Sacrifice

by Christopher Mitchell

  She kicked her heels, and her horse trotted off. Daphne and Ariel glanced at each other, and followed.

  Her body beaten, Daphne lay curled up in the straw and dirt on the floor of the dark cell. Her leathers had been stripped from her, and she shivered in her long under-shirt. The beautifully crafted armour that had protected her crippled left arm had been ripped off in the frenzied assault by those the Creator had raised from the dead. She had killed dozens of them when they had attacked, sending them to second deaths, only minutes after their first. It had been the sight of Chane among her attackers that had undone her. She had frozen for a moment, and her eyes had caught sight of Killop, swinging his long sword amid a swarm of risen peasants. A moment had been enough. Dozens of hands had taken hold of her, and she had fallen, kicked, scratched, punched and bitten, until she had almost been crushed to death under the mob.

  Some small part of her mind remembered every long minute that followed, of being dragged over the cobbles by her arms, then carried into the Great Fortress. Rahain soldiers had taken custody of her, stripped and chained her, then thrown her into the cell where she now lay.

  Blood trickled from her mouth, and she clasped her left arm in her right, holding it close to her body. Her crippled elbow felt broken, the fierce agony tempered by battle-vision, but she was weak, and it took all of her concentration to block out the pain. If she let go, she would slip into an unconsciousness from which she might not awaken. She remembered asking Killop to make sure she wasn’t captured, but despite everything, she was glad to be alive. Being alive gave her another chance to fight.

  No matter what happened, she would go down fighting. She was a Holdfast, and she had been captured and tortured before, and she would not shame the family; she would not give in. Let her defiance stand for everything and everyone she loved. Killop, Karalyn. She would never betray them.

  She lessened her battle-vision a fraction, allowing more pain through in order to conserve her energy. She could take it. It was no worse than when B’Dang had shattered her arm in the Sanang forest over four years before. She had endured that, she could endure this. As her pain levels rose, so did her anger. She hoped Kylon was dead. She hoped Keira had made it slow and painful. If it weren’t for him, they could all be living safely in the desert borderlands of Hold Fast.

  She knew she would probably never see her daughter again, but the future wasn’t fixed, and even the tiniest hope would keep her strong and sustain her through the worst nightmare. She took a long breath, taking the cold air in though her nose, and out through her mouth, clearing her mind. The cell she was in was sealed and in utter darkness, with no windows or cracks in the door to allow her vision through. There were two air vents built into the wall, but both were fitted with a series of meshes too fine for her vision to penetrate. A cell designed for a vision mage. She had no idea of the time, but it felt as if she had been lying in the cell for hours.

  A blinding light split the room, and Daphne clenched her eyes shut as she heard the door of her cell open. She squinted, and saw a Rahain guard hook a lamp to the wall and walk out. Her eyes adjusted to the light as an immense figure appeared in the doorway. He stepped inside, and the door closed behind him.

  He towered over her.

  ‘Holdfast,’ he said, the voice coming from behind a steel mask.

  She wiped the blood from her mouth. ‘Creator.’

  ‘We meet again.’

  Daphne turned and pushed herself up so that she was sitting with her back to the wall. She rested her crippled arm on her lap, and gazed up at the figure in black armour.

  ‘You got a cigarette?’

  The Creator stared down at her, and she heard a low mocking laugh from behind the mask.

  ‘The Holdings were always my favourite people,’ he said. ‘Made in my image, did you know that? Of course not, how could you comprehend anything about me? For long millennia I was alone. I witnessed everything, but could do nothing. And then, finally, the first prophet appeared, five hundred years ago, and then at last I could speak with another being. I guided your nation for five centuries, preaching my message of unity, dreaming that one day the peoples I created would live together in peace.’

  ‘Peace?’ Daphne said.

  ‘Yes, for only through peace would the conditions arise to allow all five types of mages to be gathered together.’

  ‘I thought for a moment you were saying you cared for us.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Holdfast. When I created this universe, and designed the beings that would live in it, I admit I held some foolish views regarding your worth. However, millennia of watching you slaughter each other, and then, when the five continents were melded into one, and the land settled down, what did you do? You continued to slaughter, only this time you fought the other races. Forgive me, but I lost any sympathy for the inhabitants of this world a long time ago.’

  Daphne shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you had any to begin with.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. What does it matter now? It’ll all be over soon. ’

  ‘You’re going to kill us all?’

