by Edward Cox
‘Not just the denizens,’ Amilee replied coolly. ‘Because of you, the Nephilim also carry a splinter of that magic in their souls. After all, you did make them half-human.’
‘Ah …’ Hamir pushed down old and stormy memories that tried to rise. A thought came to him. ‘If Spiral needs these splinters, then why did he imprison the Nephilim rather than destroying them?’
‘Because he can’t. Not yet.’ Amilee walked to the head of Clara’s table and stroked the changeling’s cheek affectionately, gazing down onto her sleeping face. ‘Our greatest advantage is that Spiral does not know my plans. But he does know that the Nephilim’s fate is in your hands, Hamir.’
The necromancer blinked. ‘Would you care to explain that?’
‘Don’t you ever wonder why the Timewatcher didn’t execute you for your crimes?’ Amilee faced him. Some of the Skywatcher’s old anger had returned to her tawny eyes. ‘Why did She place you in exile, shamed and drained of thaumaturgy, but alive?’
‘You think I wasn’t justly punished?’
‘You never knew what your punishment was, you fool! The Timewatcher cursed you, Hamir, and lucky for us all that She did. She bound the Nephilim to your life. They will only die when you die.’
Hamir raised an eyebrow. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Your creations, your abominations, were sentenced to live shunned and reviled for as long as their Progenitor lived. The Nephilim bear the curse of your crimes, Simowyn Hamir, never to be true masters of their own fate.’
Hamir didn’t often consider himself dumbfounded, but he found himself so now.
Amilee continued, ‘But the curse can be broken. To free the Nephilim and bring them to our side, we have to reunite you with the thaumaturgy that was drained from you.’
In the stunned silence that followed this declaration, the hundred automatons of the Toymaker skittered. Hamir felt the prickle of a ghostly presence enter the room. Alexander materialised by the door, head bowed and hands clasped before him.
‘Forgive the interruption, my lady,’ he said. ‘I thought you should know that your guests have arrived.’
‘Excellent,’ said Amilee.
Hamir started. ‘Guests?’
‘Come,’ Amilee said, walking from the room with invigorated purpose. ‘It’s high time you took responsibility for your demons, Lord Hamir.’
‘You dare to merge your memories with mine,’ the skinless man said. Blood dripped from raw hands clenched into fists and slapped against the leathery ground. ‘You come to this place seeking knowledge, yet your minds would be crushed by the truth!’
It’s Spiral, Marney said in Clara’s mind.
It can’t be, not really, Clara replied, fear sinking to her bones. Everything is memory and information. I mean, he can’t do anything to us. Can he?
I don’t know.
Spiral laughed bitterly at the magickers, his wet countenance stretching sinew and tendons, revealing bloodied teeth.
‘Look at you,’ he said disgustedly. ‘Humans.’
Behind Spiral, a door had been set into the flesh of the courtyard wall. A simple, innocuous wooden door branded with a peculiar House symbol. The dark charred mark depicted a swirl connected by a straight line to a square with mirrored triangles. Clara knew the symbol, as did Marney. The Sorrow of Future Reason, a myth, a legend that belonged to giant blood-magickers.
‘Shall I tell you why the Timewatcher gave you the Great Labyrinth?’ Spiral continued. ‘Because you were weak and broken. She sowed poison seeds in you and ensured that you never abused the power She imbued into your House.’
Marney groaned and stumbled. Clara caught her arm, helping her to stay upright.
The unnerving blue light was radiating from Marney’s eyes and mouth again. This time, the luminosity also leaked from her nose and nostrils as a host of wispy spheres like glowing dandelion heads. They dragged the light clear of the empath, moving away fast as though caught by high winds.
The skinless Lord of the Genii watched angrily as the tiny spheres travelled over him like a swarm of bees to be drawn into the wooden door. The symbol for the Sorrow of Future Reason glowed blue for a brief moment. The telltale click of a lock opening followed.
‘What is this?’ Spiral growled. ‘More trickery?’
‘I … I remember,’ Marney hissed to Clara.
