by Edward Cox
Agitated, his magic barely concealing his fear, Denton rounded on Marney, held her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes.
‘Do you trust me?’ he said.
‘Of-of course,’ Marney replied shakily.
‘There are things I cannot explain to you, Marney. Lady Amilee expects far too much of us and … and she has very good reason.’
‘Denton, what’s wrong?’
‘I need you to trust me more than you ever have before.’ His tone was ice. ‘Can you do that?’
Marney did her best to emote a sense of calm to her mentor. He batted it aside with a hard shell of apathy.
‘I have seen too much, and I need you to understand that what I am about to do is for the good of everyone, for all of us, for every House and every living soul. Do you understand?’
‘Denton, you’re frightening—’
He cut her off with a shout. ‘Will you trust me as you’ve never trusted me before?’
‘Yes!’
‘Then forgive me.’
To Marney’s surprise, before she could stop him, Denton pulled her forward and placed his lips on hers. There was a flash of empathic energy inside her mind, a vibrant, shocking blue. She felt the truth of Denton’s words when his voice whispered, I’m sorry, and then Marney’s mind fell as limp as her body in her mentor’s embrace.
In the northern district, an estate of residential dwellings surrounded a park; a collection of moderately sized two-storey houses more expensive than those in the eastern district, but nothing like the grand manors of the west side. A chapel of the Timewatcher served as a centrepiece for the park. Sunlight reflected from its stained-glass windows and the sonorous tones of a priest could be heard chanting midday sermons.
Van Bam, looking like himself again, stood in the shade of a tree along with Macy and Bryant, keeping an eye out for any denizens who might get in the way. The area was well populated but the few passers-by didn’t linger; and Van Bam’s illusionist magic ensured the Relic Guild couldn’t be seen. Above, the sky was clear and blue.
The twins looked tense as they watched a detached house on the other side of the park but Van Bam felt relaxed. The green glass of his cane felt cool and reassuring in his hands; the newly cut grass smelled fresh and felt real beneath his bare feet. It was the first time Van Bam had experienced any kind of inner peace since Angel’s death. But it wasn’t a peace that could last.
Ambient thaumaturgy flashed brightly from the downstairs windows of the house. Van Bam scoured the area; no one else was around to see it. A moment passed, and then several more violet flashes came.
Bryant glanced uncertainly at his sister. ‘Do we go and help him?’
‘Not bloody likely,’ Macy said. ‘I’m not going anywhere near that place while Samuel’s magic is up and there’s a gun in his hand.’
‘He will tell us when it is safe,’ Van Bam said.
The light of a power stone blazed silently from the upstairs windows, repeating several times before falling to darkness. Soon after, Samuel opened the front door and beckoned his fellow magickers into the house.
‘Golems,’ Samuel said coldly as they joined him inside. ‘A lot of them, but no infected.’ His prescient awareness had obviously dulled sufficiently to allow him to holster his revolver. ‘They must’ve been here for quite a while.’
The air was laced with the acrid stench of dispelled magic and spent thaumaturgy. On the staircase and along the hallway, chunks of stone lay scattered in small piles. Van Bam could see more golem ruins through the doorways to the rooms off the hallway.
‘Funny, though,’ Samuel added. ‘None of them was armed.’
‘This place has to be something other than one of Moor’s feeding nests,’ Macy said. ‘Otherwise why would he need Gemstone Llem’s help?’
‘Even so,’ Bryant said, ‘these golems used to be infected denizens. You’ve all heard the noise they make. Why did no one hear them and report a disturbance?’
It was a good point. Van Bam tapped his cane against the carpet, summoning his illusionist magic. Almost as soon as pale green light radiated from the glass, spreading in waves through the air, Van Bam detected the dampening spell which had been cast upon the house. It prevented sound from escaping the walls and would’ve hidden the building from perception – even that of magickers. Van Bam explained what he had discovered to the others, adding, ‘The perception magic must be weak or fading if it did not affect us.’
‘But what was Moor trying to hide with it?’ Macy said.
