The Watcher of Dead Time

by Edward Cox

  ‘The Sorrow of Future Reason,’ Eysha Bellow whispered. She approached Clara, Namji unconscious in her arms. Her blue eyes shone with tears and the power of blood-magic. ‘Come then, you magnificent creature. Your people need you.’

  Forty Years Earlier

  The Great Labyrinth

  Marney felt nothing.

  The shadow carriage disappeared, leaving her, Samuel and Van Bam standing in a courtyard somewhere in the Great Labyrinth.

  Only the three of them left now.

  Rising from the centre of the courtyard’s cobbled floor was the stone arm of a golem. Held in its hand was an open-topped box made from pearlescent metal, which was filled with the gelatinous substance used to summon shadow carriages. An improvised device, fashioned by Fabian Moor, no doubt. But of the Genii himself there was no sign.

  Samuel swore.

  He and Van Bam faced a portal on the courtyard’s back wall. It was active, churning with the thick, gluey whiteness of the Nothing of Far and Deep. But it was unlike any other portal to be found in the Great Labyrinth; it didn’t sit behind a wooden door with a symbol engraved into a metal plaque signifying which House it led to. This portal was a large circle on the wall – another of the Genii’s improvisations.

  ‘Damn it,’ Van Bam said. ‘Moor must have already escaped.’

  ‘Then we follow him,’ Samuel stated.

  But Marney had detected something in the air. It was vague, yet more than just the emotional residue of someone who had passed this way, and she could barely comprehend its complexity. She projected her voice into the minds of her fellow magickers.

  Moor’s still here.

  Samuel thumbed the power stone on the pistol loaded with thaumaturgic bullets. Van Bam looked at Marney and replied, Get ready.

  But the empath already knew the drill.

  Marney amplified her magical search, locating the source of the alien emotions. She fed what she found to Van Bam, who stabbed his cane against the cobbles, whispering to his magic. Green streaks of illusionism sped from the glass towards an area close to the portal, where they wrapped in spinning lines around a concealing spell. Samuel took aim.

  But he didn’t get the chance to fire.

  Some invisible force punched Samuel off his feet, sending him crashing into the wall. His head cracked brickwork, the pistol clattered from his hand, its power stone dying, and he fell unconscious to the courtyard floor. Just as Marney felt rage rising in the alien emotions, Van Bam’s magic coalesced into a ball of liquid green. Briefly morphing into the perfect likeness of Fabian Moor’s visage, it became a burning, iridescent light which shot at Van Bam, hitting him square in the face.

  The illusionist fell, screeching and writhing on his back like a wounded animal. He tried to scrape the magic from his face, but it sank into his skin. He gave a final scream as his eyes boiled and burst from their sockets, and then he lay still.

  Marney felt nothing.

  Not knowing if her lover was alive or dead, she snatched up Hamir’s pistol from the ground just as Fabian Moor materialised.

  Apparently unconcerned by the weapon aimed at him, Moor stood close to the portal, staring coldly at Marney.

  ‘I thought I’d have to retrieve your body from your filthy town to interrogate your soul,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you found my message.’

  Marney saw Denton’s dead body in her mind, the words written in blood upon his skin … The pistol whined as she primed its power stone.

  Moor sneered. ‘You’re coming with me, empath.’

  Marney pulled the first trigger.

  With a burst of higher magic, Moor blurred, phasing out of sync with the real world as his presence slid to one side. The first thaumaturgic bullet cracked harmlessly against the wall. But Marney’s magic was still tracking Moor’s strange emotional aura. As he rematerialised in front of the portal, she squeezed the second trigger.

  Moor groaned. He sank to his knees, looking confused by the wound in his chest. He stared at Marney, perhaps surprised that he had been hurt by a simple magicker. The portal churned whitely behind him. Marney let the pistol fall from her hand. Moor’s face creased in pain.

  Samuel appeared alongside Marney, his rifle drawn. As Moor clutched at his chest, his pain increasing, Samuel unloaded a magazine of fire-bullets at him, bellowing his hatred. Marney didn’t know if lower magic could add any further injury to a creature of higher magic, but she watched with murderous thoughts as Samuel’s magical onslaught blistered the air around Moor.

