by Joe Ducie
“I agree, it will be a challenge.”
“You like a good challenge.”
“That I do.”
Annie giggled—a little nervously. “Have to say, I really don’t want to go back out there.”
“Stay here then. Eat soup. Wait for the world to end.”
She punched me in my bicep. “You know I’m coming, but is there a smarter way we can do this? What about that book we used to get here—Road’s Fire? Is there a portal?”
“No, not between two points so close together. Using portal magic like that would be like trying to squeeze into a pair of tight jeans four sizes too small. Lot of effort for nothing and something will tear or break.”
“You’ve such a way with words.”
“And the shield is messing with reality and the fabric of the world more than enough. The last thing we need is a few more holes in it. The canvas is burning around us. You can feel it, even hear it, if you listen.” I cocked my head to the side and did just that. “If we don’t stop this, Annie, and soon—within half a day—the shield will spread, the canvas will tear irreparably.”
“What are you saying?”
“Oh, just the end of the world.”
Annie cursed. “I don’t think we’ve managed to spend more than a day together without things descending toward the end of the world.”
I laughed and rolled up the map, folding the parchment in half and half again until the square fit in my back pocket. “You love it.”
“I’m scared, Declan.”
“Annie, me too.”
*~*~*~*
The lords and ladies of the Atlas Lexicon—names I was already half-forgetting, as I met enough lords and ladies of various impossible cities before breakfast, it seemed, to start several tribute bands to the ponce and circumstance—outfitted us well from the armouries in the Vale Crystalis.
Arlon and Caitlin, looking a little rested, grim-faced but determined, had washed the grime away and were fully armed. The old grizzled soldier had strapped a rather modern looking assault rifle to his chest, something to counterbalance the light sabres he ignited from his hands, I supposed.
Along with the two Lexicon regulars who had stormed the city with me, Annie and I were joined by a fresh squad of bright-eyed and excited soldiers, bringing our total number of helpers to nine. A number of power, the number of the Everlasting. None of the new soldiers looked older than twenty, though perhaps that was more my problem than theirs.
Lady Waterwood met us on the balcony looking over the western tower blocks of the Lexicon, the city marching away into the west and climbing the foothills of the Swiss Alps—before stopping abruptly, a limb severed, by the ugly, malignant purple shield. I was in the process of clearing my shotgun and reloading when she pulled me aside for a quiet word.
“Is this sufficient?” she asked, a lot of the bravado and casualness from the meeting gone. We all wore masks—I struggled to wear one that surpassed indifference. Hard to care, sometimes, when the universe kept taking, rarely giving.
I nodded slowly, sighted the shotgun with my good eye. In the past, the enormous power I placed in the enchanted shells fractured the runes, the Will-work, in the silver gun. The barrel didn’t look warped, but it had been hours since I last fired the gun and the metal was still warm to the touch. One way or another, I’d need to fall back on my Will and sword soon enough, and I was hoping to save that for the inevitable, earth-shattering battle against Dread Ash herself. I’d done a count of the enchanted shells I had left. Seven shots. Best I could hope for was seven shots, if the barrel lasted that long.
“It will have to be sufficient, Evelyn,” I said. “Unless you strove to contact the Knights Infernal in Ascension City while we rested? No? I didn’t think so.”
Lady Waterwood scowled. “Many would rather see the Atlas Lexicon fall than ask your… organisation for aid.”
“And yet here I am,” I said, not unreasonably. “Your last best hope.”
“You… are something else.”
I feigned hurt. “A fella could take that the wrong way.”
“Take it as you must, Hale.”
“Are we going to be friends after this?”
“Once this incursion is resolved you are to be exiled from the Atlas Lexicon.”
Exiled again. Great. My hurt was a little less feigned now, a little more angry. “No good deed goes unpunished, eh?”
The stillness in the air from the scarred sky, the groans of the dead echoing throughout the city, the ripples of purple lightning flashing in our eyes, turned the lady’s grin into something devilish. For a moment, that instant between heartbeats, I was certain I was once again in the presence of the Everlasting. But then the clock ticked on, the petal in my heart remained unstirred, and I felt foolish.
