The Demon Horsemen

by Tony Shillitoe

  He poured the euphoria powder into a glass of Ranu white wine, as his advisors had suggested. The powder dissolved and the wine changed to an amber hue—a detail that piqued A Ahmud Ki’s curiosity further because of the association with the Genesis Stone. He lifted the glass to eye level and turned it in his hand, seeing his cabin distorted through the amber liquid. Are you another key? he pondered, and smiled at the play on words regarding his former life. He put the glass to his mouth and sipped, expecting an unpleasant tinge to the wine’s flavour, but there was nothing to suggest the drug’s presence. He drank the full measure, licked his lips, put the glass on his desk and sat in his chair to await the drug’s effects.

  The first sensation was a steadily increasing tingling that spread through his chest and extended to the extremities of his limbs. He tensed, fearful that perhaps he had unwittingly taken poison, but the fear passed and instead he felt warmth, as if he were standing too close to a fire. He sifted through his stored memories, flexing his fingers while he silently recited strings of Aelendyell phrases and words derived from languages even more ancient. Then he opened his palm upwards and a tiny blue flame danced there. He stared at his conjuration for a long time, caught between the realisation that he was witnessing the revival of a power he’d long believed to be lost to him and the sensation of that power rising within him. He extinguished the flame, then pointed to a wire-lightning lamp hanging from a bulkhead. He whispered an Aelendyell phrase and blinked as a sharp burst of red energy flashed across the cabin and the lamp exploded, its glass obliterated to dust. He stared at the floating fragments drifting to the floor, the exposed wires in the bulkhead sparking and spitting. He smiled. Chuckled. And then burst into laughter.

  His cabin door burst open and two Ranu guards entered, peacemakers drawn. ‘President?’ one of them asked. ‘Is everything all right?’ The guard looked down at the dust and then up at the sparking wires.

  A Ahmud Ki, his laughter uncontrollable, nodded and waved the guards out of his cabin. Only when they’d closed the door did he catch his breath and go to the desk. He lifted the empty phial and held it before his eyes and knew that the old world and all of his dreams were still alive on the Fallen Star Islands. He would set sail immediately.

  ‘But what about the children? The workers?’ Law asked with concern. ‘Shouldn’t we warn them, or get them through a portal to safety?’

  ‘They will pass to Paradise if their souls are pure,’ Scripture replied. He stood silhouetted against the portal in the island cave.

  ‘Surely the Demon Horsemen will pass them over if they are pure,’ Moon reasoned.

  ‘Indeed,’ Scripture agreed. ‘Where is Word?’

  ‘Outside,’ Newday said.

  Scripture pushed past the group of Seers and headed for the cave entrance where he found Word gazing across the settlement into the harbour. ‘Impressive, aren’t they?’ Scripture remarked, referring to the Ranu dreadnoughts.

  ‘What would the world be like if they were allowed to keep experimenting with their inventions?’ Word murmured.

  ‘It would become an abomination,’ Scripture replied. ‘They would do all that they could to emulate Jarudha or whatever god the heathens decided to follow. Eventually they would think they were gods because they could fly across the oceans in their ships and dragon eggs. And then they would destroy each other in wars as they struggled for more and more power, until the world became as desolate as the place where we met the Demon Horsemen.’

  Word turned to the older man. ‘Do you really think so?’

  Surprise flickered in Scripture’s eyes, but he suppressed it with a scowl. ‘My faith assures me it would be so. That is why we are here, to scourge the world of these harbingers of greed and power. Jarudha has given us the perfect place and reason to test the magnitude of his wrath. The Ranu are soulless creatures who will never enter Paradise.’

  Word nodded and turned to watch the seagulls spiralling in the gentle currents above the harbour. Fishermen repaired nets and boats on the wharf, under the watchful vigilance of a squad of Ranu soldiers. Five barques waited in the port for the final evacuation of the Kerwyn from the island; the boats rocked on the swell, their masts tracing erratic patterns in the air. An acolyte spoke to a group of women, all of them dressed in yellow, and three dogs frolicked at the edge of the wharf to the amusement of a group of children.