  When the fire subsided, Moor’s body lost cohesion; his eyes staring lifelessly, he ripped like paper into pearlescent tendrils that were absorbed into the portal. The primordial mists of the Nothing of Far and Deep churned and crackled with energy as they devoured the Genii. And then, like a slowly closing eye, the portal deactivated, shrinking, disappearing, until only the black bricks of the wall were left behind.

  Marney felt nothing.

  ‘We did it,’ she said.

  Samuel didn’t reply. He touched the back of his head, looking at the blood that came away on his hand.

  Van Bam moaned.

  Marney rushed to her lover’s side. She held his hand, trying to soothe his complaints with calming waves of empathic magic. His face was burned, his eyelids fried to withered crisps, and the sockets were dark red holes.

  ‘Get it out …’ Van Bam was delirious. Despite Marney’s magic, he began thrashing again and his voice rose in agony. ‘In my head … Get it out!’

  Marney gave the illusionist the full force of her magic. It crawled inside him, blocked the pain and confusion, shut down each of his emotions and pushed him back into the depths of unconsciousness. He lay still again.

  Samuel stood over them. ‘Is he going to be all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marney said flatly.

  She had felt a presence in Van Bam’s mind just before he lost consciousness, wondered if she had heard a voice she recognised – a pernicious, spiteful voice, laughing. She told Samuel nothing of this, saying, ‘We need to get him to Hamir.’

  Samuel holstered his rifle, retrieved the double-barrelled pistol and then lifted Van Bam’s limp body onto his shoulder.

  Marney walked over to the golem’s arm standing in the courtyard. With a finger, she inscribed three concentric squares into the gelatinous substance, feeling a mild wave of relief as the dark grey disc of a shadow carriage appeared on the floor, waiting to carry them back to Labrys Town.

  Samuel locked gazes with Marney, looked about to say something, but his words failed.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Marney.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Last of the Genii

  The pain was tolerable. As long as he kept very still.

  There was a dark spot on Samuel’s memory. One moment, Fabian Moor had been dragging him away from the Retrospective; the next he was waking up, returned to the silver cube of thaumaturgic metal at the heart of the Icicle Forest. Stripped naked, bathed in the sterile glow of silver light, Samuel lay in the clutches of a strange serpentine plant-like creature. With writhing tentacles for branches, it grew from the cube’s floor and was holding Samuel aloft on his back.

  Close by, Fabian Moor stood watching him, toying with Samuel’s hunting knife. He looked as tired and defeated as Samuel felt. His pale face was streaked with dried blood from the Nephilim’s rain.

  As usual, Samuel’s prescient awareness couldn’t detect any danger in a Genii’s presence, but it had become a grim, cold feeling in his gut. The gift Samuel had been born with, which had steered him well through the long path of his life, was now telling him that there was no more path left to walk.

  With a gesture from Moor, the serpentine creature raised its captive into a sitting position so he faced the Genii. Samuel hissed a breath through his teeth. Many of the leathery branches had stabbed into the meat of his
legs, buttocks and back, manipulating his movements like the strings on a puppet. Two more had punctured his hands, entering through the backs to emerge from his palms and coil round his wrists. Another had pierced the skin at the top of his neck, making Samuel’s face feel tight as it slid under his scalp and over his skull.

  But there was little pain, as long as neither he nor the creature moved.

  Moor stared, unblinking. ‘Shall I tell you what I remember most from the time when I allowed the Relic Guild to hold me hostage?’ His eyes drifted up into memory. ‘It isn’t the casual insults of your fellow magickers. It isn’t the tortures Simowyn Hamir exacted upon me. It’s you, Samuel.’

  Moor began pacing, turning the knife over in his hands. Samuel followed him with his eyes, not daring to move his head.

  ‘Your arrogance was offensive,’ Moor said. ‘You were so certain that you were right, that you were the guardian of justice. I understand now that you were subject to your … conditioning.’

  Samuel licked his dry lips, too exhausted, too beaten to feel any fear. ‘We should’ve killed you when you first came to Labrys Town.’