Granted, I saw their machinations and spoke to the Everlasting more than any other Knight or poor son of a bitch across the Story Thread, but I’d quickly lose my mind if I started seeing them in every shadow.
“The Atlas Lexicon survives only so long as the Knights Infernal leave it alone,” Lady Waterwood said. She thrust a sharp fingernail toward the sky. “This is Knightly business, is it not? Do your duty and be gone.”
Lady Waterwood walked away, sparing a nod for the group of Lexicon soldiers, before disappearing back into the tower.
So ended the parade and fanfare to see us off to what would most likely be bloody death and unhappy endings.
“That looked unpleasant,” Annie said, as I returned to my group of allies. Eight pairs of eyes regarded me soberly. Far too soberly.
Still want that drink? whispered Emily’s voice in the back of my mind. You, me, a dimly lit cocktail lounge. Step back across the Void, leave all this behind, return to Atlantis. Oh the things we could talk about, Declan.
“Lady Waterwood wishes us luck,” I said to the group. “She fears for our safety, but knows we’ll do what needs to be done to put an end to this mess.”
One of the young soldiers—hell, it was the kid who had stopped us on the eastern skybridge—shuffled his feet and said, “Is it true we’re facing one of the Everlasting?”
“Aye,” Arlon grumbled. “Aye, lad, it is.” Arlon clapped him on the shoulder. “Lucky for us, eh, that we’ve got the Story Thread’s number one expert in dealing with those bastards in command.”
I made a show of looking around the terrace for such an expert, and then pretended surprise when I realised it was me. That got a laugh from a few of the crew. Better to die laughing.
“What’s the plan from here, Hale?” Caitlin asked.
I nodded. “Right, yes, the plan. We need to hit the north western foothills just beyond the city outskirts.” I pointed over in that direction, most of the view obscured by the tall, silver towers of the Atlas Lexicon. “Annie’s got a map and so do I, but we’ll stick together for now. If I understand these skybridges right, we can move from here at the Vale Crystalis, through the currently occupied western accommodation blocks and beyond for about a quarter mile.”
Arlon grunted. “Yeah, that’s about right.”
“We need to stay off street level as long as we can,” I said, stating the obvious. “There’s just too many deadlings and creatures bleeding through the tear in reality. Our main objective is to pull this shield down—that will accomplish two things: One, it will cover the tear in scar tissue and stop any more enemies from coming through, and two, it will allow Lord Winter and the army he’s commanding on the other side to sweep through the city and put an end to this mess.” I saw a few glimmers of hope, of determination, on the youthful faces. “Any questions?”
“What do we do if the Everlasting attacks?” one of them asked.
“Stay out of her way. Leave that… to me. Anything else? No? Let’s move out.”
Our balcony led to a proper terrace sticking out from the side of the Vale Crystalis. I glanced up above, we were still a good ten floors below the summit of the tower, and I was bloody glad we didn’t have to climb them.
There’d be enough flights of stairs ahead. Knowing my luck, up as well as down. The squad moved across the crystal skybridge, bathed in that ugly purple light, connecting this level of the tower to the accommodation block on the other side.
“That was almost inspiring,” Annie said, once the soldiers were out of earshot. “You’re good at this, you know, when you want to be.”
I laughed. “You mean I haven’t impressed you so far with my grasp of command and leadership?”
Annie gave me one of her brilliant smiles. “You’re too moody. Swings from high to low. Are you as confident as you sound?”
I thought about lying and then tilted my hand back and forth in the air. “So-so, I’d say. What lies ahead, well, I can get the shield down. I’m sure of that. If we recover what’s to the northwest.” I grew less certain. “After that, defeating Dread Ash, saving Tal again…”
“Not so certain?”
I shook my head. “Not so much that, as… Well, you’ve been around on one or two of these adventures, Annie. Seen more than most.” Lost more than most, though you don’t know it yet. “What I’m saying is, we never win without losing.”
Annie considered that and then gave me a quick hug. “We’ll manage,” she said.
