising and falling slowly. He was breathing.
She saw a spark out of the corner of her eye. She saw a coil of white mist, then the glare of something metallic: a figure in silvery armour, grey clothing. She saw a face, cheek split vertically with a dark line. It was Caeles’ scar. She heard words, a cry.
The cry was like the applause of leaves. The tinkle of crystal. The stroke of feathers.
The figure was not Gabel. The hunter was still lying next to her, unconscious. But the new arrival felt familiar. It was the presence she had felt lingering over them as they had passed through the city, a spiritual presence that seemed pure and at peace – no, perhaps not fully at peace. But then, that was why it was here, wasn’t it? To settle things with the being that had once been Tan Cleric?
With this cry, the misty figure threw an arrow of white, a lance, and it pierced the black shape within the pillar of light. The Daemon’s innards became food for the fire. It poured into it, it filled it. Its body cracked like torn earth, and it evaporated. Rowan felt from the lightness of the air inside the cavern that Erebis was dead – or at least its vessel, Cleric, had been destroyed for good.
She felt tears in her eyes. There was the sound of crushed metal, and then the slow grind of failing machinery, and the light suddenly ceased. The silver-white figure had disabled the Hahnium. Rowan was plunged into darkness.
She felt the presence of the white figure come closer, and the caress of feathers. He leaned close to her, and she felt cool breath on her eyes. Lips on her cheek, and a voice, whispering a prayer. Her sight was still broken and she could only see a vague man-shape and the glint of reflective metal.
‘You reminded me of her before,’ the voice said, so very quietly. ‘I see the differences now. You are your own kind of beautiful. The man beside you is your guardian. He’ll protect you, no matter what. And I have left him a message. I’m sorry I can’t do more for you, Rowan.’
She could say nothing; she didn’t have the strength. She felt the feathers again, on her cheek, and then the presence was gone. She would have reached out if she could, but she just couldn’t find the energy to do so.
Her vision began to fade again, but this was not the onset of blindness. She knew with certainty that she would never see again. Her time had come.
‘I’m sorry I can’t do more for you, Rowan,’ the voice said again, distant now. ‘I would have loved to heal you, to remake you as a woman. I wish I could do more. But I’ve done all I can.’
*
EPILOGUE
Many of the creatures that had swarmed around the light had been burned to cinders when the machine shut down. A blinding flash tore most of them to shreds, the remains of which began to rain down upon Shianti like volcanic ash.
The man-like beasts that had washed over the city were confused and agitated when the pillar dissipated. They took to the air in a cloud and vanished. A few stragglers were slaughtered by the citizens of Hermeticia, who then proceeded to hunt down the rest.
Groups of the creatures were found in caves in the desert, dried out husks huddling together. Some were discovered in the rainforests. Most had fallen victim to the more natural beasts there, food for the true inhabitants of the planet. Weak and disoriented, they hadn’t stood a chance. Many were found in various stages of ecdysis, caught up in their own cast off carapaces, having starved to death. Any that had been found alive were rounded up and killed in a continent-wide pogrom, by masses with burning torches, farming equipment, guns and swords.
The plague still ravaged the city, though a worker had discovered something underground in the water-laundering unit, a round fleshy sac, slowly deteriorating in the sewers. Plant-like spores had been polluting the water for weeks. The sac was carried carefully up in an animal-hide bag and burned.
Gabel had been there for the burning of the corpses. The magus and the others had seen him, Rowan limp on his back, staggering out from the smoking cave, black-skinned and coughing spots of blood. They had dropped ropes over the lip of the excavation site, and both of them were lifted to safety. Gabel placed Rowan down carefully, and arranged her arms just like he had when she’d been comatose on the Tractatus. Her eyes were closed.
To their surprise, there was another survivor to be recovered. A young man surfaced alongside Gabel, struggling to maintain his grip of the gravelly surface of the cave’s rim. It was William Teague, still trapped inside the body of Henrique Martínez. His skin was singed and raw-looking. The theriope flesh into which he had transformed – and the residual darkness that his soul had dragged through death and Hell – had been shorn from him forever.
There had been twelve mounds of bodies in all, each ten or so feet high. The Shianti priest, whom they had seen whilst riding through town upon their arrival, had escaped death to pray for them as the great pyres crackled and spat. The hunter had prayed too, putting his palms together and his thumbs to his forehead. The priest had noticed a mark on the back of Gabel’s left hand in the shape of a star, but decided not to ask about it.
Isaac had been injured during the battle outside the excavation site. His arms were broken, and his body was criss-crossed with deep, knife-like cuts. One eye had been taken from him. The priest nursed him after the burning of the pyres, and when the travellers came to visit him, three or four days later, he said he would live.
He aimed to return to Tan Cleric’s facility in the rainforest. He felt that he could find his way again without much difficulty. After destroying it, perhaps he would see his new allies again. Maybe he would make a pilgrimage to Iilyani, and protect a town in dire need of a guardian.
