Abduction

by Alan Baxter

  ‘So what do you plan to do, Lady?’ Alex asked, genuinely curious.

  ‘I have the most intelligent Fey — at least, all those I can really trust — trying to work out a way to remove the stone and the stain of entropy you’ve given it. I’m studying you too, in detail.’ Alex’s skin crawled. ‘I care not if it kills you in the process,’ she went on, ‘but I do care for the last remaining chance of reviving my Lord. We will find a way. There is magic for everything if you look hard enough and wield power enough.’

  Alex rubbed a hand absently across his chest. ‘Will this be enough to revive him?’

  The Lady shook her head, her face a picture of misery. ‘I do not know, but it’s all the chance I have and I will not squander it.’

  ‘And you plan to keep me here until you figure out how to safely separate me and the Darak?’

  ‘Safely for the Darak, yes.’

  Alex nodded, his mind churning with possibilities. ‘Return my power to me and I’ll help.’ He meant what he said. ‘I will gladly return this to you if I can. Perhaps, if you reconnect me with my power, reconnect me with this,’ he tapped the shards, ‘I might be able to figure out a way to separate it from myself. Just like I figured out how to bond with it in the first place.’

  The Lady laughed softly. ‘Foolish animal. For one, I doubt you have even an inkling of what might be required. Secondly, I would not risk returning your powers to you, for fear you might somehow escape. You are sputum in the pit of irrelevance other than your possession of that stone, but I will not make the mistake of underestimating you. Others have done so to their detriment.’

  Alex nodded, looked at the floor. ‘So we just wait for you or your boffins to come up with something? What if they never do?’

  ‘I have a lot of patience, don’t forget,’ the Lady said, lazily raising a hand. ‘And I can entertain myself with your suffering in the meantime.’

  Arcs of pain burned into Alex and he writhed across the floor. But among the almost all-encompassing agony, one thought persisted, like a tiny light on the darkest night. She wasn’t prepared to kill him right away, and that was an opportunity. He would be damned if he would give her the satisfaction of winning. He knew he had no chance of defeating her without his powers and no chance of getting them back trapped here. But if he could kill himself, her plans would be thwarted and the last laugh would be his. He had truly had enough. The cold of the Void lived in his soul, the lives of so many weighed on his conscience and now he was the only thing standing between the mortal realm and the return of true Fey power. His death would be a great personal relief and maybe some small repayment for all the hurt he had caused. She would leave him alone eventually, and he would find a way to die when she did.

  Silhouette’s movement felt smooth, but she saw the stutter-jerk of her limbs as she tentatively walked forward from the trees. It was a more disconcerting sight in her own form than it had ever been in another’s, even if her own shape was currently so alien. The body she wore, that sheathed her soul and mind, felt ancient and cold about her. The Fey in her blood bubbled up, coated her sense of self in that sweet, oily, candy sensation that was now more than a simple odour or aura. It had become her very being and she did her best to avoid thinking about what a comfort it was. It’s this place, this fucked-up place. I only feel right in this form because I’m in Faerie. She shook her head. Yeah, right. She felt right because she was half Fey.

  She pushed the thoughts from her mind and concentrated on ensuring her disguise was complete. The physical appearance was one thing, but even from so far away she could see that nothing masked its aura like arcane folk did in the mortal realm. Magic was normal here and every creature wore its power with pride. The massed, convoluted, overlapping shades of magic and magesign in the town below her were hard to parse. She had to blend in on that level too and that meant letting her greasy Fey aspect stand forth. Hanging on to her self, her Kin self, deep inside, she relaxed and let the disguise take her.

  It felt good.

  Without pausing to consider the implications, she strode towards the settlement. Get this done as quickly as possible and use the ring from Kreek to find a way out. The sooner she was back in her own world, the better.

