by Law, Lincoln
At least if we get him out of here, he doesn’t have to have this horrible place as the last place he ever saw. He can see his city.She paused, wondering whether that was the best thing, given the truth she now knew.
Maybe I can get him across the wall in time. They might be able to save him there!
They arrived at the top of the staircase, which came out into a large chamber. There were marble pillars everywhere in this room, seemingly positioned at random intervals.
“What’s the way out,” Ophelia cried, her voice echoing about the lavishly decorated room. Tapestry’s lined the wall, hanging from the ceiling, illuminated by the warm glow from flaming torches.
“It hurts,” said Nataniel, his steps becoming clumsy. “The light.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be out soon.” She looked about here, noticing a pair of double doors nearby. She pulled him towards it, but the hearthflies turning suddenly away from them and the doors.
“What is it?” she asked, turning around. She didn’t need words to know what was happening.
Four navy-cloaked figures descended before her, dark, forboding and powerful. They seemed to glow with a strange energy, their tall, pointed hats and their glyph-laden cloaks waving about in an unfelt wind. It was the Vindicators.
“Run!” Ophelia cried, pulling Nataniel away, the hearthflies scattering about in the confusion. Ophelia stole for the door, but a Vindicator swept in before her, blocking it. The other three, meanwhile, began to close in on them, cornering them into the small space they were allowed. One of the Vindicators flew directly at Ophelia, an in a moment of terror, she leapt away, separating her and Nataniel.
The boy moved away, too, falling to the ground with a loud thump.
Above there was the sound of smashed glass as the hearthflies crashed their way through the windows.
Flying almost too quickly to be seen, a Vindicator came and took Ophelia by the arms, gripping her tightly with cold hands, while another held onto Nataniel.
“Don’t struggle,” came a voice like molten metal. Ophelia slowed her movements, but Nataniel continued to fight against the Vindicator’s strength. The wraith standing in the doorway stepped over to Nataniel, holding a hand before the boy’s cracked face. “Fight any harder and you’ll end up a puddle.”
He snapped his fingers, which sparked, a flame bursting to life at his fingertip. He held it close to Nataniel’s face, the boy squirming from pain and fear, at what would happen.
“Stop it. Please!” Ophelia cried. The Vindicator looked up, his gaze like an arrow; fast and piercing. The flame, thankfully, extinguished itself.
He looked her up and down, as if inspecting the girl. He seemed to take special notice of the LampLighter’s cane and the red substance that stained her hand from the hearthflies’ cauldrons. “I think you both need to come with us.”
“What’s happening?” said a deep, smooth voice. All eyes turned suddenly to the staircase in the large room, at the top of which stood a lone figure. From this distance, he appeared to be in his mid-forties, and bald with a cleanly shaven face. In one hand a pipe, in the other, a book, which when combined with his black tailored suit and sharp features, made him look quite impossibly handsome. Ophelia, confused, was dumbstruck as this man stepped slowly, almost arrogantly down the stairs.
“My Lord Castoro,” said one of the Vindicators, bowing. “I do apologise for this ruckus. It just so happens we have some escapees.”
“Ah,” he said, head tilting back as he did so, revealing a number of marks on his neck similar to those on Nataniel’s, only his were not black or bruise-like. His seemed to shimmer and refract light as he walked between the cauldrons of fire, like light upon water
“Nataniel,” Castoro said, looking directly at him. “It’s been a long time. How are you?”
“Let me go!” he yelled, but the Vindicators only gripped more tightly. Ophelia glanced, feeling his desperation, and saw blood being drawn from his skin from the tightness of the Vindicator’s hold.
What do those creatures hide beneath their gloves?She mused, astonished at the sight. What scared her most, though, was that the blood wasn’t scarlet, like it ought to be. It was paler, if only slightly, as if it were mixed with milk.
What’s happening to him?
“Come now, Nataniel. There’s no need to be uppity.”
