FROM THE OUTSIDE, The Palace of Keys was a nondescript windowless tower three stories tall. The inside was like walking into another universe. Where the outside was monolithic, the inside was an open atrium with balconies to dozens of rooms. The architecture curved organically. The Sword’s memories thought back to the architecture of the old empires, where straight lines and right angles were no longer the foundation of everyday design. Or support beams—when the Long Night happened most of these architectural wonders collapsed under their own improbable dimensions when the theurgy was disrupted.
He approached one of the attendants, a strapping young blond boy with dazzling blue eyes.
Maddox spoke, “I hear you hand out keys or some shit in this place.” The Inspector had begrudgingly shared information about the place when he had pestered her about it.
“I can do that,” the boy said after a pause. He didn’t sound very smart, but he was fucking gorgeous. Maddox didn’t like paying for sex, but he would have gladly made an exception.
I’m working, no distractions. A job he wasn’t being paid for and no one really asked him to do, but Maddox figured if he was immortal and his best friend was being a dick, he needed an outlet besides drinking.
After what seemed like an overly long time, the boy hesitantly passed him a long golden key.
When Maddox took it, he felt a spark of static. The boy stared and did not let go of the key. He looked like he wanted to fuck.
Maddox yanked the key and muttered, “Thanks.” Maybe later.
He adjusted his trousers, grabbed a bottle of wine off one of the tables, and headed to room twenty-six.
Finding it was harder than he thought. None of the numbers were in the correct order. Each door was painted red and done in a different architectural style. Room seven featured a mechanical gateway that wouldn’t have been out of place in Rivern’s bank. He passed by several more doors as the laughter and chatter of the atrium floated up. From above, the place looked more like a social club than a brothel.
He passed two men who were whispering heatedly about an upcoming vote in the Assembly. He couldn’t have cared less as he uncorked his bottle and chugged.
He stopped in front of a green door. The only green door. It was room twenty-six. “Fuck.”
In Maddox’s experiences with the Guides and Harrowers, nothing good ever happened behind green doors. He finished more of the bottle and braced himself for an unpleasant death. It was a plain door that in the reddish light almost looked black, like a shadow.
He used the key and went inside.
The overpowering smell of white rose incense hit him in the face. The room was dimly lit by a few candles in red glass lamps. It took his eyes a second to adjust. The walls were covered in paddles, whips, chains, and other instruments of discipline. A muscular man in a leather mask loomed over a narrow bed. He was stripped bare to his waist and in very good shape.
“Strip,” the man commanded.
“You don’t want to chat a bit first?” Maddox shrugged and unfastened his belt.
“I tell you when you can speak!” the man ordered.
Maddox set the Sword on the floor and proceeded to tear his clothes off. He stood naked and awaited further instructions. The Sword was not particularly keen on being ordered around, but Maddox’s cock responded to it appreciatively. It was going to be difficult to gather any information as he was commanded to get on his knees, crawl, and clean the man’s boots with his tongue.
As Maddox worshipfully polished the leather with his mouth, he was called all manner of disgusting and degrading things. The boots were already clean and smelled of linseed oil and something else. It was impossible to tell with all the fucking incense, which was giving him a slight buzz.
When his task was finished, he was ordered to lie down on the bed. The man affixed abraevium manacles to Maddox’s wrists and legs. The metal bands were snug but slightly stretchy, fastened by thin nearly unbreakable filaments to the posters of the bed. That much material would have cost a fortune.
To Maddox’s surprise, the man climbed on top and removed his mask. He was attractive, with wavy red hair plastered to his head by sweat. He grinned. “I’ve got a treat for you, for doing such a good job on my boots.”
“Actually,” Maddox said, “what I’d really like to know is if— ”
Before he could finish his sentence, the stranger’s mouth was covering his, exploring with tongue. Maddox abandoned himself to passion, and it was glorious. It had been months. Heath refused to even look at Maddox, let alone touch him, which made it painful. Until this point, the Sword never considered that it had anything like emotions independent of its host.
