The Infernal Aether Box Set: All Four Books In The Series

by Peter Oxley

  “You now know the visions for what they are,” she said. “So you can use them to your own ends. It is one spell that afflicts all of you, therefore your visions are all interlinked. As long as you retain your sense of reality, your sense of self, you will be able to ensure that the grip of the spell is not so strong as to ensnare you, and thus can interact with your friends. Have you had any experience of navigating through visions?”

  I was about to answer in the negative when I remembered a couple of Christmases ago when I was drugged and imprisoned in the slums of St Giles. I had experienced a series of visions that I had at first attributed to the effects of laudanum, but which had taken me to places I could not possibly have known about: Kate’s past and into N’yotsu’s mind, to mention but two. My interactions with them since that time had proven to me that the visions had been anything but inventions of my fevered mind. Maybe I could do it, although surely my powers were so much more rooted in the physical world than the magical.

  “I am not sure that I am experienced enough to do this,” I said. “Can you not…?”

  She shook her head. “As I said, the spells that afflict me are different to those currently holding your friends prisoner. I am of no use to you. But I will say this: the Warlocks will be aware that you are here. Every moment that you delay makes it more likely that they will be here to capture you. So hurry.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I took a deep breath as I closed my eyes, lowering my mental defences and allowing the magic to encroach on me once more. Given that I knew what was coming, it took a great effort of will to relax as I felt the tide approach. I forced my mind to welcome it, allowing the malevolent wave to engulf me.

  I stood in the hallway of my old apartment, listening to the insistent ring of a bell from the sitting room. I felt a strong compulsion to investigate the sound, pulling me as though I were attached to its source by a rope. I opened the door and there, on a table, was the squat box-like device that Maxwell had christened his Aetheric Sound Conduit: a creation that used the Aether to allow people to communicate over great distances.

  The box continued its call, demanding that I answer it. Something tugged at my mind as I approached it and reached out to pick up the speaking and listening trumpets. Had I been here before?

  “Augustus,” croaked a familiar voice from the other side.

  “Mother,” I replied, my throat dry. I opened my mouth to say more but then the shock of memory overwhelmed me. I knew what would happen next: this voice, this spirit from the Aether that spoke in my dead mother’s voice, would try to compel me to open a vein, fashion a noose, leap to my death. N’yotsu would then rescue me and we would continue on the mad adventure that eventually led to our saving the world, but not before Andras nearly stole my soul—and actually stole my humanity.

  My head cleared as I remembered where I really was and my purpose. Mama had been right: it was so much easier to free myself of the spell’s influence now I knew the nature of the visions. However, I did not want to be completely released; not yet.

  I dropped the twin trumpets that allowed communication through the device and addressed the empty room. “A much better effort,” I said. “But still not good enough.” Resisting the urge to push all of the way back to consciousness, I looked around and saw four doors lined up along the far wall, a wall that in reality should have contained little more than an inglenook and a fireplace. Nothing was inscribed upon them but by looking I could sense that each was a gateway to another vision and another mind: Pearce, Byron, Joshua and Andras.

  Which to free first? My initial instincts had been Joshua or Byron, if only for the magical powers they could bring to bear, but I hesitated to do so given how agitated they had both been. I was conscious that I had a steep learning curve ahead of me and would probably benefit from a simpler, more stoic character to test my powers of persuasion upon. That absolutely ruled out Andras on so many levels and I therefore stepped towards the one remaining door—leading to Pearce’s visions.

  As I passed through I found myself standing in a meadow on a balmy English summer afternoon. My initial instinct to bask in the warmth was cut short when I noticed that everything was still: too still. Birds and insects hung in the air as though painted on canvas, a disconcerting effect as I walked under and around them. Just before me gathered a group of young men and women making merry around a picnic blanket. One of them was a younger Captain Albert Pearce, standing stiffly in an Ensign’s uniform.

  As I ran over I could make out two of the other men poking fun at him. “…the brains of the outfit, were you Albie?” laughed one. “Not even close!”

  “But then I suppose you do not need brains to beat people up, eh?” added the other. Both of the taunters bore a strong resemblance to Pearce and with a shock I realised that they must be his older brothers.

  “I will make my own way,” Pearce muttered.

  “As have we,” said one of the brothers. “And we are happy to offer our charity to our less talented and much poorer younger brother. And the other spoils to boot.” He put his hand round the backside of a girl standing next to him and squeezed. She responded with a squeal and a giggle, trying to wrench herself free in a playful fashion.

  Pearce’s brother responded by pulling her closer. “Don’t be a tease,” he said. Even from a distance I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “You have tasted our hospitality, now let us taste yours.”

  I found myself at Pearce’s side, unable to move, sensing the maelstrom of emotions whirling through his head. Knowing he should side with these cads—that blood was thicker than water and they were responsible for paying his way in the army and giving him the funds he needed to buy his commission. Without their continued patronage, he could be trapped as an Ensign forever. Worse, he would be forced to leave and join the scores of other ex-soldiers struggling to make their way in a civilian world that was no longer theirs.

  But could he stand by and watch an innocent person be abused by these beasts, even if they were his kin?

