The Magic Collector

by Clayton Wood

  Chapter 35

  The maze-like streets of The Twin Spires were narrow, dull brownstone buildings looming on either side. Many of the windows looking out over the street were shattered or boarded up, while other establishments had bars before the windows. In prison, such bars served to keep criminals in. But in the poorer sections of the Twin Spires, they served to keep criminals out. For while the wealthier portions of the city were beautiful and well-maintained, much of the city consisted of slums.

  During the day, the streets were typically congested with traffic, pedestrians and horse-drawn carriages clogging the throughways. But after the sun set, everyone went indoors. Everyone with any sense, that was. Only the very powerful – or very stupid – walked the streets at night.

  So it was that Gideon found himself walking down a narrow, winding cobblestone street in the dead of night, his cane clacking with every other step.

  He peered ahead, scanning the street as he walked. Many of the street-lanterns hanging from posts high above were unlit, having been vandalized so many times that the city had stopped bothering to fix them. The few that remained functioning only served to deepen the shadows in-between.

  Shadows that hid god-knows-what.

  While there was little Gideon feared from the scum and vagrants that lived in this part of the Twin Spires, being attacked – and having to defend himself – could reveal his true identity. And that, he knew, would be disastrous.

  Gideon tipped his hat forward a little as he passed underneath one of the few functioning street lanterns, letting its brim cast a shadow over his face as he walked. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, scanning them carefully. Normally he wouldn’t have been able to see a thing, but the magical monocle he wore over his left eye gave him remarkable night-vision.

  To his relief, the street was barren.

  He followed the winding street, barely wide enough at times for him to squeeze his shoulders through. This avoided most of the city guards – who tended to be very inquisitive about those traveling the streets at night-time – but forced him to squeeze past the city’s hidden population. Those unsavory types deemed unacceptable to polite society, effectively swept under the proverbial rug. Drug dealers, homeless people. And the psychotic; those whose inner stories did not match any sort of reality. In that way, it was as if their minds were lost in a book, while their bodies walked the real world.

  They stared at him as he passed, these people. As he invaded their turf. He felt them studying him, sizing him up. Determining if he was a someone to be trifled with. Most decided quite correctly that he was not.

  Most…but not all.

  A young man, very tall and beefy, leaned against a wall ahead. He was muttering to himself, clearly suffering a constant stream of internal stimulation, the poor soul. As Gideon neared, the man glared at him, his mumbled utterances growing more agitated. Gideon did his best to ignore the man, avoiding eye contact.

  “Hey,” the man blurted out. And not in a friendly way.

  Gideon glanced at him, tipping his hat forward and inclining his head…and kept walking, passing by the man. Or trying to; the man stepped to block his way, looming over him.

  Damn.

  If the man made too much of a ruckus, the city guard would be alerted…and they’d take Gideon into custody.

  Gideon let go of his cane, whipping his left hand out at the man. His magic glove flew off, grabbing the man by the throat…and squeezing. The man stumbled backward, trying to cry out in surprise, but only a strangled gurgle came out. Gideon grabbed his cane before it tipped over, striking it hard against the wall, then whipping it at the man’s temple.

  He flew into the wall, his head ricocheting off of it, and tumbled to the ground.

  Dead.

  Gideon stepped over the man, tucking his cane in his armpit, then calling for his glove. It flew back onto his hand, and he sighed, continuing onward down the narrow street.

  He picked the wrong guy at the wrong time, he muttered to himself. It hardly made him feel better. That poor man could never have been anything more than what he was. Not in this city. And in ordinary circumstances, Gideon would have let the man off with nothing more than a bruise or two.

  But circumstances were far from ordinary.

  The street eventually opened up into a large park within the city, big buildings giving way to grassy fields and tall, beautiful trees. All protected by a gated fence ten feet tall, of course. But Gideon merely walked up its surface, his magical boots carrying him to the top. He leapt down, his cloak slowing his fall to the grass beyond, and continued forward. After a few minutes, he spotted what he was looking for: a large graveyard.