  ‘It’s time,’ Scripture announced. ‘We need all our combined concentration to make this happen as we want it to.’

  Word took a final look at the Fallen Star Islands settlement and followed Scripture into the cave.

  In its cramped confines, the Seers formed an inward-facing circle, Scripture standing behind them, three paces towards the cave entrance.

  ‘I ask you to focus your minds as we did to enter and leave the realm of the Horsemen,’ Scripture instructed. ‘You will give yourself to me and you will have faith in Jarudha. Let your fears wash over you like water. No matter what you see, you must not lose yourself to fear, for by doing so you jeopardise the path to Paradise that we are creating in the Last Days. I will call up the Demon Horsemen and they will scourge the island of the Ranu. We will show the foreigners the power of our faith and the uselessness of their demands.’

  Word steeled himself for the command to give his mind over to Scripture’s control.

  ‘Hold your crystals tightly,’ Scripture urged. ‘Close your eyes if it helps. If you open them, know that you will witness a terrible power greater than anything you have imagined, and be reassured that this power has come to serve you.’ He turned towards the entrance. ‘It is time,’ he announced. ‘Empty your thoughts and be one with me.’

  Emptying his thoughts was not easy for Word. Questions and fears pulled at his concentration, separating him from his brethren, making him fail. His entire life had been a struggle for discipline over a vigorous will that tempted and teased him almost every day, but he triumphed because he had embraced his faith. Now, for the first time in years, he was almost overwhelmed by the old spirit and he had to fight to give himself fully to Scripture. And then he felt Scripture’s pull, like he had when the Seers portalled to the Demon Horsemen’s lair, and it was as if his mind was being sucked into Scripture’s vortex. Instinct warned him to resist, but he knew what was required and he let Scripture take control.

  He heard Scripture in his mind, marshalling their combined psychic force to open a portal for the Horsemen. He had positioned himself opposite Scripture so that he could see past his colleague to the world beyond the cave mouth. Curiosity drove him. Even another glimpse of the Horsemen would be enough. He caught fragments of images, of incandescent blue light, of large brutal swords that seemed to flow with flame, of pale blue horses breathing blue fire.

  Scripture gave the order for the Horsemen to destroy the Ranu then return immediately to their lair. Then Word’s mind images faltered as the sky outside the cave grew darker and soft thunder rumbled through the earth. Scripture raised his arms and dropped to his knees and Word was aware that others were turning their heads, breaking the psychic link. Lightning flashed across the sky framed by the cave mouth. Unable to restrain himself, Word pushed past Law and Moon and stood beside the kneeling Scripture, staring at the unfolding scene.

  The sky over the islands was filled with thick stormclouds rippling with washes of blue lightning. Down in the settlement, people stared up in awe at the inexplicably sudden weather change.

  ‘Look!’ Law gasped. Word raised his eyes and saw the blue light coalescing in the centre of the storm; it reminded him of the portal’s glow. Out of the centre of the widening light came two riders on galloping steeds. They flew towards the island, gathering momentum until they were moving faster than any creature or man-made object could ever move. The riders swooped towards the harbour and raced over the Ranu dreadnoughts; the two metal ships exploded in balls of wildfire. A heartbeat later the riders were over the settlement and its buildings erupted in blue flame—fishing huts, barracks, shop
s, warehouses, even the temple—everything igniting as the Horsemen passed. The riders swept towards the hills and the cave, and Word heard cries of dismay and fear around him as his terrified colleagues retreated into the dark, but he could neither speak nor move. The blue light seemed to expand in the cave entrance and threatened to envelop everything. And then it was gone. In its wake came the odour of burning and ash and a loud thunderclap that echoed through the earth. And then silence.

  Scripture was still kneeling as Word took a tentative step forward. Despite his fear, he ventured to the lip of the entrance and stared in amazement. Flames flickered on the ocean where the Ranu dreadnoughts had been at anchor. The settlement had been evaporated. The entire island was buried beneath a mantle of grey ash. Nothing moved. Nothing was alive.

  ‘Where are they?’