  There was a shout and a screech and the brother reeled away from the girl, his hand to his cheek, blood running between his fingers from the scratch she had gouged there. “You bitch,” he muttered, stepping towards her.

  In a flash, the girl’s face shifted to that of Kate’s, staring back with that amused defiance that she wore so well. Then Pearce was upon his brother, pulling him away, the merry gathering descending into noise and confusion around us as I fought to regain my senses. I had allowed myself to be pulled into his vision: I needed to retain my perspective.

  “Pearce,” I said, my voice sounding reedy and hollow. “Albert.”

  The scene shifted sickeningly fast around us, grass turning to mud and stone, blue skies to black, a girl in front of us, pounding the streets, her cheeks stained with tears as she ran from some unseen horror. A slightly older soldier—a Lieutenant now—stopped and comforted her. My breath caught in my throat as I saw that it was a young Kate, warily accepting charity from the concerned Lieutenant Pearce. Deep down I had known that they were acquainted before my own path had crossed with Pearce’s for the first time in Windsor, when Andras had attempted to conjure Hell on Earth. But I had always assumed that Pearce’s knowledge of Kate had been as a client of her services when she had walked the streets. This suggested something more proper, more intimate almost. I stepped around them, straining to hear what was being said to better understand the relationship they had.

  With a jolt, I realised that I was again being lured by a vision that was not my own, a clever trick-within-a-trick that the Warlocks had weaved to keep us ensnared. I shook my head and stepped between them, facing Pearce.

  “Pearce,” I said, then louder: “Captain Pearce! Focus on me!”

  He frowned, at first looking through me but then starting to pay attention, like recalling a half-remembered dream.

  “That’s it,” I said. As soon as the words had passed my lips he seemed to slip away and I felt a rising panic. I ha
d no idea how much time I had already wasted; at any moment the Warlocks could be upon our bodies while they rested insensate in the Citadel and all would be lost.

  I punched him, hard, across his jaw.

  Even though I knew that none of this was real, my hand still hurt like Hell. Pearce looked at me with a look of surprised rage and the scene melted away from around us. “What…?” he asked.

  “None of this is real,” I said. “You are trapped in a vision created by Warlocks. You need to wake up: now.” He glared back at me in confusion and so I hit him again. “Wake up!”

  He opened his mouth and then popped out of existence. The world started to suck itself into oblivion around me, the parasitic vision no longer having anything to feed on. I did not know what would happen if I stayed there while everything disappeared, and had no desire to find out. I saw a door in front of me and dived through it.

  I landed in Hell.

  The world around me was wrong, twisted, corrupted. Even though I had never before seen that place I knew it was a foul shadow of whatever it had once been. Byron had described it to me once: Tir na nÓg, the home of the Pooka. His face had had a wondrous radiance to it as he had spoken of its fantastical spires and luscious fields and golden sunsets—all of which had been burned and plundered by the Almadites.

  I knew which vision was plaguing Byron and had no desire to witness the pain that had scarred my friend so badly. But I knew I had no choice.

  I ran down a hill made of shattered rocks and bones. My foot caught on something and a child’s rag doll went flying through the air. None of this is real, I told myself as I ploughed on towards the group of people milling around listlessly before me. In their midst was a familiar figure, bent over and pleading with a small creature before him.

  “It’s me,” Byron said, trying to smile reassuringly but still projecting nothing but pain. “Please say you recognise me.”

  The child in front of him stared back blankly while her fellows wandered about like little more than cattle, devoid of purpose or any form of sentience.

  I squatted down beside my friend. “Byron,” I said softly. “You need to wake up; none of this is real, my friend.”

  He turned to look at me through eyes filled with tears. “I know,” he said. “But I cannot help but try once more. A part of me hopes that maybe…” He shrugged, turning back to the child and giving her cheek one last stroke before standing up. Released from her interrogation, the girl wandered away aimlessly.

  “So now you see it with your own eyes,” he said. “What Andras did to my people. What his kind do when they conquer a world.” He looked around and said, softly: “They were my family once.”

  “Byron…” I said again.

  “I know.” With one final breath, it was as though he no longer chose to see the painful picture around us. “This is some form of illusion created by the Warlocks, I presume?”

  “It is. We have each been trapped in our own form of Hell. I managed to break free and so…”

  “Augustus Potts to the rescue once more, eh?” he said. “Forgive me for tarrying, but it has been so long since I last saw them. Even though a part of me knew this for what it is, I could not bear to tear myself away.”

  “I suspect that that is a part of the spell they wove to ensnare you,” I said. “Now, you should awaken while I go to Joshua.”

  He shook his head. “I should come with you. Joshua has a number of… surprising powers. He may be more than a match for you alone in his current condition.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but shrugged as I saw the sense in his words. Maybe two of us would be able to awaken him even quicker. I turned to see a door hanging in the air before us. “Let us get this over with then.”

  The sensation was not unlike being incredibly drunk. The world spun around us every which way it cared, shifting speed and direction without concern for our senses or stomachs. In the rare, precious moments that the motion slowed I could make out snippets of a life from Joshua’s perspective, some scenes I recognised but many more I of course did not.