Maddox groaned with pleasure as the stranger’s tongue pressed deeper into his mouth. And deeper.
Somehow the man’s tongue was sliding into Maddox’s throat. He flailed against his manacles as he felt something squirming and making its way down his esophagus. His stomach responded by trying to vomit, but the mass wouldn’t let him. He could barely breathe as it choked the life out of him.
Maddox flung the stranger off and against the wall and pinned him there with the power of his seal. Maddox heard and felt the sickening rip of whatever was inside him as part of it was torn away with the red-haired man. His mouth was full of writhing purple worms with hungry toothless orifices.
The wriggling horror still inside Maddox tore into his insides, and the pain nearly knocked him unconscious. Whatever it was, it was eating him alive, and he had no way of getting it out. He tried to scream, but all that came out was a raspy strangled noise.
The man laughed. Actually laughed, with worms coming out of his disgusting mouth. “It will all be over soon. You’ll be one of us.”
Maddox could feel a cold alien presence boring into his mind. He did the only thing that made sense.
He willed the Sword through the air and, with a quick motion, severed his own head, killing him instantly.
Maddox awoke on a cool stone floor in total darkness. He curled into a ball at the memory of the revolting encounter that, to his perception, had just happened mere seconds ago. He felt sick and started dry heaving the contents of his, thankfully empty, stomach. The sounds of his retching echoed in whatever place he was, giving the sense of a medium-sized room with an open ceiling.
It reeked of decomposition, old and new.
“Sword…” Maddox reached frantically for the blade but recoiled when his hand came down on a body.
“Yeah,” he heard a young man’s voice say. “I’m right here.”
Maddox froze. The voice sounded familiar. Maddox asked, “How is that possible?”
“I can’t understand it either. I’m a fucking priceless ancient relic, and they just toss me down here with their corpses? My alloy alone is worth half a million ducats at least. But that’s not even the strangest part.”
Sword’s blade started to glow. Maddox recognized the young boy who had handed over the key. He looked skinnier, more sickly. The soft glow of the blade cast shadows over his face that made him appear even more gaunt.
“This also happened.”
Maddox blinked and looked around the room in growing horror. He saw several dead bodies and a shitload of bones in the corner of a deep stone pit. The edge looked a good thirty feet up, with no ladder or rope in sight. Beyond it was more darkness. People were kept and bred in the pits like animals. “The Sarn slave pens.”
Sword nodded. “Who’d have thought it would be the only structure in their city to last?”
“I need you, Sword… I’m broken without you,” Maddox pleaded.
“You’re fine,” the boy said. “We need to get the hells out of here.”
Maddox grabbed the boy’s arms and shook. “Give me my Sword!”
Sword’s eyes rolled back into his head as Maddox dug his fingers into the Sword’s arms. He moaned. “Oh, fuck yes… keep doing that. That feels incredible.” He sounded slightly orgasmic.
Maddox stopped and stepped back. Sword�
�s body looked completely different. His arms were thick and his chest strained against the leather tunic. His face had filled in, and he even seemed slightly taller.
Sword gasped. “Wow. I’m a fucking incubus!”
“What?” Maddox asked. His thirst for knowledge briefly quenched his longing for the Sword.
“I don’t know a lot of words anymore,” Sword said, struggling. “The Patreans, the old wizards, not their creations, made other kinds of people who could be used as weapons or spies. One kind was called an incubus—they were supposedly very pretty men who could borrow magic by touching people. They could turn someone’s power against them.”
He paused. “That’s why I came back to life. Earlier the managers killed me. But I woke up down here like you. When I heard a noise, I got scared and reached for something to protect myself. I touched the hilt of the Sword… And then I took over Soren’s body.”
Maddox pondered this. “So theoretically I could kill you and take back the Sword, and Soren would be himself tomorrow?”
“I suppose. We need to get out of this pit first,” Sword said.