  Word turned to see Moon and Law emerging from the cave, fearfully scanning the storm-ridden sky. He looked up, suddenly aware of a blue glow. A Horseman hovered above him, spiked armour and sword aflame, horse pawing the air impatiently. He froze. Sharp, brutal images crystallised into a guttural language in Word’s mind, at first unintelligible, then meaning magically evolved.

  Where is the one who calls himself Scripture?

  Behind me, Word responded automatically, though his limbs were shaking and the ability to move had long abandoned him.

  Tell him that when he makes a bargain it is expected that he pays it immediately.

  Word averted his eyes from the vision and turned his head to see Scripture still kneeling in the cave mouth. Law and Moon had retreated into the depths with the others. Word tried to speak, but it was as if his voice had left him. He stared at Scripture, shrouded in the blue light.

  Then, as if he had heard the Horseman’s words, Scripture rose and walked out of the cave until he was five paces ahead of Word. The blue light enveloped him. He looked at Word and said slowly, a heavy sadness in his voice, ‘You must carry on our work. Each of us, in our turn, will make this sacrifice to bring Paradise to the world.’

  ‘What is happening?’ Word blurted.

  ‘For the Horsemen to do as I bade, I agreed to serve them in return. After me, there is you. And you also must name a successor, should you need to call on them before the Last Days. This is the term of—’ Scripture suddenly evaporated in a burst of blinding blue light.

  Word flinched and shielded his eyes, feeling intense heat across the backs of his hands. When he lowered his hands and opened his eyes, Scripture was gone. Thunder rumbled across the island and the ocean and the blue light at the centre of the clouds shrank and vanished. The air was still. Word stared at the devastation before him.

  PART FIVE

  ‘I have seen the future, and it is a world utterly changed by the hands of Jarudha, and it is good.’

  FROM REVELATIONS, SEER LAW

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Meg sat on a hill beneath a broad gum tree and studied the settlement nestled in the clearing below. It was not what it seemed. Externally it gave the impression of a growing village—houses, meeting hall, shops, a well—but it was a cleverly constructed working facade, a place the residents used during the day but abandoned at night. The real settlement was a labyrinth of tunnels and rooms dug in the earth beneath; a refuge should the settlement ever come under attack from King Shadow’s forces.

  Meg had learnt that the underground settlement had originally been built by a group who called themselves bushmen—hunters and trappers who now claimed this region that Meg remembered as the tribal lands of the former Shessian kingdom. To avoid conflict with the remaining tribes, they had built a hut on the ground’s surface but actually lived beneath it. The settlement’s recent rapid expansion had been spawned by the arrival of King Inheritor. Close to death, rescued by the Joker’s former bodyguard, Hunter, Inheritor had been brought here because his rescuer’s father had once been a bushman, until he left to find work in the city. Meg had gleaned all this from Swift, who had had a long talk with Trapper shortly after their arrival. She smiled as she recalled Swift’s unusual self-consciousness in Trapper’s presence. The signs were there but Meg knew Swift would vehemently deny any affection for the man.

  The initial days in the settlement had not been without tension for Meg and her companions. While they were made to feel welcome, there was a Kerwyn king among the people and it was widely known that Swift was the assassin reputed to have murdered his brother, Shortear. Swift avoided Inheritor wherever possible, but Meg noticed how he stared at the young woman when he thought she wasn’t watching. Meg wondered how strong Inheritor’s relationship had been with his dead brother. In her short life as Batty Booker, she had heard plenty of city gossip from her neighbours and knew Shortear had been infamous for his drinking and lechery. The common belief among the people was that he would inevitably meet a violent end because of his habits, and when news spread of his murder it was received with knowing nods on the streets and in the alehouses. But he was still Inheritor’s brother and, as she herself knew, family blood was binding. There was also some tension between Hunter and Chase, although the two young men were civil to one another. These latent animosities between her party and the settlement residents made Meg keep up her guard.