‘I can answer that,’ Samuel growled. He drew his rifle from its holster on his back. ‘The rest of the house is clear, but there’s something you need to see in the cellar.’
He led the group down the hallway to the kitchen. Sunlight shone through a window and glinted off pans hanging above a large oven. Water dripped from a tap. Van Bam and the twins stayed behind Samuel as he approached the cellar door. He paused, listened to his magic and then opened it, revealing the cellar stairs along with a pronounced reek of rotting vegetables: the distinctive smell of those infected by Fabian Moor’s virus.
‘It’s all right,’ Samuel said, switching on the stairwell lights. ‘Well … sort of.’
The group followed Samuel down into a spacious cellar with a high ceiling. Light prisms fixed to the walls like pyramid studs glowed with pale radiance. They made their way towards some kind of construct at the rear of the cellar. At first, Van Bam thought it was sitting behind a series of support pillars that divided the room in two; but a closer look revealed wooden poles engraved with glyphs and wards.
‘Stop,’ Van Bam said, recognising some of those symbols with a shiver. ‘This is necromantic magic.’
Macy and Bryant looked at Samuel.
Samuel shrugged. ‘I’m telling you, I’m not sensing any danger. But you need to see the rest.’
Leading the way beyond the engraved wooden poles, he showed them the grim display on show.
The powerful stink of rotting meat arose from a hole in the ground the size of a dinner plate. A metal tripod dangled a small glass box over the hole from a thin wire. The object inside the box looked like a rotten shelled egg, but closer inspection revealed it to be something far stranger. Green-brown in colour, the egg had a leathery surface like the skin of a reptile.
‘What is it?’ Bryant asked.
Samuel didn’t reply and pointed to the ceiling.
‘By the Timewatcher,’ Macy said.
Bryant replied to his sister with a choice curse.
There were denizens bound to the ceiling by magic, like some perverse mural. With a sickened feeling, Van Bam counted five of them, probably homeless people stolen from the streets. They twitched, their mouths opening and closing as though to release silent moans. From the black veins that webbed their skin and the jaundiced look to their eyes, it was clear they had been infected by Fabian Moor’s virus. Evidently, whatever magic held them to the ceiling also subdued their bloodthirsty madness and prevented the virus from reaching its end and turning them into golems.
The reek was palpable.
Macy coughed, covering a retch with the back of her hand. ‘Can anyone explain to me what’s going on here?’
‘Nothing good,’ Van Bam whispered. ‘Samuel – you are certain your magic is dormant?’
Samuel affirmed by giving the illusionist a sour look. Van Bam wondered if a separate dampening spell had been cast upon the cellar.
As a test, the illusionist whispered to his magic, thinking to conjure the illusion of a bird. The chime of the cane was flat and discordant. Van Bam’s bird briefly flared into existence, then sputtered and died.
Her expression troubled, Macy was opening and closing her fists, as if realising her gift of magically enhanced strength had deserted her.
‘What is this place?’ Bryant wondered. Casting a wary gaze at the de
nizens on the ceiling, he crouched to inspect the egg hanging from the tripod. He peered into the hole beneath it and made a disgusted noise. ‘It’s filled with rancid meat,’ he said, gagging.
Samuel hadn’t taken his eyes off the ceiling. ‘Meat from what?’
‘Whatever has been set up here,’ said Van Bam, ‘necromancy is Hamir’s province, not ours. I suggest we leave.’
‘Agreed,’ said Macy.
But before the group had begun to move, the symbols engraved into the wooden poles began to give off a faint light and Bryant said, ‘Wait!’
The wire that dangled the egg from the tripod was glowing with heat. Bryant moved closer to it, Samuel aiming his rifle behind him. The glass box cracked and then shattered, dropping the egg down into the hole. The sound of bubbling and boiling followed.
Samuel began, ‘I don’t like this—’ but was cut off by an ear-piercing screech.
A host of tentacles erupted from the hole. Leathery, green-brown in colour, they shot up and stabbed into the bodies of the infected denizens. Two more tentacles whipped out and punched Van Bam and Macy off their feet, out beyond the line of poles. Winded, Van Bam got to his hands and knees. He heard the drone of magic, and then Bryant screamed.