Undoubtedly, behind that door was the answer to finding the Nephilim herd, to finding Van Bam’s ghost. But when Clara recalled how the Timewatcher’s voice had affected her, how real it had felt, she understood that this grotesque personification of Spiral could be as real as he wanted to be; and there was no way he would allow her and Marney to pass.
‘You think you know your place in the Timewatcher’s heart?’ Spiral raged. ‘You do not understand what She has done with the First and Greatest Spell!’ He spat blood as he shouted. ‘But I will take it from you. I will take it from you all!’
Get ready to run, Marney told Clara. Steady on her feet now, the empath held a throwing dagger in each hand. Clara wished Samuel were here with his guns.
‘Do you truly believe that we are equals?’ Every word Spiral uttered was laced with insanity. ‘You are the Timewatcher’s curse. You are the cancer that ruined my people.’
Spiral’s exposed muscles bunched. Clara didn’t need her heightened senses to guess his intent.
‘There is no place for you on Mother Earth. The Timewatcher is a liar!’
Spiral attacked, and Marney’s hands flashed out. The daggers struck home: one stabbed into Spiral’s chest; the other took his eye. Gouts of violet blood burst from the wounds and Spiral screamed more in anger than pain. Marney didn’t let up her assault; she half-emptied her baldric, throwing dagger after dagger at the abomination, each one sinking into raw muscle.
Clara tried to reach the door but skidded to a halt as Spiral expanded his size and blocked the way. He became taller, wider; black hair, matted with blood, began to sprout all over his torso and limbs, pushing the daggers from his flesh. His scream morphed into a protracted howl.
‘Shit!’ Clara cried. ‘My magic …’
Above, lightning flashed, clouds churned and rain began to fall in fat, heavy drops. Spiral’s howls became vicious barks of thunder as his face snapped forward into the muzzle of a wolf. He stood upright, fingers splayed and tipped with long talons; wicked teeth flashed, snapping at the air. Marney threw two more daggers at him but the blades bounced off the thick pelt and fell useless to the ground. Spiral came for the humans he despised so much.
‘Stand aside,’ said a new voice.
Clara and Marney moved to the side wall. Spiral stopped his advance. Rain washed blood from his pelt in red rivers. He cocked his head to one side, considering the Skywatcher walking into the courtyard.
‘Ah, my dear Baran Wolfe,’ Spiral said, growling with the thunder of Clara’s magic. ‘The least of us, the compassion of the Timewatcher.’
‘Too long have you kept me trapped inside Known Things.’ Wolfe’s voice carried menace; his eyes a distinct lack of mercy. ‘I no longer speak the truths only you wished me to speak. And I shall tell you a truth now, Iblisha Spiral, Lord of the Genii … our time here is over.’
Spiral’s laugh sounded more like barking. ‘I preferred you when you were on your knees, begging me for mercy.’
‘Then make me beg.’ Wolfe’s hands glowed with higher magic. ‘The Last Storm is yet to end, Iblisha.’
Silver wings sprang from Wolfe’s back and he leapt into the air. Spiral vaulted and met the attack. As they crashed together, Wolfe released the thaumaturgy he had summoned and the Skywatchers exploded into a cloud of burning purple.
‘Run!’ Marney shouted.
Clara followed the empath across the courtyard, sprinting beneath the blistering cloud of higher magic, while the symbol for the Sorrow of Future Reason blazed and smoked. The d
oor opened of its own volition as the magickers approached and they sprinted through, sparing not one backward glance. Clara yelled, expecting pain, expecting the disorientation of a portal, anything but what she actually found.
A room in a library.
The door slammed shut behind them, silencing the Skywatchers’ battle.
Long and narrow, the room stretched away into a distance further than the eye could see. Shelving filled with innumerable books covered the left and right walls, disappearing into the gloom high above. At the centre of the room, countless reading tables had been pushed back to back, and between them stood lamp posts topped with spheres of welcoming blue light. And they, like the room, appeared to stretch into for ever.
Breathing hard, Clara gave Marney a questioning look. ‘I bet there’s a really interesting explanation for this.’
Marney smiled wryly as she looked around at the infinite books on display. ‘Clara, you asked me how I learned so much about Known Things and Spiral, and everything else that’s been happening. The truth is, the knowledge was given to me in exactly the same way that I gave it to you.’