  Moor looked disappointed. ‘How little you comprehend. How impossible it is for you to question. Do you honestly believe that the Timewatcher is the most powerful being in the sky? Have you ever wondered if the Labyrinth is not the only House to harbour humans? How much do you know about the Old Ways?’

  Moor stopped pacing and his eyes met Samuel’s. ‘All those centuries Hamir spent serving the Nightshade, and yet he never once revealed his origins. And your Residents and magickers never thought to discover it for themselves. Even now, you only know half the truth.’

  Samuel watched as Moor began pacing again, studying the knife in his hands.

  ‘I suppose I should show a little gratitude, Samuel – to you and your comrades. Not only did you save the lives of your own pitiful kind, but also mine.’ Moor’s expression became as dark as his tone. ‘I thought Lord Spiral’s mind had been torn and damaged by Oldest Place, but the reality is he only ever shared his dreams with himself. I just didn’t see it until now. The Genii—’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Samuel interrupted. And it was the truth. He didn’t care about any of it any more. Hamir had been successful, the Nephilim had come, and they could deal with Spiral; they could help his friends. Samuel only wanted to answer the call of the deep fatigue that had been weighing down on him for the last forty years. He wanted to slip into an oblivion where nothing mattered.

  The Genii was frowning at him.

  ‘You heard me,’ Samuel growled. ‘So just get on with it.’

  Moor smiled tiredly. Perhaps he was surprised that a lowly human had dared to speak to a creature of higher magic in such a disrespectful way; or was it because he expected nothing less?

  ‘You think I’m going to kill you, is that it?’ Moor said. ‘No, no, Samuel – well, not entirely, anyway. You see, for the first time in decades, I do not know what my future holds. But I certainly can’t stay here.’ He used the knife to gesture at the silver walls around Samuel. ‘I will travel the Houses, searching for a new safe haven where I can rest, plan, consider my options. Until I find such a place, I will need a supply of blood to keep me alive. Your blood, Samuel.’

  Samuel tensed. The creature tightened its grip and he closed his eyes until the pain subsided.

  ‘I won’t infect you with my virus,’ Moor continued. ‘I won’t give you the sweet release of becoming a golem. I will keep you alive, taking what I need from your veins whenever I need it.’

  ‘No,’ Samuel grunted.

  Moor approached Samuel, holding the hunting knife across his open palms like an offering.

  ‘I seem to recall that you once threatened me with this weapon, Samuel. You said that you wanted to slit my throat with it. Yet you wondered if that was too quick and easy a death for a bastard like me. Do you remember?’

  ‘I remember lots of things.’ Moor’s intent rekindled Samuel’s anger, made him care again. ‘I remember Hamir making you scream.’

  The Genii’s pale, almost albino face displayed some of the merciless anger he had been keeping inside. With a gesture, he ordered the serpentine creature to lower his captive into a prone position. Samuel yelled in pain.

  Moor stood over him. ‘I don’t need your head to keep your body alive.’ Loathing laced his every word. ‘But I do need your last memory to be the utter certainty that your blood will ensure my survival.’ Two-handed, Moor raised the knife above his head. ‘Believe the lies if you wish, Samuel, but there is no paradise waiting for you. Any last words?’

  A dead, hollow calm settled on Samuel. He fancied that he caught a glimpse of Mother Earth in the silver light reflected from the blade pointing down at him. Van Bam had once told Samuel that he still believed the Timewatcher was out there somewhere, watching, waiting to gather lost souls into Her embrace. Samuel decided that if She interrupted his journey into oblivion, he would slap Her face.

  His pale blue eyes glared at the Genii. ‘I curse you and all your kind, Moor.’

  The knife stabbed down.

  There was a fleeting moment of unbearable pain, but the blade quickly sliced through Samuel’s spine, and then there was nothing.

  With every stab, a sense of loss seethed inside Moor. Each time blood spattered his face, he screamed with vitriol. He struck, over and over, attacking the shattered faith and love he’d once had for the Lord who had betrayed him. His soul darkening with the abandonment of mindless savagery, Moor hacked and sawed until the magicker’s head separated from his neck.