Magical barriers had stretched between the poles, a translucent sickly grey, crackling with energy, separating Van Bam and Macy from their fellow agents. Van Bam’s gut wrenched as he saw through the magic that one of the tentacles had pierced Bryant’s back, then emerged from his chest and lifted him from the ground. More tentacles had coiled around his wrists and legs and were tugging at him, as though trying to pull his limbs off.
Macy rushed towards the magical barrier. The skin of her hands sizzled and smoked as she punched at the energy and she fell back with a cry of pain.
Samuel’s teeth were gritted as he searched for some way out of the trap, desperate without the guidance of his dampened magic. He gave Van Bam a despairing look before Bryant issued a final scream. Blood spurted as Bryant’s limbs began ripping from their sockets. Another tentacle punched through the back of his head and smashed out through his face. Samuel fired his rifle. The dull orange storm of fire-magic bloomed behind the barrier of energy.
Macy bellowed her brother’s name.
Chapter Ten
First and Greatest
Samuel had been through too much in his time; he was too old, too tired to be perturbed by anything that life had left to throw at him. He wondered if that was a shame as he sat there facing Gulduur Bellow, a giant, an elder from a race of blood-magickers who Samuel had always been taught to fear: the Nephilim.
After saving the Relic Guild from the demon horde, Bellow had taken them into a spacious cavern within the red mountain. Its walls were unnaturally smooth and the domed ceiling was streaked with thick veins of the same red and blue resin-like substance from which the trees of the Icicle Forest had been fashioned. Samuel had seen nothing in this House that he would consider fertile ground, yet trees of fruit and bushes of berries grew from the cavern’s red rock floor. They formed an orchard of sorts, divided by a stream of clear, sweet water that began at a spring flowing from a crack in a boulder and disappeared beneath the far wall to end who knew where.
Like the rest of the Icicle Forest, this cavern had been created by higher magic.
Fed and watered by their host, the companions now sat upon boulders close to the orchard. Bellow was so large, so fierce-looking with his intense blue eyes, but he conducted himself with a welcoming, unimposing manner, encouraging the group to share with him the details of the journey that had led them to this point.
The giant listened raptly as Samuel and Namji told him about the Genii’s return and their plan to free Spiral from Oldest Place. He appeared fascinated to learn of the Relic Guild’s escape from Labrys Town and their mission to find Known Things, a bizarre relic and supposed weapon that could destroy Spiral.
‘And all of this on the orders of Lady Amilee?’ Bellow said.
‘Indirectly,’ Samuel replied. This close, he could see the scars criss-crossing Bellow’s exposed skin, the telltale marks of a blood-magicker. He wondered if Bellow’s entire body was decorated with them. ‘We haven’t seen Amilee yet, only her avatar.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me.’ Suspicion and intrigue laced the giant’s voice but he didn’t elaborate, and then proceeded to tell his own tale.
Bellow had a passion for stories. With an almost excited keenness, he told the incredible history of the Nephilim, of their creation and their creator – the Progenitor, a rogue Thaumaturgist. He lamented the centuries of lies and legends that had painted his people as evil abominations; and how this perception had been encouraged by the Timewatcher to hide what She considered an embarrassing secret. The Nephilim were hybrids, Bellow said – a magical fusion of Thaumaturgists and humans. And the foul magic used to create them had killed one hundred denizens.
Although Samuel remained unfazed by Bellow’s story, Hillem was in his element, sitting closest to the giant, asking questions from time to time, listening with open amazement on his young face. When Glogelder first regained consciousness, healed by blood-magic, he had panicked at the sight of the giant, which had amused Bellow. Now the big Aelf looked settled and as unfazed as Samuel, content to eat his fill of fruit, and sulking about the loss of his spell sphere launcher – his favourite weapon – which had been broken beyond repair during the fight.
As for Namji, she and the giant were friends of old.
When Bellow told the tale of his journey to the Icicle Forest – which began when he alone escaped Spiral’s plot to trap the Nephilim herd in a hidden prison – Namji said, ‘I thought you had died, Gulduur.’ She approached the giant and took his massive hand in hers. ‘I waited for you, but you never came back.’