“How does he know your name?” Ophelia asked.
“He was the one who Blessed me as a child,” Nataniel replied, growling.
“So good of you to remember,” Castoro smiled. “Now, Ezelrab, let him go. It looks like Nataniel and I need a talk.” He turned away from the pair, and began his way back up the stairs. The suit coat he wore was quite long, ending around his knees like a trench coat, only it flowed more freely at the back, waving in the Architect’s wake.
“I’m going nowehere without Ophelia,” Nataniel retorted.
“Very well,” Castoro replied. “Azariel, let the girl go too.”
“You’re trusting us to just follow you?” Ophelia asked, incredulous.
“Well your choices are either that you follow me, or you die by the hands of my Vindicators.” He turned around, coat flapping dramatically. “You’re a pretty girl, with a pretty mind. I’d hardly want to ruin such a face.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled arrogantly, sure of his actions. “Now come along.”
Both the Vindicators let them go. Ophelia took Nataniel’s arm and walked quickly to catch up with Castoro.
“Good,” he said, “you’re co-operating. Come on.”
He took them down a number of spiralling hallways, which gradually ascended them through the Architect’s tower. There were no windows in the staircase; only candles set into small alcoves in the wall.
“What will happen to the prisoners?” Ophelia asked.
“They will get what they deserve,” Castoro replied, turning his head only slightly. “It will depend on how they act at the sight of the Vindicators.”
Ophelia stifled a shudder, each step beneath her light and careful. She felt Nataniel become heavier…no…he was growing tired and weak. She took another moment to glance at him, noting how the markings on his neck appeared to be creeping up his face. The thick, bestial hairs now covered his hand, forearm and appeared to be rising beneath his shoulder. His face, too, had become paler. His hands were hot and sweaty, but occasionally flashed with cold. It was a strange sensation to feel rush beneath her touch, but she tried her best to ignore it. She had to focus on the task at hand—guiding Nataniel up the stairs.
They arrived at a hatch in the ceiling, which Castoro pushed upwards to reveal a room. He stepped up a few more stairs, and then invited them to go through the portal.
At their hesitation, he said, “Remember, if I wanted you dead I would have killed you before we climb the stairs. Even I am not that immune to fatigue.”
She sighed in agreement, moving with Nataniel into the room. The Architect—their God King—followed behind them, closing and locking the hatch behind him.
“All right,” Castoro said, rising up from the portal. “I think you both deserve an explanation.”
The Architect’s Explanation
If people saw me, they would not see the man represented in the alabaster statues. They would not see, perhaps, what they imagined their Creator to look like.
They would see a man; plain and simple.
Ophelia carried Nataniel over to a lounge chair at one side of the small room, resting his head on a soft pillow. He appeared to be muttering words; strange, incoherent and meaningless.
Delerium,she thought, fearful. This is gripping him far quickly than I thought it would.
The Architect’s room was surprisingly small. It was circular, and every piece of furniture was altered to suit it. His bookshelves had an angle about them so that they could stand up against the wall, a small water feature against another wall was curved to suit the contours of the wall. Everything that sat against the wall was altered, except for the lounge
Nataniel now lay upon, and the table in the middle of the room—though the table was circular. Candles filled the room, covering every spare space, sitting in alcoves, lining the windows to avoid the infiltration of fiends.
“Tell me,” she said, “how long does he have before he turns into a fiend.”
As if they had heard her, the monstrosities climbing the tower outside roared and hissed and called. Her head snapped in the direction of the open balcony, and she caught sight of the second tower over the wall of the Tyndibar Well, with its fire burning brightly.
“Not long,” Castoro replied coldly. “An hour, if that. But this is what I need to explain.”
“Why?” she asked. “What?”
He smiled arrogantly, laughing. “Well, if you are going to be my wife and bear my child, you ought to know my secrets.”