~
The others set off on the return journey. Gabel had acquired a horse-drawn cart and some beasts to pull it, and sat in the back with Rowan the entire trip. Every Sunday they would stop and rest, and Gabel would pray. Rowan could not pray with him, and so he spoke for both of them.
The magus and Teague walked side by side, telling each other stories. The two violinists, Maeia and Taeia, travelled with them in a closed carriage, and played for everybody when the tents had been pitched and the fires lit.
After a few weeks, they arrived at the edge of the Sinh-ha Plains, this time from the opposite direction. The violinists took the magus aside for a few quite words.
‘We cannot go there,’ Maeia said, fingering her brass pendant.
The magus’s eyes glinted at them in a kind of nod. He said, ‘Have you heard our follower?’
‘He cannot be seen,’ said Maeia, ‘but he’s there. I don’t think he’ll ever be seen again. But he’s badly wounded. We can smell his blood.’
‘He means harm, I think.’
‘We think so too. Dina vorris. We’ll find him,’ said Taeia. Her eyes were silver in the moonlight.
‘Farewell, then,’ said the old man.
The girls gave him a hug each. ‘Farewell, Atropos.’
‘I expect to see you performing still, when we next meet. I hope this isn’t another one of your caprices.’
~
They went the long way around the Sinh-ha Plains, adding weeks to their journey. When they arrived in Goya, Teague insisted on returning to the monastery. He wandered the dusty sunlit corridors and checked every room, but found no-one.
He made his way to the pool room and lay in the cold mineral waters for an hour, before walking the tunnel to the Ministrati’s place of meeting.
He knocked before entering. ‘Please come,’ said a voice.
He pushed open the door, and in the centre of the small room sat Sister Latily, naked with a shaven head. Her eyelids were closed.
‘Sister,’ he said.
‘Hello, Brother William.’
‘Is it just you here?’
‘Yes. Brother Elkin was taken by the pillar of light. Brother Lius fell to the plague. The others succumbed to their fatigue, or were killed in the battle. I am the last one left. I do not dwell on it. I should give you congratulations.’
‘I don’t think I deserve them.’
‘You should take them nonetheless.’ She paused, her sun-reddened chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. ‘I see you’ve found yourself again.’
‘I had help. But yes, I have. The curse has been burned away completely.’
‘Are you at peace?’
‘I am.’
‘Then you have reached a plateau I am still climbing toward.’
Teague said good-bye, and left Sister Latily to her meditations. That image of her, nude and red-skinned, her scalp burned and peeling, stayed with him for the rest of his life.
~
They also decided to take a detour around the Great Lake Lual rather than cross it again. They stopped at a small town named Milaca Duos, a harbour town, and ate fish and baby crabs, staying only long enough to fix the cart, which had become damp and twisted in the moist air from the lake.
They retuned to São Jantuo, the ancient city that once had stood proudly with sky-scraping buildings and concrete streets, but remained now only as a small lakeside town. They wandered through the place, which seemed to have much less activity this time round, and waited outside the city hall.
Gabel got down from his horse and talked to one of the guards. ‘Is the Regent inside? I have some news he would wish to hear.’
The guard nodded. ‘Who’s that sitting in your cart? She’s quite beautiful.’
‘She’s none of your concern. Leave her.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of waking her,’ replied the guard. Gabel didn’t think to correct him.
Gabel entered the large domed hall and found himself kneeling in front of a young woman, who told him to rise. ‘Who are you, traveller?’ she asked.
‘My name is Joseph Gabel. I travel with my friends back to my hometown after a long journey west. I had news for a man named Dysan.’
‘The Regent Dysan is dead,’ said the woman, lifting her chin. Her throat glistened with jewellery. ‘He perished eight months ago, of extreme old age. He was my father.’
‘I’m sorry to hear of his demise.’
She only nodded. ‘What news did you have?’
‘An ancient enemy of his, named Caeles, is dead.’
‘He would have been pleased to hear that, no doubt. But I am a different kind of ruler to my father. I harbour no grudges, nor any ill will toward a person. But why is it you who comes with this news?’
‘I was Caeles’ … friend.’
‘Are you mournful of his death?’ she asked, her eyes bright in the darkness.
‘I could never forget the night of his demise,’ he said.
‘Then you’re welcome to spend time in my city to lament for him.’
‘Thank you, Regent, but I’ve grieved enough on my journey. I came only to pass on the news.’
~
It was not much later that they arrived in Pirene. It was just outside of there that they had first met the violinists, and where they now gathered by the petrified tree to watch people pray. Gabel stood for a long time, examining the stone sapling. It was night-time when the magus came to speak with him.
‘I must leave you here, Joseph.’
‘I had a feeling you might.’
‘You and Teague must travel together without trouble.’
‘There’ll be none.’ Gabel stopped, distracted by a drunken procession that circled the tree and sang slurred hymns. ‘Everything went to plan, it seems.’