In my mind, Tal’s words in the gardens of Atlantis played softly on repeat: They won’t be able to kill you. You survive, Declan. You always, always survive. Even when you die, you live. No, you won’t die. But you’ll change. I can see it. The war will take you and you’ll become hard, harder than you’ve ever been. You’ll sacrifice entire worlds for one inch of an advantage against the Everlasting. Don’t tell me you won’t, because I know you, and you have.
I shouldered my shotgun, found half a smile, and together Annie and I quick marched to catch up with the squad of soldiers, now halfway across the impressive skybridge.
From the bridge, I surveyed the ever increasing number of fell creatures in the streets below. In my mind I pictured myself wielding the Roseblade from this crystal pedestal, far above the city, flooding the streets with cleansing fire. There was a time, many years ago and not so long ago in the grand scheme of things, where I could have done just that—and to hell with any living souls hiding down there, lost and scared. Acceptable losses.
Perhaps it was best I no longer had the Roseblade, that absurdly powerful weapon forged from celestial illusion.
The western accommodation tower was all hustle and bustle. The upper tiers, which we passed through to reach the next skybridge was teeming with teenagers, gangs of roaming youth and ne’er-do-wells, the students of the Lexicon. They seemed in good spirits, laughing and joking, but I noticed very few of them glanced upward, or out the windows. Pretending all was well was easy, but forgetting all was not well, a little harder. Each one of these kids had travelled to other worlds, at least once, and each one of them could feel the malice of the shield.
We endured our share of curious glances and took the stairs down a dozen floors to the next balcony and terrace, complete with defunct shuttle station, and the skybridge into the western quarter of the city.
“This would be easier if the shuttlecraft were operational,” Arlon said.
“Yes and no,” I replied. “All of us bunched up in one of those shuttles would make a fairly appealing target for anything, or any god, looking to take us off the playing field.”
“Slow and steady then, sir?” one of the soldiers asked.
“Minimise the risk where we can, but don’t forget we are on a clock here. This shield is pushing against the very fabric of True Earth, the reality that holds this planet together. If it’s not unmade, the whole blue marble is going down the drain.” I let that sink in—a bit of motivation for the crew. “The Void presses closer, ladies and gentlemen. Tell me you can’t feel it? The ache in the air, in your bones, the dread.”
And the hell of it was, they all could. The headaches, the oppressiveness, the sense that at any moment all of reality would just fracture. Like birds before an earthquake, we sensed the impending catastrophe at our base level of instinct. The same instinct that had served the human race for a million years, that screamed at us when there was a tiger in the trees, even when we couldn’t see it—especially when we couldn’t see it.
“Oh, is that what that is?” Annie said lightly. “Here I thought I was getting a touch of Void flu.”
“Void flu.” I managed a rough chuckle. We stepped out onto the second skybridge—which led to the roof of the smaller tower opposite. Beyond, our path through the maelstrom grew less certain. Northwest, sure, but the streets may become our only option. Which meant a fight, noise, more fighting, one or two or all of these green soldiers would die, no doubt heroically. Drudge work. A boring Sunday afternoon. “Void flu. That’s like calling terminal cancer a touch of hay fever, Annie, but I like the humour in the face of utter annihilation. Good hustle.”
A tremendous roar echoed across the length of the city, met by two, three, four accompanying roars. We came to a sudden stop halfway across the crystal skybridge, hearts leaping into throats, goose bumps rippling up and down my arms.
A gust of fetid, heavy air struck us all, making us stumble a few steps. From within the shield, directly over our heads, a good half a mile away, a bat-like creature fell through the sky, wingspan at least six-metres across, its face a ruin of bone and fire, elongated like a dragon’s skull. It’s body was mostly dead flesh fused to grey bones, rusted steel armour plates covering its heart.
“Oh. Oh, shit,” I said. “If you’re waiting for an order to fire, gang, fire!”
Four other bat-creatures circled the big bastard—Batsy—but they were smaller—wingspans at two, three metres at most. Much more reasonable.
