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

by Peter Oxley

  As my eyes adjusted to the dim light of dusk, I looked round to see a dozen rifle barrels pointed at us. “Not again,” I moaned, dropping my sword and raising my hands above my head.

  Byron cleared his throat. He was standing at my side, having passed through the portal straight after me. I looked at him quizzically and he nodded to the sky. I looked up.

  At first glance it was night-time; however it was not just the darkness of a night sky that loomed over us, but a complete absence of sky. With a groan I realised where I had seen such a sight before: the afterlife.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I demand to see your commanding officer,” bellowed Pearce at the firmly bolted door. “I am an officer in Her Majesty’s armed forces, and I should not be treated this way!”

  “I’d save my breath if I were you,” said Andras from the corner of the cell. “I don’t think they answer to the same superiors as you do.”

  “We are in England,” he panted, dropping to the ground, his limited reserves exhausted.

  “You saw the sky,” said Andras. “I think it’s safe to say you’ve been invaded.”

  We were crammed into a windowless box room, a makeshift cell in the remnants of the old mansion house at the Yewfields Estate where the demons—spearheaded by Gaap—had first broken through to our world. We had been escorted there by the guards who had met us on our arrival through the portal, none of whom had cared to speak to us save to relieve us of our weapons and effects and lock us in a cell.

  Unfortunately, they had also removed Gaap’s gag and restraints.

  “You have lost,” he crowed. “Soon the Four Kings will be here and you will all die!”

  Andras smashed his elbow into the demon’s face, and he slumped to the floor.

  “Thank you,” I said. “But I fear that he may have a point. We need to do something. Joshua, can you create a portal for us yet?”

  He shook his head from where he was propped against the wall. Lexie glared at me from next to him. “He needs a bit longer,” she said.

  I looked over to Byron, who shrugged back at me. “If we had your sword and the other runes with us then Joshua could draw on them; the fact that he is still struggling to find the magical wherewithal would suggest that they are being held far enough away to stop him making use of them. Or they are being shielded to stop him being able to draw on their powers.”

  “What about the Fulcrum?” I asked. “We’re practically on top of it; can he not draw on the power from that?”

  “Ordinarily, yes,” said Joshua in a low voice, “but it is not enough on its own. The runes, though, they were the strongest medicine…”

  I puffed out my cheeks and slowly exhaled as I considered what we should do next.

  “What now?” asked Kate. “Earth’s mightiest heroes defeated by a box room and a bunch of badly-dressed soldiers?”

  “They weren’t soldiers,” said Pearce. “At least, not soldiers attached to any regiment I recognise.”

  “They did seem quite rag-tag,” I said. “But I thought I recognised some uniforms there?”

  “They did not match,” said Pearce. “My guess is that they looted their uniforms from dead bodies or army depots.”

  “Which is worrying enough in itself,” pointed out Byron. “That would suggest either some large battle that the regular troops lost, or a widespread collapse in law and order.”

  “And we’re stuck in here,” muttered Pearce. “Damn my stupidity. This is all my fault…”

  “Don’t be so—” started Kate, her words cut off by the sound of shouting and gunfire from outside. We listened to the cracks of rifles and then the pounding of feet around the walls and above our heads. After a few minutes a key turned in the lock and the door banged open to reveal an incredibly welcome sight.

  “Good day, sir,” grinned Sergeant Jones. “Was wonderin’ where you’d got to.” He rushed in and helped Pearce to his feet. “All of you need to come with me, right now.”

  “Sergeant,” beamed Pearce. “Does that mean that the regular army are here to rescue us?”

  “Yep, we’re the authentic article,” said Jones, “unlike these rag-tag lunatics who captured you. But there’ll be time for questions and answers later; I’ve got a company of men harryin’ them from the treeline to buy us some time, but I don’t know how long they’ll be able to hold out.”

  We followed him out of the door and up a flight of stairs. “Wait,” shouted Lexie. “The rune!”

  “And my sword,” I said, turning to Jones. “They took our weapons and effects; we need to find them.”

  Jones looked at Pearce, who nodded. “I am afraid we cannot let those items fall into the wrong hands, Sergeant.”

  “All right,” Jones said. “Any ideas where they are?”

  Andras held up a hand. “I am sensitive to their emanations. This way.” He was carrying Gaap’s inert body over his shoulder and hefted it into a more comfortable position before moving off up what appeared to be a servants’ staircase. It was steep and narrow, and Gaap’s head collided with the wall on a number of occasions as we climbed them.

  “Why’d you bring him?” Kate asked. “It’s going to be harder to make a quick getaway with that waste of space. We should get shot of him.”

  “I would prefer to keep Gaap where I can see him,” said Andras. He reached the top of the stairs and turned left, leading us down a narrow corridor and to a locked door, in front of which stood a panicked-looking guard.

  “Keep back or I shoot,” shouted the man, the barrel of his rifle wavering as he looked at the crowd of people and demons bearing down on him.

  Jones cocked his rifle, aiming it at the man. “Son, you look like a smart man. I don’t know what they’ve promised you, but you can work out the odds right now. I’d put my weapon down if I were you. Just tell ’em we overwhelmed you and you had no choice: you don’t need to get hurt.”

