The Watcher of Dead Time

by Edward Cox

  Wild demons fled from it. The Retrospective trembled.

  The multicoloured power flowed across a bridge that spanned a bottomless chasm. Like a marching army of light, the magic crushed the demons on the bridge, knocking many of them over the sides to fall for ever. Those that escaped did so by fleeing through a rent in the air that led to a House of dead time. The First and Greatest Spell sealed the rent and crushed any demon who remained.

  Its light spread up to the sky, turning dreary clouds into majestic mists of uncountable hues. Stars shone brightly and told stories of the future in a vast night sky. Falls of emerald waters cascaded from the surrounding clifftops. Unstoppable, the Timewatcher’s magic then flowed into the Tower of the Skywatcher.

  Lady Yansas Amilee gritted her teeth as the doors flew open and the spell rushed in. Her silver wings fanning, she bathed in the energy that lifted her from the ground, reignited her thaumaturgy, energised her tower. And she felt the touch of the one who had cast it

  ‘Mother,’ she sighed.

  All around the hall, automaton sentries whirred into motion, shaking off the dust of decrepitude. Amilee hovered above them, singing her joy so loudly her brothers and sisters might hear her on Mother Earth. She laughed and called down to the sentries.

  ‘It is time!’

  And she led her army to the Great Labyrinth.

  Perhaps Gulduur Bellow had been right. Perhaps the Progenitor’s punishment at the hands of the Thaumaturgists was not enough in the eyes of the Nephilim, or of the humans who had died to create them. Hamir didn’t know any more.

  ‘They look peaceful,’ Marney said.

  She was looking down into the lake’s depths where the Nephilim herd lay drifting in amber cocoons. So many of them. Hamir knew that Marney had used her empathic magic to deaden her emotions, to stop worrying about Clara and Samuel and the Aelfir; but the necromancer had decided as soon as they were separated that there was little chance the others would survive whatever happened to them next.

  ‘Their long sleep is almost over,’ Bellow said, as if to himself.

  The three of them walked along a narrow causeway that crossed the lake to the island of dark stone. The star of green light emanated higher magic from the island’s summit, almost whispering Hamir’s true name. He knew it was the Thaumaturgy which had been drained from him centuries ago; the power by which Spiral had imprisoned the Nephilim. Curiously, Hamir felt nothing at being in its presence after all these years.

  Above, wings flapped. Birds or bats? Hamir stopped to wonder. The cave was so large, it was impossible to see into the gloom beyond the lake’s glow. How much life had grown here? How much could grow here? What kind of world would the Nephilim create from the Retrospective? Hamir felt the tug of the magic which bound him to Bellow and continued along the causeway.

  As they neared the end, Marney said, ‘I never expected the Nephilim’s prison to be so … serene.’

  ‘Perhaps it didn’t begin this way,’ Bellow replied. ‘Over the years, I suspect my people affected the environment. It is a sign of their benevolence.’

  Benevolence? Hamir thought. How would they react when they woke up to be confronted by their creator? What could Hamir tell them, what reasons could he give to appease a millennium’s worth of repressed anger? The herd had grown to almost a thousand, and for centuries the offspring of the Nephilim elders had been listening to lies and myths about the Progenitor. Hamir hoped that the truth would be met by this benevolence Bellow spoke of – if he could work out how to free them.

  As they reached the end of the causeway, the star of green light shone a little brighter, perhaps sensing the proximity of its owner.

  How will the Nephilim react? Hamir frowned.

  Amilee had given him no obvious instructions as to how he was supposed to reclaim his higher magic; but in the same way that she had delivered Bellow to the realisation that the Retrospective was the Sorrow of Future Reason, Hamir began to understand that the Skywatcher had already given him all the pieces that made up the answer. He just had to assemble them.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Marney.

  The island had been fashioned like a pyramid, comprising huge individual blocks of black stone. Each level was like a step towards the summit, but they were tall, smooth and sheer, as though crafted for the use of giants. Bellow began climbing.

  ‘You know what you’re doing, right?’ Marney asked as the giant helped her up onto the first level.