  The settlement was much more than a refuge. Its population—mainly men, with a smattering of women and children—was preparing for war, encouraged by the rightful heir to the throne. They spent their days crafting and collecting weapons, exploring and rehearsing tactics, and their nights plotting Shadow’s downfall. ‘There’s a larger army being rallied in the north,’ Trapper told Cutter and Meg when Cutter asked what they were intending, but he wouldn’t elaborate beyond that in Meg’s presence.

  What Meg observed made her sad. She estimated that perhaps four hundred men lived in the settlement, and of them less than a hundred had experience as soldiers. Their weapons were swords, spears and bows, supplemented by a few antiquated Kerwyn thundermakers and ten Ranu peacemakers. No one told her these things. She watched with the eyes of one who had survived a rebellion, a war and two invasions; who had stood terrified in the front ranks on a battlefield as a raw, untried soldier; who had led armies while she used her amber magic to destroy the kingdom’s enemies. She knew that Inheritor’s fledgling army would be slaughtered if it ever faced Shadow’s military might.

  Blade Cutter’s arrival in the settlement had generated a surge of hope among the inhabitants. They believed his knowledge and experience would bring them an edge they knew they lacked, and he was quickly drawn into the inner circle of planners and plotters. Trapper in particular was keen to use the old Shessian warmaster’s experience, and begged his support in helping Inheritor to train the younger men.

  Meg asked Cutter and her friends not to reveal her identity beyond her being an old woman who had owned a bookshop in the city.

  ‘Why not?’ Chase asked when she told them to keep her secret.

  ‘These people should know who you really are,’ Cutter insisted.

  ‘Not yet,’ Meg said. ‘They don’t need more false hope. They already have enough. When the time is right, I’ll reveal who I am.’

  She knew her resolve disappointed them, since they too had been caught up in the fever of rebellion that permeated the settlement, but she had bigger matters to deal with—matters that would overwhelm any rebellion, win or lose.

  She spotted a small group of children running between the houses, playing a chase game. Little Jon with his blond hair was among them and Jewel was leading them all a merry dance. There was a time when Meg had believed she would never see her children again, let alone grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Wars had torn apart her family. Now that she had found her grandchildren and great-grandchildren she was in the throes of yet another brewing war, fuelled by men’s sense of injustice. How many other women have felt my fears? she wondered. How many feel them now in this world?

  She took a deep breath and cleared her thoughts. She had come to the hill, away from prying eyes, for a reason. S
he took another, longer, deeper breath and imagined taking the form of a kookaburra—the long kingfisher beak, spiky white crest and chest, flecked brown, black, grey and white feathers. A sudden rush of vertigo overwhelmed her and when she gathered her senses she was peering at the world from less than a hand-span above the ground. The momentary disorientation gradually dissipated.

  Whisper, who had been foraging for insects nearby, trotted towards her and stopped to sniff. Into Meg’s mind came an image. Meg?

  Me, she replied.

  Whisper kept sniffing and staring, full of rat curiosity, which made Meg burst out with laughter—and then she stifled her outburst as she heard a raucous kookaburra laugh echoing across the hills. Last time she’d shape-changed into this form she hadn’t been able to laugh like a kookaburra. This time, without thinking, it had come naturally. Her excitement made her chuckle again, and again she had to restrain herself, especially when she saw Whisper cocking her head from side to side as if she couldn’t comprehend what was happening. It’s me, Meg projected to the rat. Finally satisfied that everything was as it should be, Whisper turned and trotted to the edge of the bush and started scavenging again.

  Meg took in her odd view of the world. Whisper sees it from this angle all the time, she mused. I am a bird. She concentrated on spreading her wings, feeling them lift with the slightest stir of air. She moved them experimentally, feeling how the muscles and tendons pulled and relaxed, recognising what was familiar as arm movement and what was alien to her experience. As a child in Summerbrook, she had watched young sparrows and magpies learning to fly, launching from their nests and fluttering awkwardly to the ground, flapping their wings and spreading wing and tail feathers to gauge the air currents and their own movements. She had watched the process many times with fascination, and always imagined it must be exhilarating to take to the air, but now that she was the bird who’d never flown she was afraid, and wondered if baby birds also felt fear.