  He stared at us for a moment and then dropped his rifle on the ground, raising his hands above his head. “Good man,” said Jones, rushing forwards to take the weapon and ushering him back against the wall. “Now where are the keys?”

  “I don’t have them,” he said. “Promise.”

  “It’s all right, we don’t need one,” said Andras. With one swift kick he took the door off its hinges, sending it flying into the room beyond.

  I stared at him, remembering the preternatural strength he possessed. “You could have done that when we were in that cell,” I said. “You could have freed us a lot earlier.”

  “To what end? An unknown number of armed men outside, with nothing to distract them. We would have had all of them on us in minutes. Besides, I wanted to see what would happen next.”

  I glowered at him as he fumbled his way into the room, clearly struggling with Gaap’s bulk in the confined space. Byron, unencumbered, pushed past him and reached the central table on which were held the objects they had taken from us.

  “I’ll have that,” he said, grabbing the rune as Andras glared at him. “And I believe this is yours, Gus.” He threw the sword to me and I caught it one-handed, a smile spreading across my face at the weapon’s familiar weight and warmth.

  I turned the sword on the guard, noting with satisfaction as he cringed away from me. “What is happening here?” I asked. “Who are you people?”

  “We are the anointed ones,” he said defiantly. “The followers of Satan. All of you unbelievers shall die.”

  “Pretty ballsy words from the one with the sword pointing at his head,” commented Kate.

  “Where did you get those uniforms?” I continued. “Where are the regular army?”

  The guard laughed hysterically at me, spittle flying in all directions.

  “You’re mad,” I muttered.

  “Trust me, sir,” said Jones, “you’ll get no sense out of him. Me and my mates have got all the answers you need, so if we’ve got everything we need then let’s get out of here.”

  The scene outside the mansion house wa
s chaotic, the battle lent an otherworldly air by the lack of sky above. The bulk of our captors were focused on repelling an attack from the woods and grounds around the house and so we were able to surprise them with our own miniature offensive from behind. After a few moments of being overwhelmed from both sides, they turned and fled.

  We ran to join Jones’ comrades in a massed charge away from the estate and towards the road to Hatfield, where a stable of horses awaited us. We hastily mounted while the soldiers kept guard, occasionally firing a volley at the treeline to discourage any would-be pursuers.

  Satisfied that we were all ready, and after waiting for Gaap to be bound to Andras’ horse, Jones led us all westwards.

  We rode hard until we were safely past St Albans, at which point our pace slackened slightly to allow the horses to recover; our destination was Hughenden Manor, Disraeli’s country estate in Buckinghamshire, which was still a good half-day’s ride away. We had left behind us 20 or so soldiers on foot, tasked with delaying and hopefully deterring any pursuit by means of skirmish actions before melting into the countryside and following us in their own time.

  We were accompanied by a dozen soldiers on horseback, each of them looking as though they had been through a score of battles. Above us, the black void persisted, uninterrupted by neither star nor cloud nor celestial body. Just as in the afterlife, the blackness seemed to suppress all sounds and sensations, as though we were wandering through a dream world. All around us was quiet, with even the birds, animals and insects holding their counsel and awaiting the return of a daytime that may never arrive.

  “What I want to know is,” said Kate, reading my thoughts perfectly, “if there’s no sun or moon or stars, how come we can still see?”

  “It is a fair point,” said Andras, “as long as you assume that the usual physical laws apply. I rather think that your world has gone beyond such things now.”

  “Max must be having a dicky fit,” she muttered. “He hates it when stuff happens that his science can’t explain. Do you know if he’s all right?”

  “You’ll get to meet him very soon,” said Jones. “He is safe and has been keeping an eye out for signs of your return. In fact, it’s him you need to thank for tipping me and the lads off that you were back.”

  “He must have been monitoring for Aetheric disturbances,” said Joshua as Lexie nodded in agreement behind him.

  “Yes, sir,” said Jones. “When the sky went like this, we knew something was up. Mr Potts has been hard at work ever since.”

  “How long has it been?” I asked. “Since the sky…?”

  “Nigh on three weeks, give or take. At least I think so; without the sun or moon it’s been hard to tell the passage of time.”

  Byron and I shared a look of dismay. The amount of destruction that could have been wrought in that length of time did not bear thinking about.

  “Now that we are moving slowly enough to be able to talk,” Pearce said to Jones, “you should fill us in on exactly what has been happening in our absence.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  After taking us from the Tower of London to the safe house where we met Disraeli all those months ago, Sergeant Jones had gone on an extended tour of the country. This was partly to try to wrong-foot anyone who was attempting to follow him, but also to keep himself out of the hands of the authorities—technically he was now a deserter.

  Shortly after our departure to the Aether, Jones had made his way back to Hughenden Manor to offer his services to Disraeli, arriving just in time to accompany him on a trip to Paris disguised as his manservant.