Ophelia found herself speechless, letting in a sudden gasp of air. She looked about the room, confused. She felt sickness well up within her. Not just an abhorrent feeling, or an unwell sense, but the acrid taste of bile as it rose up.
“I’m sorry? Did I hear you right?”
“I’m judging by your expression, that yes, you did.”
“What? No! No! I can’t do that. I’m only twenty! It would be wrong…in more ways than one.”
“Just hear me out,” Castoro said, raising one hand in a signal for silence. “I will explain everything you need to know. Just hear me out.”
“I will hear you out,” she retorted, “when you tell me the truth and the whole truth. What’s happening to Nataniel?”
Castoro nodded in understanding. “Don’t ever say I’m not merciful.” He glanced quickly over to the small, flowing water feature at one side of the room. He wandered slowly over to it, taking a mug from the table, to fill it up. He returned and held the cup to Nataniel’s lips.
“Drink,” he said. There was some resistance, but he eventually managed to force it down his throat. “You’ll feel better.”
Nataniel ultimately swallowed it all, the colour returning slowly to his face, the darkness of his markings becoming lighter, as if they were moving deeper below the skin. The hair receded some, but there was still some on the surface covering one arm. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“What is that?” Ophelia asked incredulously.
“In time,” he said, putting the mug aside. “For now, I will tell you what’s happening to poor young Nataniel here.”
He took a seat near Ophelia, crossing one leg over the other. He was close now, the side of his leg touching hers. It didn’t feel right. She could almost foresee coming events, and so she quickly shifted across the seat away from the Architect. Clearly being locked within a tower for so long meant that one had no notion of personal space.
Or morality,she added inwardly, as she forced down another sickening wave.
“Now as I’m sure you realise, Nataniel was Blessed as a child.”
“Of course,” she said. “The markings on his face tell me that.”
“Excellent. I don’t need to explain that bit. Well,” he sighed, “a Blessed wouldn’t be as good a word to describe the boy as the word ‘contractee’ would be. You see, when we first discovered the Well, my brother and I—I suppose I can explain that later.”
“No, I understand,” she said.
“Ah, yes.” He paused. “What did you say your surname was?”
“I didn’t,” she said, “but it’s Blackwell.”
It seemed like a lamp had been ignited behind his eyes. “Ah, of course. Your mother…” He trailed off in thought for a time, but pulled himself back to reality. “When my brother and I first discovered the Well, we knew there were qualities in it we didn’t quite understand. Both he and I have been Blessed, but with no contract to bind us to. We weren’t trustful of each other when we first built this city, so whenever we made agreements, we bound them in people, using the waters of the Well to write these contracts in. Obligaturgy, we called it. Neither Castoro nor Pollock trusted each other, so every little thing was put into an Obligaturgical agreement. People were given gifts for becoming a contractee, and we were obliged to keep these contracts; but nevertheless, there were complications.
“The first instance of a fiend happened in the Blue Guards. A man by the name of Eustance was under the contract that stated that brothers shall have an equal share of the city. Of course, when the measurments were made, just to check, it was realised that Castore had a few feet more space than Pollror. Minimal, but ultimately disastrous. I kept this a secret, for fear of the contract becoming null and void. You see, a contract set into a person is almost sentient itself. For it to be null and void, both parties must be aware of the complication. In this case, my brother did his own measurements after a tip from within my own people. The best way to put it is that the contract has been twisted in some way, so by extension, the person imbued with this contract becomes twisted too. In this case, they become a fiend. They’ll wake up one morning with a hearthfly, and the moment they shun it away, they’ll begin their descent into beasthood. You see, the hearthfly is their heart and soul personified into the creatures. In order to minimise this, I created a positive air about the hearthflies, so that few would dismiss them so quickly. Perhaps I could stall the Curse.”
Ophelia let out a long sigh. “So whatever Nataniel’s contract was, it’s been broken.”
“I know the exact contract too.” He paused. “Well I suppose I can tell you. His contract was made between I and a lady named Harriet.”