Like an arrow loosed, Batsy shot straight towards us, and I had another one of my sneaking suspicions. This one told me Ash, bless her evil and ageless heart, had set a watch on all the skybridges in and out of the occupied towers. Clever, something I had hoped she would have overlooked, but so be it.
Game on.
“Heart or the brain?” Annie asked, standing tall and resplendent, her revolver aimed skyward.
She struck such a pose that one day I was certain I’d see her like this as a marble statue, perhaps here in the Atlas Lexicon itself, a memorial to the heroes who struck down the dark and terrible Everlasting. The Everlasting wearing the skin of the woman I loved and lost… so many times now. Diminishing return on investment, loving me.
“I’ve got Batsy—the big son of a bitch,” I yelled. “Rest of you take down the pilot fish. Swat them like the vermin they are, ladies and gentlemen.”
Arlon unclipped his assault rifle. “Right, you lot. Squad formation Delta-Delta. Caitlin, eastern flank. I’m on west. You two, protect the Arbiter and the Detective.”
The six soldiers split into groups and spread out across the bridge. Two back toward the accommodation tower with Caitlin, two to stay with us, and two to the west with Arlon. Weapons were raised, safety switches were unsafetied, just as we were slammed with another gust of air carrying the stink of the fell creatures.
This is going to cost us, I thought. What I wouldn’t have given for a handful of Knights Infernal just then. My old friends, my old allies, those of us that had swam through the ocean of blood that had been the Tome Wars and reached the other shore. Vrail, Tia—hell, even Marcus, who had betrayed me to the Renegade King eighteen months ago and gotten me killed. I still had to thank him for that. Everything that had followed had been by design, though hard to see that when I fell screaming and bleeding from the Vale Atlantia in the ruins of Atlantis, through a time rip, and into death.
Batsy and I only had eyes for each other. I ran to the edge of the crystal bridge, placed a foot up against the railing to balance the shotgun, nestled again in that bruised and abused nook below my right shoulder. “Come on…” I breathed.
The soldiers fired their weapons—sparks and tracer shots, enchanted rounds, ignited slivers of metal, lit up the ugly purple sky. The cr
eatures surrounding Batsy peeled away, evasive manoeuvres, but the hail of bullets, the sheet of firepower, punctured wings and chipped bone. Roars turned to rage turned to pain.
Closer now, seconds away, I recognised Batsy as cousin to the beast Annie had taken down as we emerged from the forest to the south of the valley. That miscreation hadn’t had enough rotten flesh left on its wings to fly. It’s heart had also been exposed, unlike this beast, which had invested in some crude but effective armour plating over its bony chest.
Skeletal arms twice as long as I was tall reached for me, just beyond that snarl of a face, ending in massive hands tipped with sharp claws.
I gazed down the barrel of my shotgun, sighting the beast well. “Here, Batsy, Batsy, Batsy…” I whispered as the calm before the storm descended on me. The cold, calculating rage that had seen me survive battle after battle, war after war.
Berserker rage, some called it, but it was never loud, or angry. True rage was frozen, indifferent, without mercy.
After all the years, I could flip that rage switch like turning on a lamp.
A jet of orange flame burst from Batsy’s maw, a wave of blistering heat set to sear me where I stood. The beast thought I’d move, dive to the side.
I grinned and moved my shotgun seven perfect inches to the left—and pulled the trigger.
Blue lightning burst from the barrel of the weapon, arcs of power leaping between four hundred or so nasty, bitey shot pellets. The blast tore a ragged hole the size of a soccer ball in Batsy’s left wing, disrupting his aerodynamics entirely.
Batsy rolled in the air, the jet of flame veered away from me, striking and scorching the width of the crystal bridge on my right. With a tremendous boom, Batsy struck the bridge, knocking me back, almost knocking me from my feet, in a tangle of bone, steel, and flame.
“No, don’t get up,” I said, and realigned my shotgun. I fired again into the heap of monster.
The blast of the shotgun tore across the Lexicon, the fist of power—one of my last few enchanted shells—separated that left wing at the joint on the beast’s decaying back. Batsy screamed, that all too familiar symphony of wrath and hurt.