  Buildings began on the outskirts of the town, scattered along the valley walls like farmsteads. Some did indeed seem to be farms, growing strange crops with stranger beasts roaming enclosed paddocks. As she got closer to the habitations, Silhouette’s woody Fey feet slapped cobblestones and the magesign in the air was a constant static. She had never before experienced so much magic, so freely used. Even with her own eldritch skills really quite well developed, the whole place made her feel like an infant, fumbling and basic in her knowledge and ability.

  Many Fey in the town wore their natural form, but others paraded in all kinds of shapes. Some wore human-like skins, though usually with some affectation of height or colour or face. Others took bodies like animals, in full or in part. One group she passed appeared to be constructed of nothing but artistically entwined twigs and branches, their voices a rustling susurration as they talked animatedly.

  The buildings were random and confusing, using no real order and adhering to no known rules of physics. Some had narrow ground floors with wildly spreading upper storeys, others were tall and crooked, level upon uneven level. She paused outside a circular structure that rotated gently on a bed of pure energy, the sorcerous cushion sparkling in the strange orange light of what seemed to be early evening.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ said a spindly Fey by the door. ‘Food and entertainment, I’m sure you’ll have something to trade.’

  Silhouette nodded, wondering how business was done. A system of barter by the sound of the invitation, but it must be quite complex and advanced to keep a society like this functioning. At least it seemed some things were familiar in this place. If there were establishments for entertainment, if there were employees spruiking at the door, then some semblance of society and economy existed, and maybe she could sniff around for information like she would in her own realm.

  She nodded again to the Fey on the door in what she hoped was a casual fashion and stepped inside. He seemed to look her up and down as she passed, almost sniff her like a dog, and she flashed him a look of annoyance. At least, she wanted that to be portrayed on her unfamiliar Fey features. He returned her a crooked smile which did nothing to ease her mind. Without waiting for any more discomfort, she hurried inside and was pleased to see a bustling crowd.

  Her heart hammered, surrounded as she was by the things she feared most. The magesign and sickly presence of the Fey was thick in the air, dizzying. She moved to one shadowed corner to get her bearings. The place was packed, a raised central stage, currently unoccupied, dominated the space. At intervals around the circular walls were bars serving all manner of food and drink, some with huge roasts of disturbingly shaped carcasses, others with bottles of vibrantly coloured drinks. Fey milled everywhere, many in natural form, many in pretty much every other shape she could imagine. One drifted past as a floating globule of clear liquid, like a sentient mass of water. It had no features, no extremities, and yet she recognised it for what it was and even got a sense of its individuality. Its aura was smug and self-obsessed. Fey equivalent of a dandy, she wondered, full of itself. She thought of all the science fiction she had seen over the years. The Mos Eisley Cantina in Star Wars, the Babylon 5 space station, with their eclectic mix of aliens. None of them were a patch on this place; they seemed almost normal in comparison.

  The din of conversation was a dull roar, a white noise of massed life, the sounds of glass and ceramic chiming through. The atmosphere was stiflingly hot and close. Silhouette wondered how long she would be able to endure the densely packed Feyness of it all. And yet, as she breathed and tried to calm herself, allowing everything to wash over her, it became less offensive. She even began to feel slightly at home.

  Raucous music pounded out, thumping and harsh. Every body in the place turned t
o face the raised circular dais.

  ‘Let’s go! Feeding time!’ a voice roared from somewhere, everywhere at once.

  The centre of the stage dropped away out of sight, every Fey present surged forward. The centre rose again and upon it were dozens of creatures, some like the strange farm beasts she had seen on her way in, so many varying beings she had no hope of identifying. With a gasp, she saw several humans running and pushing through the throng of life on the raised area, eyes wide in terror.

  But nothing up there stood a chance. The crowd rushed over the stage, some keeping their Fey form even as their jaws flexed impossibly wide, bristled with razor teeth. Others shifted into animals, parodies of mammal predators or monsters of all kinds, scaled, feathered, clawed and wild. Screams and howls ripped forth as blood sprayed and the crowd bayed for more.