It was like the ground had opened up and swallowed her. She seemed to fall, helplessly for miles, until she crashed back into the chair, shaken and shocked. Now she truly felt ill.
“She agreed to me, thirteen years ago when she was fourteen, that she would carry my child. She would set up a fake relationship with a man, and when it appeared she’d fallen pregnant, she would retreat into my tower, leaving the man and her life behind.”
“So why couldn’t you just take her in and get her pregnant within the tower, rather than breaking a man’s heart?” she asked, thinking of Faulkner, of the way he had looked dead himself after Harriet had been killed.
“Because I cannot give forth a seed to birth a child. It is a side-effect of my…Blessing. When the couple are in bed together, I am there in presence. I will the child to be like me, to grow like me, but it will well and truly be the child of the father and mother. There is only so much a man can do, you see. I inseminate vicariously, rather than directly. It’s a rather tricky process, but one which I have learnt.
“So when this woman died quite recently…”
You mean when you murdered her,Ophelia thought.
“…the contract was broken. The contract within Nataniel, to be precise. I didn’t even realise he had been imprisoned until quite recently.”
“But there has to be something we can do to stop this. Something to…save him.”
He shook his head, but he showed no emotion. He was cold. Careless. “I wish there was,” he said. “But there isn’t. There are a number of different contracts we put into people. A few were concrete contracts—agreements on matters happening at the time. Nataniel’s, however, is a precautionary contract. Something done to avoid any failures in action or agreement. I knew that Harriet was in some part, a very moral person. If she knew that other’s lives were on the line, she wouldn’t fail completing what had to be done.
“So when she died, the contract was broken, and Nataniel began his descent.”
“But he never shunned a hearthfly away,” she yelled. “Did you?”
Nataniel looked much better than before, though still very shaken from the curse gripping him. She didn’t need a reply, though, to know his answer. She could see it in his hopeless expression, and in the tears now rolling down the poor boy’s cheeks.
No!
“There is nothing we can do,” Castoro said coldly.
“But there has to be something!” Ophelia retorted. “There has to be a way to revoke the contract…or bre
ak it. He can’t turn into a monster. Give him more of whatever that was you gave him!” She paused, suddenly feeling very stupid. “That water feature there. That’s water from the Tyndibar Well isn’t it.”
“It is,” he nodded.
“Well what is it doing here? The Well has dried up!”
“Our Well has dried,” Castoro said, “but not my brothers. I have this pumped into my room, so that I may drink from it and keep my own Curse at bay It keeps my magic powerful, so that I may shield my citizens from what lies beyond the wall. I’m sure you noticed that I have the same markings as Nataniel. I, however, haven’t rejected my hearthfly. Actually, I’m yet to meet my hearthfly. Had Nataniel not shunned his hearthfly, we would be able to save him. I could submerge him in the waters, and his contract would be revoked. But it has been too long since his hearthfly has left him. If, perhaps, it had only been an hour or so, and his hearthfly was still near him, we might be able to save him. But his hearthfly is gone; long gone. We can’t restore his heart and soul to his body. We have only two options. We can execute him to save him from suffering, or we can let him become a monster. Both are abhorrent, I assure you, even for me. But we have no other choice.” There was no conviction in his words, though. No sadness at this painful truth.
“There’s a third choice!” she retorted. “If we keep letting him drink from the Well, he could survive.”
“But even I only have a finite amount. I have to be careful and ration it as required.”
“I thought it was tainted. Someone was killed in it.”
“A fabrication,” he said simply. “I needed something to cover up what was causing the water to recede, in order to let it be pumped up here. I needed people to have something to hold on to, so I told people the water was tainted. That also helped cover up the breaking of the contracts.”
“So it was never tainted? There was never any death?”
“Oh, there was death. I slit a man’s throat in the water, but the water remained pure. I needed it more than my people though, to keep the order in the city. I needed it to stay alive!”
“But you’re immortal!”