Maddox pressed his fingers to his face. “I would love it if you and Heath would stop getting me into these fucked up situations all the time. What is wrong with just getting shitfaced and having random sex every day for the rest of eternity?”
“I get you in these situations?” Sword rolled his eyes. “I’m not the one who made you give up on life because your dream of being an instant success at magic didn’t happen like you expected it to. I’m not the one who got kicked out of school and dabbled in drugs and forbidden magic. I’m not the one who voluntarily picked up a soul-stealing sword this very morning, knowing that we’re hunting something really messed up and dangerous. You don’t need me to drink yourself to death, so stop blaming everyone else for your problems and fucking fix them.”
Maddox scowled. His body seethed with fury, and he wanted nothing more than to break Sword’s neck.
Sword added more gently, “The sooner we’re out of this pit, the sooner we can get a drink.”
Maddox sighed. “I can lift you up to the rim of the pit with my seal. You can hopefully find a rope or something.”
Sword grinned. “See? You can do it all on your own.”
Maddox waved his hand and lifted Sword to the edge of the pit. The light from his blade was far away, and the shaft grew dimmer. Maddox felt suddenly very alone. And then, to his surprise, he started to rise through the air.
Sword held Maddox aloft in the air with theurgy and set him down outside the pit. Maddox gaped. Everything he knew about magic said it was impossible to transfer power. Seal magic came from the design and geometry of the inscribed glyph on his chest.
“Mother fuck…”
They were standing on a narrow stone ledge in a chamber so vast they couldn’t see any walls. To their side was another pit, and pits stretched on as far as he could see. The walkway crisscrossed the square enclosures with a vast grid of hewn stone.
Sword glanced around. “You don’t happen to know the way out of here, do you? Any visions from the Guides maybe?”
Maddox shook his head. “The only way I can control it is with drugs, and I’m fresh out.”
Sword’s expression lit up as he felt his pocket. “I have just the thing.” He produced a small vial of white powder with a silver cap and a small spoon sticking into the jar.
Maddox grabbed the vial, uncorked it, and sniffed. The aroma was unmistakable. “Devil dust?”
Sword shrugged.
Maddox unscrewed the cap and sniffed straight from the bottle. It stung his nose and made it run a little. Instantly, he had more energy and felt… not totally shitty. Unfortunately, devil dust appeared to be a stimulant, and he needed something with hallucinogenic properties.
“Feel anything?”
“I’m high, at least.”
“Worth a shot. You want to try right or left?”
Maddox let out a breath and confidently marched to the left. Sword followed.
FIFTEEN
Conversation
LYTA
Each of us is a fragment of the divine. The gods of the Host are just larger pieces of that energy which allows us to attune ourselves to their celestial harmonics. But within each of us lives a being of the same divine matter. A soul is merely a little god that exists in each living creature.
We revere Ohan as much as we revere the Host and the small God Within. Ohan is powerful beyond measure, but his concerns are equally beyond measure. The God Within is yours and yours alone. Pray first to your Better Self and see your prayers answered before turning to the Supernal Titans.
Whether one prays to Ohan, or prays to nothing as the Patreans do, one cannot help but by every action serve or displease the God Within. There is no initiation to the Ineffable Truth, save for the realization of one’s infinitesimal role in the Grand Design of the cosmos and connection to the Infinite.
—MEDITATIONS ON GODLY NATURE, FILLIAS
THE DIVINER WAS a young Turisian man with spectacles and what looked like several pounds of amulets and holy symbols around his neck. He scribbled his notes with a quill feather into a ledger. His desk was crowded with stacks of papers and various idols used to weigh them down.
“You’re both high-ranking members of one of the Seven Houses. Why do you want to abandon that and convert to the Infinite Faith?”
“We’ve studied the Meditations and after much careful reflection we… um…” Lyta began.
Shannon blurted out, “We’re lesbians.”
The man considered this a moment, nodded, reached for a stamp, and slammed it onto a parchment. “Welcome to Dessim. Here are your papers.”