Clara touched her lips. ‘With a kiss—’
The magickers wheeled around as the door shook in its frame. A distant howl of bestial thunder filtered into the library room. The sound subsided, the door stopped shaking, and thankfully Clara’s magic didn’t break through. She reasoned that the last memory of Baran Wolfe the Wanderer was now dead.
‘This is the Library of Glass and Mirrors,’ Marney said.
The name meant nothing to Clara.
‘It’s a long and old story,’ Marney continued. ‘I never knew everything, Clara – well, that’s not strictly true, but it’s complicated.’ She became wistful, as though having to order her thoughts through a surge of old memories. Marney chuckled, perhaps at herself, perhaps at the absurdity of the situation. ‘There’s someone inside Known Things other than you and me, Van Bam, Spiral and Wolfe. And it’s someone I brought with me.’
One of the spheres of blue light floated away from its position atop a lamp post. It drifted down towards the floor, expanding with an array of gently waving tendrils the colour of the midday sky over Labrys Town. It grew bigger, its centre darkening and forming the shape of a person. Eyes like patches of starless night leaked smoky tears.
‘The avatar,’ Clara said in surprise.
‘That’s not what I call him,’ Marney said. She looked close to tears as she approached the blue spectre. ‘I bet he’s never given you a straight answer, has he, Clara? I bet he’s only ever given you enough to lead you onwards, and then expects you to come to your own conclusions. It’s an annoying trait he’s always had.’
‘Oh, I seem to remember that you knew how to mystify me on occasion,’ the avatar replied. There was affection in its voice. ‘It’s good to see you again, Marney.’
Marney’s voice cracked. ‘Hello, Denton.’
Chapter Twelve
The Ghost of Blue light
Samuel had found that cold place inside him where his thoughts and instincts were as deadly as the rifle in his hands. He focused on nothing – not Marney’s condition, not the revelations that just kept getting stranger and stranger – nothing but the present moment.
The portal in the protected chamber of the Nightshade where the First and Greatest Spell was hidden had injected the group into the Nothing of Far and Deep. Samuel, guided by his prescient awareness, had led the companions along a tunnel with wispy white walls, beyond which blue and red lightning crackled through thick, churning primordial mists. No one had spoken, no one had speculated as to which House they were headed towards.
His magic had not been required, however, as the pathway led to a surprising destination.
A circular cave. Its smooth wall, floor and ceiling carved from a dull grey substance, not quite rock, not quite metal.
‘Interesting sort of place,’ Bellow said. The Nephilim’s blue eyes shone in the gloom. He looked invigorated.
As the rest of the group shared worried looks, the wooden door through which they’d entered the cave slammed shut on the Nothing of Far and Deep. Glogelder tried and failed to open it again.
‘Locked,’ he announced gruffly.
‘There is magic in the door,’ Bellow said. ‘I don’t think we’re supposed to leave that way.’
‘Brilliant,’ Glogelder said sourly. ‘Another one-way trip.’
Hillem looked up at the domed ceiling, the unconscious Marney still in his arms, curiosity on his face. ‘What is this place?’
‘Samuel?’ said Namji.
The old bounty hunter stood apart from the group, staring through an opening on the opposite side of the cave, recognition rising within him. ‘Follow me,’ he said.
He led the way out to the base of a mountain just as unnaturally smooth in its formation and made from the same grey metal-rock. A path led from the cave mouth down to a bridge, spanning a yawning chasm that sank into depths of utter darkness. At the end of the bridge, before a great cliff wall that enclosed the area in a mighty semicircle, a grand tower rose, black as night and capped by a dome of tarnished silver.
‘The Tower of the Skywatcher,’ Samuel said flatly. ‘This is Lady Amilee’s House.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Namji, standing alongside him.
‘I couldn’t be mistaken. But …’ The environment looked dreary and lifeless, diluting Samuel’s sense of nostalgia. ‘Something bad must’ve happen here. This place used to be … majestic.’
‘Majestic or not,’ Bellow growled, ‘I will be glad for an audience with her ladyship. There are one or two things I would like to say to her.’
The giant set off across the bridge. Samuel and Namji made to follow him but Glogelder stopped them.