  Gravestones stood in even rows throughout the newer section of the graveyard, but beyond this, the rows were more irregular. The poor were clustered in tighter rows, with small, plain tombstones. The more wealthy had quite large plots, with ornate gravestones marking their resting spots. But the wealthiest of all had large tombs, stone buildings with locked doors leading into crypts that often held generations of family members.

  As in life, so in death.

  He passed between row after row of tombstones, eventually reaching the tomb he was looking for. One of the largest in the graveyard, and certainly the most ornate. The door at the entrance was made of solid metal, and a twist of the knob proved it to be locked.

  Luckily, Thaddeus had given Gideon the key.

  He unlocked the door, opening it. To his surprise, it swung inward without a sound. Beyond was utter darkness, for the tomb had no windows. He tucked his cane in his armpit, then unsnapped his cloak in the front, exposing his chest-painting. Pulling out his magical lantern, he held it before him. Powered by the sun in much the same way as Myko was powered by the moon, it was fully charged after days of travel.

  “Luminos” he incanted.

  The lantern flared to life.

  Gideon found himself standing in a narrow hallway, with doors on either side and stairs leading forward and downward into darkness. He took these, and they led to a maze of underground tunnels. Having long-since memorized Thaddeus’s written instructions, he went right, then left, then down another set of stairs, one that led to a crypt with six stone coffins. He ignored these, walking up to the far wall…and passing right through it. An illusion, just as Thaddeus had said it would be.

  The chamber beyond was circular, about ten feet in diameter. In the center of the pool was a single coffin, covered entirely in black velvet, a symbol of a golden circle surrounding a triangle embossed on its lid.

  Necromancers, Gideon thought with a grimace. The irony of his disgust did not escape him.

  Gideon took a deep breath in, then strode up to the coffin, staring down at it. A golden circle surrounding a golden triangle had been embossed on its surface, a symbol whose significance did not escape him. This coffin was the property of the Dark Circle, the ultra-secret group of Necromancers Lucia had been a member of.

  He stared at it for a while, dread coming over him. Despite every instinct telling him not to, he curled his fingers under the coffin’s lid, lifting it up.

  It was empty.

  Gideon took a deep breath in, then laid down in the coffin, staring up at the ceiling above. Then he pulled the lid closed, and was plunged into darkness.

  “YOUR NAME,” a deep, disembodied voice asked.

  “Gideon Myles,” he answered.

  There was a long pause.

  “YOUR PURPOSE.”

  “To publish Thaddeus Birch’s latest book,” he answered.

  There was a low rumbling sound, and then the coffin began to rotate.

  Gideon braced himself, feeling the coffin spin, turning him slowly onto his side. It continued to spin, and he felt gravity pull him onto his back once again. Not onto his belly, as he would have expected.

  The spinning stopped.

  Gideon hesitated, the pushed up against the lid of the coffin. It swung open, revealing a black, domed ceiling far above.

  He sa
t up, then got out of the coffin, standing beside it.

  The small room within the tomb was gone. In its place, Gideon found himself in a large, rectangular room filled with row after row of coffins. Each of the coffins seemed to be fashioned of pure gold, including the coffin he’d laid in only moments before. Each with a black symbol – the circle enclosing a triangle – embossed on their lid. The floor and walls were made of black stone, with skulls embedded in it, their gaping jaws open in eternal screams.

  Gideon straightened his suit, holding his lantern before him. There was only one way out of the room – a wide stairwell leading upward ahead. He steeled himself, then strode up to it, ascending the stairs. They led to a wide hallway, one with a stone archway. A huge ivory skull had been carved at the apex of the arch, its deep, empty eye-sockets staring down at him.

  He stepped forward, and a faint glimmer of light appeared from deep within those sockets. The skull changed color, turning from ivory to black…and blood began to spill from the skull’s eye-sockets.

  “WELCOME, GIDEON MYLES,” its voice boomed, the light within its eye-sockets growing brighter.

  “Thank you,” Gideon replied, trying his best to sound nonchalant. This, he knew, was a mouthpiece for the personification of Death, guardian of the Plane of Death. As powerful as Gideon was, if this thing wished, it could destroy him instantly. “I seek Petrusa.”