  Silhouette stood her ground, at once dismayed by the sight and excited by it. She had to resist the urge to fly forward and join the frenzy as her stomach ached for the feed. She was used to the feral nature of her own hunger, she revelled in the animal kill when she caught her human prey, but this was something else. Like sharks turning on their own as soon as blood flared in the water, the entire congregation had gone mad. She saw Fey battling each other over portions of food, ripping and tearing and eating each other’s flesh as they did so. Nothing on that raised dais was out of bounds.

  Within minutes, the frenzy died down and Fey staggered from the stage. They laughed and clapped each other on the back, compared wounds and brandished stripped bones like trophies, all animosity from the feeding seemingly forgotten in an instant.

  ‘One hour till the next round,’ the ubiquitous voice boomed out and the crowd returned to socialising, drinking, purchasing the pre-prepared and altogether boring by comparison fare. A number of Fey wearing red tunics moved through the crowd, talking to those who had partaken, collecting tithes and promises, it seemed, in payment for the entertainment enjoyed. Silhouette narrowed her eyes, tried to figure out how the system worked, but it was opaque in its details.

  ‘Prefer to watch, do you?’

  The voice right by her ear startled her. She looked over her shoulder to see a Fey beside her, gnawing on a long bone. He was slimier than any she had yet encountered if his aura was any indication. He wore it like a flasher in a park revelled in opening his coat to unsuspecting girls. ‘Just getting the lay of the land here,’ she said, as casually as she could manage.

  The Fey laughed. ‘Lay of the land? All roundhouses are the same, no?’

  Silhouette pushed down a sudden panic. ‘Sure, but each has its own vibe.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does.’

  They stood in silence, Silhouette thankful her gamble had paid off. It stood to reason that even if this roundhouse thing was common across Faerie they would vary like pubs and clubs did at home.

  Silhouette took a deep breath before taking a chance. ‘The Lady caught that human, I hear.’

  The Fey laughed raucously. ‘You hear? We all heard. I don’t expect she’ll have any luck. Our days of playing in the mortal realm have long been curtailed. It’ll stay that way.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘You really think she has any chance of separating that human and his prize without killing both? I have no doubt she will persevere for a long time, but she won’t succeed. And eventually she’ll kill him trying and we’ll all suffer her wrath again. Then that too will pass as all things do.’ He turned a crooked eye to Silhouette and she didn’t like the look he gave her.

  ‘Surely she’ll figure out a way eventually. You don’t want free rein over there again?’ Silhouette was certain he would be able to see her chest moving as her heart pounded against it.

  The Fey shrugged, looked away. ‘Of course. Who wouldn’t? I’m a realist, is all. It’s been this way since the Eld. Nothing is likely to change there. The world of mortals will soon burn out anyway. Maybe one day we’ll find a new playground.’

  They lapsed into silence again and Silhouette turned over what he had said. The Lady was indeed trying to get hold of the Darak. She needed to do it without killing both. The stone on its own could die? Regardless, hope fluttered in Silhouette’s stomach. Alex was likely still alive and would possibly stay that way for a while yet. His presence seemed to be common knowledge in Faerie, so perhaps she could learn more.

  She turned to ask another question and caught the Fey looking at her, eyes narrowed. Too late she noticed his mind probing and stroking across her. In the maelstrom of magic in the place, it was almost impossible to feel.

  ‘What are you?’ the Fey asked, a half-smile tugging at one side of his mouth.

  Silhouette swallowed a flood of panic and made a dismissive noise as she swept away and hurried through the crowd. Nerves jangling, refusing to look back to see if he followed, she strode out of the roundhouse.

  ‘Not good enough for you?’ the Fey on the door asked.

  Silhouette threw him a smile. ‘I’ll be back later.’ She turned and walked as fast as possible without running away from the rotating building. A carriage with chrome and brass pipes, clanking and hissing with steam and magesign, rounded the next building and blared a horn as Silhouette danced out of its path. She yelped as it clipped her hip and hurried away. As she turned down a side street, she glanced back to see the Fey from inside talking to the one at the door, both looking at her with amused interest.