  Disraeli had been tight-lipped about the reasons for their visit but Jones had just been happy to be doing something useful while keeping out of the reach of the English army. His initial intention had been to act as bodyguard but Disraeli’s nature meant that worrying about the man’s security was a pointless act. Disraeli did not do anything by half-measures, insisting on making a prominent entrance to every room and eschewing any attempts at caution in his arrangements. After a while Jones settled into the role of under-used manservant, albeit one with a pistol always to hand and a wary eye on his surroundings.

  Disraeli had seemed pleased with his meetings in Paris and they had then set about a miniature grand tour, taking in Berlin and Saint Petersburg before returning home via London. In each place, Disraeli did not share the purpose of his meetings, although Jones gained the distinct impression that they were with some impressive ‘higher-ups.’

  On their trips across the Channel, Jones was struck by how differently Disraeli and his entourage were treated compared to the common people who were segregated and refused entry to the Continent. Some of these refugees called out to Disraeli, trying to seek assistance from him or benefit from the sway that his status had with the officials guarding the gateways to Europe. Jones had found these the most taxing parts of his grand tour; not only in terms of needing to be on a heightened state of alert in case Disraeli was attacked, but also the pain of seeing ordinary men and women, who in other times would be merrily going about their business in the towns and cities of England instead reduced to the status of bedraggled refugees.

  Little had he known then that this was only the slightest foreshadowing of what was to come.

  Jones had become understandably skittish on their return to England and as a result had decided to not accompany Disraeli to London, lest he be recognised and apprehended. Instead he had decided to take a diversion around the south coast, agreeing to meet up with Disraeli back at Hughenden Manor a few weeks later.

  The first few days were highly enjoyable, seeming to mainly involve him drinking his way through the many taverns he encountered on his progress from Dover to Folkestone and then sweeping northwest towards Maidstone with a view to skirting London and its environs. It was around the third or fourth day of this alternative and altogether earthier grand tour, when he had taken a stop at a coaching inn on the road between Ashford and Maidstone, that things started to change.

  He awoke one morning to find his head feeling like it was stuck in a box filled with nothing but the distant sound of a woman screaming. It took him a few moments to haul enough of his addled senses back into the land of the living to realise that he was in fact lying on a hard mattress in an inn, with what he had assumed to be a box instead the effect produced by the still and claustrophobic darkness of night. Grumbling, he had pulled himself out of bed and to the window, ready to shout at the woman to be quiet.

  It was only when he reached the open window that he realised a few things. Firstly, the inn had been pretty crowded when he had passed out the night before, and so it was odd that no one else had yet taken it upon themselves to hush her. Especially as Jones was a very heavy sleeper after a few drinks. Secondly, the screaming was unnaturally loud. Thirdly, the sound of the carry-on seemed to be a lot louder and shriller in part because of the lack of any other noise. And lastly, surely it must have been morning by then, so why was the sky still dark?

  He looked outside to see a crowd of people gathered in the courtyard, all staring up at the sky. Jones angled his head to follow their gazes to see… nothing. No stars, no cloud, no sun or moon, simply the complete lack of anything above them. At first he did not comprehend what was happening, mistaking it for a total eclipse of the sun. However, as the minutes ticked by with still no change, he realised that something more sinister and permanent had taken place.

  He hurriedly dressed and made his way through the darkened corridors of the deserted inn. He heard a woman sobbing in one of the rooms and paused, knocking to see if there was anything he could do to help. Her crying continued unabated as though she had not heard him, and after a moment’s pause he decided to press on.

  Everything outside was hushed, as though the world had been converted into one huge cathedral, the only sounds being a whispering from some of the people standing around and the distant howling of dogs.

  Jones approached the nearest man, who he recognised as the innkeeper. “Wha
t’s going on?” he asked.

  “Beats me,” said the innkeeper. “One moment the sun was coming up, then all of a sudden everything up there just disappeared. It’s damned peculiar, don’t you think?”

  Jones frowned as he stared upwards. “That’s not a night sky,” he said. “There should be stars or something.”

  “There’s nothing there,” the innkeeper said. “What does that mean?”

  Jones turned in a full circle, taking in all aspects of the heavens. “There’s no sun or moon but we don’t need torches,” he said. “That’s pretty queer, don’t you think?”

  The innkeeper shrugged. Like the others in that courtyard, he seemed to have been lulled into a strange lethargy by the lack of sky, almost as though the void was sucking away his ability to think and exercise willpower.

  Jones made his way through the sea of unmoving bodies, his mind abuzz with the implications. Such a thing could only be demonic in origin, he reasoned, and therefore it was imperative that he found Benjamin Disraeli and Maxwell Potts as soon as possible. That meant he needed to urgently make his way to London.

  It is likely that this sense of purpose was what saved him from the lethargy that appeared to have overcome so many poor souls around the world. Whilst at first thought the lack of a sky may seem trivial to the casual reader, it is only when you lose such a thing that you realise just how integral to your life that thing is. The ever-changing features of our sky is something that we all take for granted. After all, it is always there; a backdrop that, even on the greyest and most overcast day, still shows gradations, gaps and variations of colour. Our moods and motivations are affected by the sky and the weather that it foretells, and it can also be a source of so many other emotions: the awe and wonder of a clear and starlit night, the sheer lazy pleasure of a sunny day or the terror and oppression of a thunder and lightning storm.