  “YOU EXIST OUTSIDE OF THE CIRCLE,” the guardian boomed. “STAY ON THE PATH OR KNOW OBLIVION.”

  “Much appreciated,” Gideon replied, inclining his head.

  The huge skull shifted back to ivory, the light within its sockets fading. Gideon strode forward, holding his lantern before him. Beyond the arch was a simple wooden door. He opened it, stepping through.

  And found himself in a graveyard quite different than the one he’d come from.

  Dark, swirling clouds blanketed the sky far above, a blood-red moon looming over the horizon. Its crimson rays cast the black dirt and the gray tombstones all around him in a bloody hue. Tombstones set in haphazard rows, their stone cracked and crumbling. A tall black fence surrounded the large graveyard, its twisted metal topped with long, blood-stained spikes. Disembodied heads in various states of decay were impaled on some of the spikes.

  Gideon spotted a narrow dirt path to his left, littered with half-buried skulls and various other human and not-so-human bones. The eye sockets of the skulls began to glow a faint blue, illuminating the path. He followed it, eventually reaching a small black metal gate, and opened it with a loud creak, leaving the graveyard.

  The glowing skeletal path continued forward, winding up a small hill. Leafless trees littered the landscape, their twisted trunks covered in black, peeling bark. A dull red light shone from their flesh between the strips of bark, blood oozing from the cracks in a slow, steady stream. The path wound between these trees, leading Gideon to the top of the hill…and an extraordinary view.

  For there, beyond the downward slope of the hill, was a massive city. One he’d only seen in Lucia’s paintings.

  Tall, narrow buildings made of black and gray stone rose to form the cityscape, many connected by bridges that crossed over the bustling streets below. Some were only a few stories tall, while others rose hundreds of feet up like eerie skyscrapers. The streets themselves were filled with horse-drawn carriages and legions of the undead congesting the wide streets. There were no lanterns in the city per se; instead, ghostly light came from the eye-sockets of countless skulls embedded in the streets and the walls of the buildings, and set upon tall spikes along the city streets. Most of that light was an eerie blue, some green, and occasionally a few other colors. But most of the city was shrouded in darkness.

  And in the center of the city, a single, massive stone pillar stood easily a hundred feet in diameter. It had a broader base that tapered as it rose upward, then broadened again as it pierced the dark clouds far, far above. And halfway up the column – high above the rest of the city, and connected to this column – was a long, flat platform upon which a great black castle stood.

  Arx Mortus, city of Petrusa, ruler of the Plane of Death.

  Gideon got goosebumps looking at it. Lucia had described this place to him many times, but he’d never seen it with his own eyes. Only the dead and Necromancers were allowed to come here…and any who Petrusa deigned to make an exception for.

  She must have owed Thaddeus quite the favor…or perhaps Petrusa wanted something from Gideon himself. Everything with her was transactional…and nothing was for free.

  The glowing path ended at the top of the hill, and Gideon stood there, not quite sure where to go next. But he didn’t have to wonder for long; the earth trembled under his feet, the dirt parting ahead of him to reveal the ivory dome of a huge skull. It lifted out of the hill before him, its mouth opening wide enough for him to walk through with ease…and revealing a shimmering blue portal within.

  Gideon hesitated, then stepped into the portal…and emerged onto the stone ledge looking out over the city, the ledge upon which the great castle stood, the tops of the tallest buildings visible hundreds of feet below.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” a woman’s voice stated from behind.

  Gideon turned around.

  There was a woman standing before him. A tall, slender woman with skin as pale as death, her long black hair cascading down over a multilayered suit of armor made entirely of intricately interconnected bones. She was quite beautiful, with arched eyebrows and high cheekbones, and glacier-blue eyes that never seemed to blink…and stared into his with an intensity that made him want to squirm. A skeleton stood guard behind and to one side of this woman, a golden ring etched into its forehead.

  “What do you want, Gideon?” the woman inquired.