  In the centre of this madness stood Joshua, in front of a high-backed chair in which sat his mother. I did not need to listen in to understand what was being said or the emotions running between the two of them.

  I stumbled as I tried to make my way forward, saved from falling headlong by Byron. “Good grief,” I managed.

  “Indeed,” Byron said. “It would appear that our young friend is in rather a desperate state.”

  We made our way towards him, leaning into each other for support as we were reduced to little more than two drunks in the midst of that swirling landscape. “Joshua!” I shouted as we approached.

  A harsh admonishment from his mother elicited a mournful sob from our friend, which in turn found physical form in a gale that blasted us from our feet. I struggled upright and looked round to see that Byron had been thrown a dozen yards away. He gestured for me to continue as he started forwards and so I pressed on to Joshua. I reached out to put a hand on his shoulder and was swatted aside by an unseen hand, landing with a force that expelled the breath from my body.

  I lay there, winded, a part of me wondering at how I could experience such things even though my body was nowhere near this place. No sooner had I started to consider this than my mind wandered over the possibility that maybe the physical symptoms I was experiencing were a direct result of some actions in the real world. Maybe the Warlocks had found us and at that very moment were dragging us off to some dungeon, or simply choking the life from our bodies.

  The thought gave me renewed impetus and I pulled myself upright, only to be faced with a figure that made me shout in shock and fear. Lexie’s cadaverous face grinned at me, blood seeping from the gaping wound in her torso from which her life had flowed. I tried to step around her but she kept pace with me, always there two steps in front.

  “Joshua!” Byron called out, and I looked past Lexie to see him approaching our friend. Then the dead sister’s face filled my vision once more.

  “Lexie,” I said to the figure. “I am so sorry, but we need to help your brother right now.” She cocked her head to one side as I continued: “Your brother is in danger. I wish that we could help you, but… I know you are not really here. This is all Joshua’s vision.” The words solidified into an idea that made me feel light-headed. “I am talking to you right now Joshua, am I not? This is all you, all of this. Listen to me: we are in great danger. You need to wake up now or…”

  “I will join Lexie?” Joshua’s voice came from Lexie’s lips. “Maybe that is what I want. After all, what is left for me in my world?”

  “We are,” I heard Byron say, addressing the other avatar of Joshua. “Your friends. Your mother.”

  Both Joshua and Lexie shook their heads in unison. “Not enough.” Then Lexie’s eyes in front of me lost their focus, as though she were seeing something between us, before she winked out of existence.

  “Interesting,” breathed Joshua, and then the world pitched and threw itself headlong into the abyss.

  I found myself lying down on a hard floor. “Are we…?” I asked, looking around and seeing everyone gathered around me: Byron, Pearce, Mama and Joshua.

  “Free of the visions?” asked Byron. “No, not quite. We are in a fresh one, aren’t we Joshua?”

  “Not fresh,” he replied. “Old. Very, very old.” He turned and gestured to the shadows, where I could just make out the form of Andras.

  The demon was chained up, held aloft and spread-eagled, his limbs stretched to the four winds. He was indistinct and distorted, as though we were viewing him through a heat haze that ebbed and blossomed as we watched. His face and body contorted in impossibly fast jerking motions, as if electricity was passing through him.

  “Why am I here?” asked Pearce. “I thought I had awoken.”

  “You had,” said Joshua. “But it is only fair that you witness this.”

  I looked at Mama. “I did not think that you could join our vi
sions,” I remarked. “You said that the Warlocks’ spells did not affect you in the same way as us.”

  “That is correct,” she said. “I should not be here.”

  “I wanted you to tell us the truth,” said Joshua.

  “We do not have time for this folly,” she snapped. “Every moment that we delay here the Warlocks get that little bit closer. Do you wish to die?”

  Joshua laughed, a cold and mirthless sound that echoed around us. “Ask my friends here and they will tell you that such an outcome does not hold quite as much fear for me as it might for others.”

  “Joshua, please,” I said. “We need—”

  “We need to hear the truth,” he interrupted, turning back to Mama. “Tell them. You knew this would happen to us—you planned it.”

  She glared at him and then shrugged. “What of it? It has served its purpose: the Almadite is ensnared.” She gestured at Andras. “All of this also serves a wider purpose: the Warlocks will be distracted. My people will be able to do what needs to be done.”

  “Which is what?” asked Byron.

  “The first steps to our freedom,” Mama replied. “The overthrow of the Four Kings.”

  “That’s great,” I replied. “We want the same thing. But we need to free our friend first.”

  Mama shook her head. “Andras was right: she is lost.”

  “But you said—” Pearce said, storming forward.

  “I spoke the truth, all of the way through,” she glared at us defiantly. “I did not contradict Andras when he spoke the truth, that she was lost as soon as she entered this place. You were the ones who decided to press on regardless.”

  “He knew,” I said, watching Andras’ writhing form. “He tried to warn us.”

  “No,” said Joshua. “He only wanted to save his own skin, as always. This is still the way to find Kate, but it is more than that, is it not?”