  ‘Personally, I haven’t a clue,’ Bellow replied. ‘But then, I’m not the one we’re relying on.’

  ‘I’m sure I can improvise,’ Hamir said sourly.

  Bellow’s massive hand reached down and grabbed Hamir by the collar, yanking him up to stand beside Marney. ‘Don’t improvise too much, Progenitor.’

  That name again, that … legend. Hamir shuddered inwardly every time he heard it.

  With Bellow’s help, they climbed to the penultimate level of the island. Marney looked at the green light shining just above them and then shrugged at the necromancer.

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Bellow growled, and he lifted Hamir to the summit.

  He stood upon a single great block of black stone. Rising from it was a pedestal of the same dark substance with a smooth bowl carved into its top. In the bowl sat Hamir’s thaumaturgy. He had expected its green light to dazzle his eyes, but now he was close by, it dimmed to a dark green glow. A glassy diamond – what other shape would it be? – containing higher magic. Hamir stared at it, wondering why he felt nothing.

  ‘Hamir?’ Marney said from below.

  ‘I need a moment to think.’

  Bellow hissed out a testy, impatient breath. ‘You have had all the moments you need. Free my herd.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Marney; her empathic magic was obviously sensing Hamir’s confusion. ‘I think he’s telling the truth.’

  Truth … ?

  The words of Lady Amilee flowed through Hamir’s mind. The revelations, the information, the pieces of a puzzle which now came together as an answer. The Timewatcher had enforced love and devotion from the denizens by implanting splinters of the First and Greatest Spell into their souls. It was impossible for any inhabitant of Labrys Town to deny faith in Her. You never knew what your punishment was, Amilee had said; and, with a wry smile, Hamir finally understood.

  He had lived for a thousand years among the denizens without his thaumaturgy. Of course he would become like them. Over the years, a splinter of the First and Greatest Spell had entered his soul, commanded his obedience, keeping him trapped.

  Did that mean he was … hybrid? Like the Nephilim?

  Hamir baulked at the absurdity. ‘Gulduur, kindly remove your binding spell. I cannot do this otherwise.’

  Bellow’s blue eyes glared up at him. ‘Spare me your tricks, Progenitor. You’re going nowhere until my people are free and you have answered to us.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand.’ Was that the sting of tears Hamir felt? ‘I have to do this by choice.’

  Because a lowly former Thaumaturgist could never undo the Timewatcher’s decree and reclaim the higher magic that had been stripped from him. But he could ensure that it found a rightful resting place. He could take responsibility for everything he had done. He could make the decision that perhaps the Timewatcher had always intended him to make; a decision that would break the curse which had stitched the life of the Nephilim to their creator.

  ‘It’s not a trick,’ Marney said. The expression of concerned awe on her face suggested to Hamir that she understood what he was thinking, what he had to do next. But how could she? How could any of them? ‘Your magic is prohibiting him.’

  With eyes narrowed in suspicion, the giant whispered a few words of blood-magic. A light burning sensation on his stomach told Hamir that the binding spell was broken.

  ‘Thank you,’ the
necromancer said.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and took the green diamond from the pedestal’s bowl. It felt light and hot in his fist, pliant, gelatinous. Delicate. The higher magic inside called to Hamir. Its light cooled and dimmed, as though nestling into his grasp.

  Hamir looked down at the amber glow of the lake, at the Nephilim drifting in their cocoons. Yes – they looked peaceful. Tears misted his vision.

  ‘Hamir?’ said Marney, her tone worried.

  He smiled at the empath, suddenly remembering with fondness the young and frightened woman who had first joined the Relic Guild. ‘Marney, I have been known by many names,’ he said, ‘and I have seen such wonders.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘But I also survived a time of darkness whose shadow would swallow even the Genii War. It is known today as the Old Ways. Little is remembered of that time, and with good reason.’

  He switched his gaze to Bellow, who still regarded him with suspicion. ‘There is a book,’ Hamir told him. ‘It is my … journal. I wrote it when I was exiled to the Labyrinth at the end of the Old Ways. It was a form of therapy, I suppose you could say, to help me come to terms with my … disgrace. The journal can be found in my laboratory at the Nightshade. It contains everything you wish to know about why I created the Nephilim.’