  He dropped the knife, staggering back, breathing heavily.

  The serpentine creature lifted the head clear of the body, raising it high on the end of a leathery branch. Samuel’s eyes were closed, his features slack. Moor summoned his thaumaturgy to heal the bleeding neck stump; but not before he commanded another branch to keep the airway open. It wriggled inside, feeding the headless body oxygen. The chest rose and fell rhythmically. Moor felt for a heartbeat. He found it, steady and strong. He then leaned against the silver wall, beset by an ever-increasing fatigue.

  Creating the creature, keeping Samuel’s body alive, were simple acts of thaumaturgy, yet they had taken much out of Moor. He suspected that some residue of the Retrospective had sapped his strength and he needed to re-energise. How long had it been since he last fed?

  Moor’s shaking hands were coated in blood. More saturated the front of his cassock. Like a hungry animal, he licked his fingers clean, savouring the blood’s life-preserving nourishment. He looked at Samuel’s head again, hanging so perversely from the branch, and a sudden laugh escaped him. It came viscerally, unbidden, shaking his shoulders and forcing tears to spill from his eyes in hot floods down his pale face.

  Laughter turned to weeping.

  All he had done, every order he had obeyed unquestioningly, everything he had sacrificed – and what was it for? ‘Nothing!’ he screamed at Samuel’s dead face.

  The release of emotions drained Moor’s remaining strength. He placed a hand against the wall, struggling to stay on his feet. There really was nothing. There was no one. Simple survival – that was the only thing of paramount importance now. The survivors of the Relic Guild undoubtedly knew about this cube, and Moor needed to leave, find a safe location, as soon as possible.

  It was when the Genii failed to open a portal in the cube’s wall that he realised his weakness was getting worse, as if the higher magic was being leached from his veins. He would feed first – drink from Samuel’s body and replenish his strength before beginning his search …

  A symbol appeared on the portal wall.

  As tall as Moor and twice as wide, it tainted the silver metal with coppery rust. Moor’s insides froze to ice as he recognised it as an ancient symbol belonging to a dark art. It glowed with crimson light, and Moor understood that his thaumaturgy was dying.


  Desperate, the Genii scurried to where he had dropped the knife and snatched it up. He held the weapon before him as the portal opened to allow a giant and a human into the cube.

  Rage: it burned in Marney as her sole emotion, a fire stoked by magic.

  Standing alongside the empath, Gulduur Bellow whispered the words of an ancient tongue, his lips coated with his own blood. The touch of the Nephilim had sown a seed of dead time into Fabian Moor, and the giant’s blood-magic had encouraged it to grow and devour his thaumaturgy. The Genii was now as powerless as Marney wanted him to be.

  Soaked in blood, holding Samuel’s hunting knife in a shaking hand, Moor looked pitifully weak, almost frightened. He brushed his free hand across his face as Marney’s magic invaded his mind. She spared a glance at Samuel’s body; the image of his dead face hanging from a tentacle of the serpentine creature hardened her emotions, covered them with spiteful barbs and made damned sure that this creature of higher magic understood what it truly meant to receive the empathy of an empath.

  Van Bam! Her thoughts came with the force of a sledgehammer. Denton, Gideon, Angel, Gene, Macy, Bryant, Hillem, Glogelder … Samuel!

  Moor dropped the knife and sank to his knees, clutching his head.

  They were agents of the Relic Guild, and they died because of you and your master. Marney lessened the force of her thoughts to a growl of thunder. I want you to remember their names, Moor. I want them to be the last thing you ever think about.

  Moor wiped away the blood that had leaked from his nostril. He remained on his knees, rubbing his chest as though feeling the influence of Bellow’s magic. He raised an eyebrow at Marney.

  ‘It seems that you and I have been in this position before.’ Moor’s tone was resigned, speaking to her as an equal. ‘You really are clever. I truly believed I had killed you.’

  Marney glanced around the silver cube. She had a vague recollection of the time she had been imprisoned here, a dull memory of the agony induced by Moor as he ripped memory after memory from her mind. Had it all been worthwhile?