Beaming, Shannon hugged Lyta. It made her glad to see Shannon so happy. Although never having been to Dessim outside chaperoned visits, the culture seemed to appeal to her rebellious nature. However, she was naïve, and Lyta worried the newfound freedom might lead to bad decisions.
The Diviner smiled. “For a small fee, I can marry you if you like. You won’t find a better price in the city.”
Shannon laughed. “That won’t be necessary. Come on, Lyta.”
Lyta paused. It was never something she had considered before, but it wasn’t an idea she could easily dismiss either. She said nothing though. He’s probably just trying to cheat us anyway.
They thanked the Diviner and left the office, papers in hand.
The wall that divided the city was thick, permeated by seven main gates. The gatehouses had mirrored immigration offices for Baash and Dessim. When they stepped out of the Dessim office, they were met with the cold disapproving stare of the Baash minister. He stood on the steps opposite them, arms folded.
Shannon laughed and began to disrobe.
Lyta grabbed Shannon’s arm, and she winced. Lyta let go. She had always been careful to be gentle with her lover but didn’t want to cause a scene. “Please. You don’t have to do this.”
“People can walk through the city naked,” Shannon challenged, rubbing her arm. “I don’t want to wear these ugly white robes for another instant.”
She gleefully stripped down to her naked body as a mortified Lyta stood by. The Baash minister turned his head in disgust and marched back into his offices.
Shannon made an obscene gesture after him. “That’s right. Go do your ablutions!”
“You didn’t need to shame him,” Lyta whispered. “He can do nothing to us. People like him are beneath our concern.”
Shannon hugged Lyta around her hips. “His shame comes from him. I can’t be responsible for other people’s feelings.”
“Even mine?” Lyta challenged.
Shannon stepped back, mouth agape. “These people wanted to torture you. They stuck a knife under your fingernail. They wanted to separate us and demonize us. I don’t see why you feel you should owe them a single ounce of courtesy.”
Lyta grabbed Shannon’s hand, gently, and pulled her along the street. “It isn’t just that. I have
enemies here, Shannon. We can’t risk the attention of public spectacle.”
Shannon nodded. “I’m sorry. But maybe if you shared this dark, mysterious past with me, I would know these things. I do care about your feelings, but I need to know what they are.”
Lyta sighed. “In due time. Not here. Not in the open where people can listen.”
If Shannon knew the truth, she would run away as fast and as far as possible. It was becoming harder and harder not to tell her. In Baash, Lyta could write it off as a troubled childhood. Back in Dessim, however, the past was all around her. It could be anywhere. How many more lies could she tell the person she loved with all her heart?
“Let’s sell our jewels so we can make a new life for ourselves,” Lyta encouraged. “Rivern is rebuilding. They’ve lost so many to the Harrowings and the cataclysm that we can even start new identities.”
Shannon scrunched her nose. “Rivern? What about Bamor?”
“Bamor is too expensive,” Lyta said.
Shannon shook her head. “You realize that with our abilities we could live comfortably anywhere. I’ve washed the nasty feet of every Patriarch in Baash. I can see through all of their eyes any time I want. Tell me the Hierocracy wouldn’t throw ducats at me to get that information.”
Lyta shook her head. “Or they might burn you for witchcraft. The Stormlord would be our most ready ally. But he’s dangerous.”
“So are you,” Shannon said. She added, “I want to go to the smithies.”
Lyta paused. “There are many in Dessim, I’m sure.”
Shannon nodded. “And they’re all in the same place they are in Baash, next to the Patrean garrison, so we turn right at this next street instead of left.”
“Why go to the smithy?” Lyta asked.
“Because,” Shannon proudly explained, “that’s where my mother is. I grew for nine months in her belly, and it occurred to me that I could reach her with my sight, now that it’s getting stronger. I found her. She works in a smithy that makes plated armor.”
The Mirrored City Page 10