‘I lost some of my memories,’ Bellow replied apologetically, staring at the tiny hand holding his. ‘After I fought the Genii Buyaal, I destroyed Mirage’s doorway to the Great Labyrinth, and then there is a blank spot. The next thing I remember, I was roaming the desert, healed and whole, but lost and confused.’ He turned his bright blue eyes to Samuel. ‘But I recall helping Van Bam to escape, and I regret that I couldn’t save your friend Angel.’
Samuel felt a pang of dark nostalgia. ‘It was a long time ago.’
‘And a hard time for us all,’ Bellow said. ‘You see, I lost the fight against Buyaal. I fought him and his Aelfirian army for as long as I could, but in the end I fell, suffering what most would call mortal wounds, but …’ He gave a sad sort of chuckle. ‘The Nephilim would tell you that it is their curse, but apparently we are destined to be healed and resurrected from all wounds.’
A charged pause.
‘You can’t die?’ said Hillem.
‘No, I wouldn’t put it that way,’ Bellow replied. ‘I believe that death doesn’t come for the Nephilim in the same way it comes for others, and my people are simply yet to meet theirs. Who knows – maybe the Progenitor made it this way. There is still much concerning my herd’s origins that I do not know.’
‘So Buyaal couldn’t kill you,’ said Namji. ‘And neither could Spiral?’
Bellow’s expression became uncertain. ‘Who is the greater force between the Nephilim and the Thaumaturgists? It is not a question that has ever been properly answered. Although if anyone was capable of destroying the Nephilim, you would think Spiral could do it.
‘I have often wondered if the Genii Lord removed the Nephilim because he couldn’t destroy them, or if he had some other plan for my people. Who can guess Spiral’s reasons?’ Bellow’s tone darkened. ‘All I can tell you for certain is that if I had faced Buyaal and his army with my entire herd, there would have been no competition.’
Glogelder sat forward. ‘But they weren’t with you,’ he said through a mouthful of apple. ‘Spiral trapped your people and only you managed to escape. How did you do it?’
‘By the skin of my teeth.’ Sadness returned to the giant. ‘Spiral had found something my people were defenceless against, a method of subduing the Nephilim – a weapon, I suppose you could call it. He wielded the higher magic which had been stripped from the Progenitor.’ He looked up at the red and blue veins of the cavern ceiling, his voice coming from distant memory. ‘It blazed with the light of our origins. How could the Nephilim deny the source of their creation? Spiral hypnotised them with the Progenitor’s thaumaturgy.’
‘But not you,’ Samuel said.
Bellow looked at him, as if suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone. ‘I recognised what Spiral had and realised that he had tricked us in time to resist the pull of the Progenitor’s power and escape. But not soon enough to warn my herd, to save them. And they have been lost to me ever since.’
Samuel had met several creatures of higher magic in the past. Aloof, hard to fathom, capricious, each and every one of them. But Bellow seemed different; he was personable, welcoming, open and honest, and he spoke as though he addressed peers, not lower creatures who could in no way match his power. Was that because of the Nephilim’s human side? Samuel wondered.
‘Spiral has a lot to answer for,’ the old bounty hunter said, in what he hoped was a consoling tone. ‘But how did you end up in the Icicle Forest?’
‘Ah, my story continues,’ Bellow said, his large face brightening. ‘Lady Amilee found me roaming in the desert of Mirage. She helped me to order my mind. I asked after you, Namji, and Amilee assured me you were safe.’
‘I never saw her,’ Namji said. ‘I hid in Mirage until allied soldiers found me during the Last Storm.’
The Last Storm, the day the Genii War ended. But not, Samuel realised, the day the Timewatcher won after all.
‘I think Amilee sent those soldiers to me,’ Namji added.
‘It’s unsurprising that the Skywatcher didn’t show herself to you then or to any of us now,’ Bellow said bitterly. ‘There is as much trickery in Amilee as there is in Spiral. She promised to reunite me with my herd. She said she could finally deliver the Nephilim to their home.’