  “Petrusa I presume,” Gideon ventured. She didn’t respond…nor did her expression change. It was utterly flat. Unreadable.

  He cleared his throat, knowing that this was Petrusa. Her non-answer was answer enough.

  “Thaddeus Birch wrote a sequel to ‘The Magic of Havenwood,’” he continued. “I need it published and distributed as rapidly as possible.”

  “Why?”

  “To build an army to defeat the Collector,” he answered.

  “Revenge?” she inquired, arching an eyebrow. He hesitated, then shook his head.

  “Not revenge. To protect my daughter…and right a terrible wrong.”

  “Ah,” Petrusa murmured, the faintest of smiles curling her pale lips. “You wish to complete the cycle.”

  “The what?”

  “The cycle,” she repeated. She stepped past him, standing inches from the edge of the stone ledge and gesturing with one long, slender arm. “Life. Death. And from death, a multitude of life.” She turned to him. “Forever.”

  “In a way, yes,” he conceded.

  “Exactly yes,” she corrected. “Or do you think Lucia didn’t tell me your darkest secrets?”

  Gideon grimaced, wiping sweaty palms on his pants. Though every inch of him wanted to lower his gaze, he didn’t.

  “Dark secrets are my currency,” Petrusa mused. “I buy them, invest them. Sell them.” She stared at him with those unblinking eyes. “Shame is such effective leverage.”

  “Can you do it?” he asked. She dismissed his question with a wave of her hand.

  “Of course,” she answered. “I could have hundreds of thousands of my people start copying it within the hour. And have it in the hands of thousands of readers within a day.”

  “Will you do it?”

  “That,” she replied, “…is a far better question.” She eyed him silently for a moment. “Thaddeus did me a favor years ago. This will pay for…most of your request.”

  Gideon took a deep breath in, knowing full-well he was being toyed with. Petrusa held all the power, and could name any price she wanted. And she damn well knew it.

  “The remainder?” he inquired.

  “Hmm,” she murmured, gazing down at the city. “Do you miss your wife, Gideon?
”

  Gideon froze, his heart skipping a beat. Petrusa glanced at him.

  “Do you?” she pressed.

  “More than anything in this world,” was all he could say.

  “Such a short life, yet she became one of my finest Necromancers,” Petrusa mused. “She was the first to earn entry into the Dark Circle before she was thirty. I was hardly surprised, of course. She’s a…kindred spirit.”

  Petrusa eyed him for a long, uncomfortable moment, and he resisted the urge to squirm.

  “I admit I’ve been tempted to…persuade you to become one of us,” she confessed. “But you’re not meant for it, are you?”

  “Not like Lucia was.”

  “And your daughter?” she pressed. Gideon grimaced, hating the fact that this woman knew about Bella. And hating the answer he was about to give.

  “She takes after her mother,” he admitted. Petrusa gave the slightest of smiles.

  “Marvelous,” she murmured.

  “She needs to make her own choice,” Gideon warned. Petrusa arched an eyebrow.

  “And you need to let her make it.”

  Gideon grimaced, but nodded reluctantly.

  “This is my proposal,” she declared. “I will publish and distribute Thaddeus’s book. It will be within the hands of thousands of readers by tomorrow. As to what happens then, that is up to Thaddeus’s story.” Her expression grew stony. “In return, you must bring Bella to the Guild of the Golden Coin…and let her make her choice.”

  Gideon sighed, then inclined his head.

  “You have yourself a deal,” he agreed.

  “You of course understand the folly of not paying the full price.”

  “No,” he admitted. “But I don’t need to. I made a promise and I’m going to keep it.”

  She inclined her head.

  “A good man,” she replied. “Few powerful men are. Come to me again when this is done,” she commanded. “Bring Bella to the Guild of the Golden Coin in the Twin Spires.”

  “As you wish,” Gideon replied.

  “It seldom isn’t,” Petrusa mused. She broke their gaze, gesturing at the city far below. Throngs of undead clogged the streets, going about their day. “See all of those souls Gideon? The vast majority were desperate to come here. To live in this wretched place. To become my servants for eternity.”