‘Wait.’ With a troubled expression, the big Aelf gestured to the tower. ‘There’s a real Thaumaturgist in there?’
‘Maybe,’ Hillem said happily.
‘It’s really not as impressive as it sounds,’ Samuel said. He holstered the ice-rifle and took Marney from Hillem. She was light and pale, still wrapped in his coat. Perhaps Amilee would know a way to wake her up. ‘Let’s go.’
As the group headed over the bridge, sickly clouds drifted across the sky like dirty smoke. Samuel remembered how those clouds used to sparkle with a host of colours, and how the sky had been filled with the countless stars of other Houses. He recalled the emerald falls that cascaded from the clifftop down into the chasm beneath the bridge, filling the air with a fine rejuvenating mist. And lastly, Samuel remembered how the dome of the Tower of the Skywatcher had glared with silver light, like a star of its own. What had happened to this place?
When they caught up with Bellow, the giant had stopped to study a construct standing guard at the end of the bridge.
‘It’s an automaton sentry,’ Samuel said warily, though he detected no danger.
Namji shivered. ‘I remember these things.’
‘Ah, I have heard of automatons,’ Bellow said. ‘They were created by the Thaumaturgists – as servants, yes?’
‘And soldiers, bodyguards – whatever they needed them to be,’ Samuel answered. ‘This one is part of Amilee’s private army.’
Hillem said, ‘I read somewhere that they’re near impossible to beat in a fight.’
‘Not this one.’ Bellow rapped his knuckles upon the automaton’s featureless faceplate. It didn’t move. Its pistons didn’t pump; its cogs didn’t spin. Although the automaton was eight feet tall, it still looked puny beside the Nephilim. ‘This poor fellow has no power.’
‘Good,’ Glogelder mumbled.
The group continued on across a gigantic disc of metal-rock that sprouted from the end of the bridge. The tower rose from the centre of the disc, its huge doors already open. Samuel led the way inside.
Two glass elevator chutes rose from the centre of the
vast entry hall and disappeared into the ceiling, and pale luminescence shone down from above. The light barely lifted the gloom at the edges of the hall, but did so enough to illuminate the rest of Amilee’s automaton army. Standing dysfunctional in evenly spaced alcoves, there were at least fifty of them.
The tower doors boomed shut.
‘Here comes our reception party,’ Bellow said.
One of the elevators was active. It descended and a glass door slid open. Two people joined the group in the hall.
Samuel’s breath caught. ‘Hamir,’ he whispered.
But the necromancer – not dead as Samuel had supposed after all – didn’t reply or make eye contact, and almost hid behind the second person.
Lady Amilee approached the group. She was stooped, her gait slow and unsteady. She looked as tired and old as her House, nothing like the magnificent Skywatcher Samuel had last met.
The Aelfir remained close to the doors as Samuel stepped forward with Marney in his arms. Gulduur Bellow, for all his talk earlier, had no interest in addressing Amilee. He approached Hamir with a curious look on his large face. Hamir practically shied from the Nephilim, as though embarrassed to be seen. He stared at his feet as Bellow towered over him.
‘I am relieved that you have made it this far, my friends,’ Amilee said, her voice dry, dusty. ‘But we have much work to do. Samuel, please – you must take Marney to Clara.’
‘What?’ Samuel almost dropped the empath in his arms. ‘Clara’s here?’
Amilee didn’t reply. Samuel frowned at the sadness in her eyes as she stared at Marney. He looked around at his Aelfirian companions, at the Nephilim staring down at the necromancer, and finally back at the Skywatcher.
‘Where’s Van Bam?’
‘Where’s Van Bam?’ Clara said.
‘You’ll find him soon enough.’
‘What’s going on?’
The avatar transformed. Its light began to dim and shrink, forming into the shape of an elderly gentleman, still tall and burly even though he had to be pushing eighty, dressed in a creased and tatty three-piece suit. A threadbare waistcoat strained its buttons struggling to cover his generous paunch. The rumpled wide-brimmed hat sitting on his head had seen better days. The expression on his ruddy face was kind and welcoming, but the glint in his old eyes held mischief.