  ‘What is this—’ Bellow began, but Hamir cut him off.

  ‘You want answers, Gulduur, and this is all I can offer. But if there is any part of you that can take advice from me, then I warn you to never read the contents of that book.’ He looked back at Marney. ‘It should be burned.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Marney demanded.

  ‘Answering for my crimes.’

  Hamir crushed the green diamond in his fist.

  The light escaped its gelatinous confines, no longer green but now a deep purple radiance that oozed from between Hamir’s fingers to spread up his arms, across his body and engulf him entirely.

  From a far and distant place, Hamir heard Marney call his name as the radiance seeped into him through every pore. There was no pain, no surge of power – only a curious sensation that let Hamir know this thaumaturgy no longer belonged to him, but to his children.

  His being crumbled to atoms.

  He saw everywhere at once: the cave, the lake, the island. A blood-magicker and an empath watched him burst into a swarm of pinprick stars, spiralling with higher magic. The swarm cascaded into the waters, speeding down to the lowest depths, where they scattered, invading amber cocoons and the bodies of sleeping giants. As splinters of the First and Greatest Spell kissed a thousand souls with the essence of their creator, Simowyn Hamir became no more.

  And the Nephilim awoke.

  Chapter Twenty

  Blood Rain

  Iblisha Spiral, Lord of the Genii, hovered in the air above a hill of scorched rock. His silver wings gently fanned the hot updraughts radiating from the Retrospective; his beautiful yet terrible face expressed neither pleasure nor displeasure. Below him, endless ranks of wild demons surrounded the hill. Row after row of them, stretching back as far as the eye could see, all observing silently, almost standing to attention. High above, more demons flew beneath a sky roiling with clouds of poison and acid.

  Spiral’s violet eyes gleamed with curiosity at the remnants of the Relic Guild kneeling on the hilltop.

  Inside, Samuel was beset by fear and anger and hopelessness; outside, thaumaturgy had strangled his magic and rendered him so immobile he couldn’t even blink to moisten his eyes against the dusty heat. Clara, Namji and Glogelder were held in a similar state. Voiceless and incapacitated, they knelt in a line, staring up at Spiral. Behind them stood the Genii.

  Hillem was dead. Marney, Hamir and Bellow were missing. But there was a surprise inclusion at this gathering: Councillor Tal. The elderly Aelf, his face expressionless, stood directly below Spiral, staring with eyes of black – subjugated, possessed. Samuel understood the implications of Tal’s presence and felt himself surrendering to the inevitable.

  ‘I’m confused,’ said Spiral. His voice was in the ground, the sky, the wind … a voice that could command universes. ‘Did I not tell you to destroy any life that you discovered?’

  ‘You did, my lord,’ Viktor Gadreel rumbled from behind Glogelder. ‘Lord Moor and Lady Asajad decided that you would want to question this rabble personally.’

  ‘We thought you would wish to decide their fates yourself,’ Mo Asajad added quickly. She stood between Clara and Namji. ‘We thought they would interest you.’

  ‘Did you now?’ The army of wild demons stirred, as though expressing Spiral’s displeasure. ‘And what do you suppose I might find so interesting about them?’

  Fabian Moor, who had been standing directly behind Samuel, moved ahead of the group. He was holding Samuel’s hunting knife. ‘My lord, this is the Relic Guild.’

  ‘Ah …’ Spiral looked down at Tal. ‘Do you see, Ghoul? These are the people who you claimed would never kneel to me, who would always stand against me.’

  Tal remained silent, his eyes expressionless.

  ‘Go on,’ Spiral prompted him. ‘You know what I expect. Let’s start with one of your fellow Aelfir. The brutish one first.’

  Subservient, Tal walked to where the Relic Guild’s weapons had been dumped into a pile. He selected Samuel’s revolver before approaching Glogelder. Glogelder could only stare, unblinking, as Tal pressed the barrel of the gun to his forehead and primed the power stone.

  ‘Wait,’ Spiral said, clearly amused. ‘I think he wants to say something.’