‘It does appear that way, doesn’t it?’ the magus said, smiling.
‘I suppose I should thank you. For getting me started on this whole thing.’
‘Think nothing of it.’
‘Did you now everything that would happen? Did you see it?’
‘I saw very little,’ said the magus. ‘Only the threat, and the good men who were essential to end it.’
Gabel said, ‘Why do I feel like I failed?’
‘Because you never allowed yourself to succeed before.’
~
The cobble road leading into Gabel’s hometown amplified their horses’ hoof beats and the clatter of the cart, announcing their return. Teague stopped before passing the signpost.
‘It’s all right,’ Gabel said. ‘No-one will recognise you.’
‘I need a new name.’
‘We’ll think of one.’
They rode into the town centre, which was backlit by the rising sun. The dancing girls were outside the inn, gathering so that they could all go home together. One saw the two men and screamed with delight, bounding up to Gabel as he got off his horse.
‘Joseph!’ she cried. ‘Why, Joseph Gabel!’
Teague left them talking. He barely recognised the town. He saw that someone had built over the burnt remains of his mother’s house. He was feeling cold, and the saddle hurt his thighs.
‘Joseph,’ he said. ‘Let’s get a move on.’
Gabel said good-bye to the dancing girls, who ran back to the inn to make others aware of his return, and to announce the arrival of a handsome young newcomer. They passed the square with the graceful arching tree, and the stone bench with its dark stains.
‘This is where Bethany died,’ Teague said quietly, not slowing as he led his horse.
Gabel nodded. ‘Do you want to see her grave?’
‘I’d like that.’
They went to the church first. Gabel pounded on the heavy oaken doors, which soon opened a crack.
‘Yes?’ said a voice.
‘Father?’
‘Who is this?’ The door opened, and a young man looked up at Gabel. ‘Usually we don’t let people in until the sun’s fully up…’
‘Where’s the man who was Father here over a year ago? Is he dead?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said the young Father. ‘Are you … Joseph Gabel?’
‘That is right.’
‘Irenia, I’ve been waiting. Please come in.’
‘I would rather go around to the graveyard.’
Father nodded, and lowered his head. ‘Yes, of course. I saw you arrive. There are digging tools around the back.’
~
Gabel and Teague dug Rowan’s grave together. Gabel said it was to be next to Bethany’s, as they had been like sisters and had lived under the same roof.
As they dug, he said, ‘I’ve thought of a new name for you, William.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘A simple one. John. It was the name of a friend of mine.’
Teague said nothing, but smiled, and continued to dig. Together it took only two hours, and when they had finished, the ground barely looked disturbed. It was flat and even, and the grass had been placed back over the top.
A short wooden plank from the cart made her tombstone. It was heavy and sturdy enough, and had been treated so that it wouldn’t warp in the rain.
*
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
ARTIGAS: (ahr-tee-gahs) noun, A pre-Conflict city o
n the border of Uruguay in South America, since drowned by the Lual, the “Great Lake”.
BOLT-HORNET: (bohlt hor-net) noun, A rare species of insect believed to be of the Vespidae family, native to post-Conflict China. Organically-induced electrostatic charges are generated within the lower segment of the tarsi, which is characteristically bright in colour. Victims of stings have been known to descend into shock or suffer pulmonary palpitations.
CABALLEROS DE LA MUERTE, THE: (kah-bah-lye-raws dee lah murt-ayz) noun, plural, Armoured knights with uncertain goals. Little is known about their independently-developed culture, other than that male children are raised with their horses. Every second female child is rumoured to be killed by strangulation. Others are valued as the carers of each camp’s horses and children. The groups have Spanish or possibly South American origin, and share connections if not origins with the Luxers.
CHAROS: (kair-oss) noun, According to the H’ouando faith, Charos is one of two guides in the underworld, with a winged body encased in chitin. The name has roots in Greek folklore as Charon, the ferryman of the dead.
CLAMPLET: (klamp-letts) noun, See Simaniatri.
CONFLICT, THE: (kon-flikt) noun, (Approximately 2081AD-2087AD) Said to have been a great battle in which great force was used by all sides, therefore “rending” the world. It is said that reality before the Conflict was a cleaner, less dangerous place.
CYBORG: (sahy-borg) noun, A cybernetically-augmented man or woman, used as soldiers during the Conflict in order to survive battlefields polluted by radiation and biological weapons. Many had errant physiology, found necessary to survive the cyberisation process.
DAEMON, THE: (dee-muhn) noun, An H’ouando term for the atavistic form of the ruler of the underworld, when it is manifest in physical form on Earth.
ENERGIES, THE: (en-uh-jeez) noun, plural, Scientifically-unproven weave of unclassifiable energies, said to contain and connect all worlds or realities. The energies are also purportedly the source of electricity, and are fundamentally connected to heat, light, and the bio-chemical processes of sentient creatures.
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