  Idiot! She cursed and muttered as she strode along, turned left and right randomly to put as many streets and inhabitants between her and those two as she could. Her disguise was one thing, but these creatures were wily and wise. Disgusting they may be, but they were highly intelligent, suspicious and cunning. She needed to get away from this town before they decided to organise any kind of search. Hopefully they would consider her a curiosity not worth their time, though deep down she knew that was unlikely.

  Darvill and Hood stood outside St Mary’s Cathedral, the huge sandstone edifice towering over them. The wide open space out front crawled with tourists and lacklustre teenagers riding skateboards. The side area and door they had found was relatively quiet. The door itself was small, wooden, with iron studs and a heavy black ring in the centre. Beside it was an electronic pad and a camera stared unblinking from above.

  ‘They know we’re here then,’ Darvill said, nodding towards the lens.

  Hood pursed his lips, brushed down his clean new suit, fresh off the rack at a store on the way into town. ‘This is probably about to get ruined. Cheap rubbish anyway. Stay behind me, they’re probably armed.’

  He raised his arms and strode forward, bringing both fists crashing into the door. It shattered into a thousand splinters under the blow. Darvill marvelled again at the man’s strength.

  Steps led down to another door, similar to the one above. Hood smashed it just as he had the first and a small room lay beyond, a simple office. A man stood from hiding behind the desk, a small sub-machine gun swinging up from his hip. The report of automatic fire was deafening in the enclosed space. Rapid pops of the bullets slamming harmlessly into Hood’s body were just audible over the gunfire. Hood smashed one fist through the wooden desk, grabbed the stunned man and tore his head from his shoulders. Blood arced from the ragged stump of neck, painted walls and ceiling scarlet.

  Across the way a steel door with another scanner beside it stood between them and further progress. Hood walked up to the door and began pounding on it. The steel was thick. It dented slightly under Hood’s barrage but refused to give way. As his father stared in annoyance at the barrier, Darvill picked up the gun from the floor where the headless guard had dropped it. He moved into the corner beside the steel door and crouched.

  Hood grunted and moved to one side. He raised his arms again and hammered at the wall beside the steel. Chunks of sandstone flew and dust billowed out. In moments, Hood tore out a great section of wall and the steel door shifted in its destroyed mountings. Through the clouds of stone dust, Hood walked into a hail of autom
atic weapon fire and searing blasts of magic.

  Darvill hunched tighter into the corner as the mayhem played out. Over the cacophony of gunfire, screams ripped through. Yells of anger and barked orders turned to howls of agony, often cut short just as they began. Crashing and splintering cracked and snapped among the other noise.

  Darvill shifted to the edge of the hole in the wall and peeked around, staying low. The Armour command centre was a mess of destroyed equipment, broken furniture and rent bodies. Limbs and heads lay scattered among the debris, blood pooled and splattered all around. Sparks jetted from smashed consoles. He moved into the room, gun held before him. Hood pounded through a tall glass wall and faced a double rank of men and women in black, one row crouched in front of another. The first row fired assault rifles while the second seemed to be working together casting some powerful magic.

  Hood slowed, as if he was trying to walk into a gale force wind. His limbs became sluggish and he roared as he strained forward, some few metres from the ranked Armour agents. He reached towards them, fingers hooked into claws, grimacing as his movements slowly froze into inaction and hundreds of bullets bounced ineffectually off him.

  Darvill shifted position behind a mostly destroyed desk and raised his weapon. Aiming carefully through the narrow gap it allowed, he riddled the standing row of agents with Uzi fire. They bucked and danced like puppets and their magic shattered. Hood surged suddenly free. He fell upon the Armour members and tore them limb from limb. A woman came running from a side room with a gleaming sword, bright with magesign. She raised it high as she ran and brought it down across Hood’s neck and shoulder in a double-handed strike. It made him hiss and spin to face her even as she jerked backwards from Darvill’s shots and collapsed dead in the corridor.