  Spiral dispelled the restraining magic and Glogelder groaned. ‘Hillem.’ Tears sprang from his eyes and he wailed his friend’s name again. ‘I’ll kill you.’ His face was a mask of rage and hatred as he bared his teeth at Spiral. ‘I’ll kill you all—’

  Tal pulled the trigger.

  Samuel wanted to close his eyes. To shy away. But Spiral’s hold forced him and his companions to watch as the back of Glogelder’s head burst with blood and bone. The big Aelf fell on his side, staring at his friends. The hole in his forehead smoked. His blood pooled.

  Fabian Moor stared at Samuel in something close to contemplation, turning the blade of the hunting knife over and over in his hands.

  ‘Yes,’ Spiral said, as if talking to himself. ‘The point has been well made.’

  Tal pressed the revolver to his temple and shot himself.

  As the elderly Aelf fell down beside Glogelder, Samuel sank further into the oblivion of hopelessness.

  The Retrospective began devouring Tal’s corpse, drinking his blood, liquefying his body and skeleton into a soup that was absorbed into the rock.

  Spiral frowned when he noticed that Glogelder’s body remained untouched.

  ‘How curious,’ the Genii Lord said. ‘Viktor, remove his clothes.’

  The hulking Genii stamped over to Glogelder and proceeded to strip him unceremoniously, disrespectfully, ripping his hooded top and yanking it savagely away from his body. Spiral called a halt before Gadreel could complete Glogelder’s indignity by removing his boots and trousers.

  ‘What do we have here?’ Spiral was talking about the red magical symbols written on Glogelder’s stomach. ‘A ward of protection?’ He scoured the remaining members of the Relic Guild. ‘They must all wear them, but … who among them, I wonder, has knowledge of blood-magic?’

  With a flick of his hand, Spiral burned away the symbols on Glogelder’s body. Immediately, the ravenous hunger of the Retrospective devoured him, clothes and all, and his last remnants were sucked down into the rock.

  Winter descended on Samuel, an icy state that forbade him to care any longer.

  ‘Question this one, my lord,’ Moor said, pointing at Samuel with his own knife. ‘He’s probably their leader.’

  Spiral stared at Samuel as though considering an insect before releasing him from the magical
restraints. Samuel fell forwards onto his hands, breathing hard, blinking tears and dust from his eyes. His magic returned to him. It was dull, almost dead.

  ‘You and your friends are associates of Simowyn Hamir.’ Spiral’s tone was all the more disturbing for its friendliness. ‘Have you been travelling with him? Did he give you these protective spells?’

  Samuel coughed, spitting a bitter taste into the dirt. He looked up, trembling, and his lie came as a nod.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  In that icy place that was slowly dying in Samuel, he latched on to the last ember of defiance burning with the fading hope that Hamir could somehow still save the denizens, the Aelfir … everyone – if he was given enough time. ‘Hamir is dead,’ he stated.

  ‘I think you are lying to me, little magicker.’

  To Samuel’s surprise, Moor answered for him. ‘Perhaps not, my lord.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘When we found them,’ Asajad explained, ‘they had already been attacked by your demons. It is probable that Hamir fell along the way.’

  ‘But we have no way of confirming that,’ Gadreel added, almost admonishing his fellow Genii. ‘The last we knew, Hamir was barricaded in the Nightshade. Just because—’

  ‘Enough,’ Spiral purred. Above, the sky roiled. ‘Dear Simowyn is clearly alive and free.’

  Samuel spared a glance for Clara and Namji. Still on their knees, they expressed nothing of the fear and turmoil they must have been feeling.

  ‘I know why you are here.’ Each of Spiral’s words seethed with intolerance for Samuel. ‘I understand why the skies have been keeping secrets from me. But no matter what Lady Amilee has planned, she is trapped, and she is not coming to help you.’

  Samuel didn’t respond, but he noted Moor and Asajad sharing a meaningful look that their lord didn’t notice.

  ‘Hamir’s thaumaturgy was stripped from him centuries ago,’ Spiral continued. ‘Even if I hadn’t moved the location of the Nephilim’s prison, he no longer has the power to open it. But I would like the chance to speak with Hamir – before I kill him.’