  ‘Yes. Not personally, of course, but you will all cease to exist. The universe will collapse, and everything in it will be as if it never was.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I will be home,’ he said, ‘free of this grotesque charade. It was a mistake, all of it. I should have listened.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘I thought someone should know,’ he said, ‘even if your life will be over soon, along with everything else. I thought about telling Laodoc, but all he wanted was to debate theology.’

  ‘Laodoc?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, mirth behind his voice. ‘He obliged me greatly by flying in on a carriage earlier this evening. And he wasn’t alone. In one glorious day, I’ve had handed to me on a plate all the mages I require for a final ritual. There’s you, of course, and Laodoc. He is indeed a poor mage, but the excellent standard of the others will cancel out his weakness.’

  She stared at him. ‘Who?’

  ‘You’ll see soon enough.’

  Daphne shook her head. ‘This will be what, your third attempt? Fourth?’

  ‘There have been many more than that, Holdfast,’ he said, ‘especially before I came down and took Guilliam’s form. Arnault failed me often.’

  ‘You’ll fail again.’

  He snorted. ‘Your ignorance is matched only by your stubbornness, Holdfast. A trait you share with your Kell lover. It took a great deal of torture to get from him what I wanted.’

  Daphne kept her face still. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  The Creator took a step closer, and loomed over her. She felt his power surge through her mind, ripping through her memories, and raiding her darkest thoughts. She relaxed, leading him to all of the places that Kalayne had taught her how to make, places where she could reveal to the Creator nothing but what she wanted him to see .

  He shook his head.

  ‘Where is Keira?’

  Daphne said nothing.

  ‘By what means can she hide from me?’

  ‘Was that a yes or no about the cigarette?’

  ‘I can inflict great pain upon you.’

  ‘You already have.’

  He stepped back. ‘What does it matter?’ he said. ‘The knowledge and power I received at the last ritual gave me the understanding of what I need to do to ensure success this time. It will be midnight shortly, and the preparations are well underway.’ He put his hand on the door. ‘We will meet again, Holdfast. Soon, and for the final time.’

  He turned to the cell’s entrance and stepped back outside into the corridor. The door closed behind him, and Daphne stared at it, the lamp on the wall continuing to light the cell.

  Laodoc was captured, she thought, along with her and Killop. And others.

  But Keira was still free, and that meant that Karalyn was safe.

  She closed her eyes, clinging on to that hope.

&n
bsp; No sound entered the cell to distract Daphne, and she concentrated on her breathing. Despite her vision being unable to leave the room, she ordered her mind. She could not prevent the Creator from penetrating her thoughts, but she knew that he was as blind to her dream-vision abilities as he was to Karalyn or Kalayne whenever they had hidden from him.

  Her thoughts went to her daughter. She pictured her face, framed by unruly brown curls of hair, her expression wearing that look of concentration she had when she was playing with her toys. Daphne wished she had played with her more, wished she could have a second chance to be a better parent, wished she could see her, and hold her one last time. She caught herself as she was about to spiral into self pity and regret. She wasn’t going to give up, not yet. She went through the words of the Creator, trying to find a weakness.

  He wanted to go home, and she felt a twinge of sympathy for him. She would still kill him if the opportunity arose, but at least now she could partly understand his motives. After spending thousands of years trapped and alone, was it any wonder that he was desperate enough to destroy everything if it meant he could be free?

  The cell door opened, and two Rahain guards stood in the entrance.

  ‘Get up,’ said one, his crossbow pointed at her stomach.

  She stood, her chains clanking against the floor. She kept her expression calm and serene.

  ‘Move,’ the guard said, and she walked forwards. They let her walk between them, then they prodded her back with their crossbows.

  She walked down the stone corridor, lit by wall lamps every few yards, until they came to a steep set of stairs leading upwards. She went up, the guards close behind, her chains thunking on each step as she climbed. Up and up they went, past landings leading to other levels of the fortress, but the guards kept her to the stairs. She was tired, and her left arm was in agony, the steel band round her withered wrist was weighing it down, pulling on her fractured elbow. She kept her battle-vision working at a low level, all of it focussed on keeping the fiery pain from becoming too much to bear.

  She reached the top of the stairs and emerged out onto the flat roof of a high tower. It was circular, with a four-foot high parapet enclosing its perimeter. In the centre was a low platform, and positioned around it were five metal posts, which had been driven into the flagstone roof. Surrounding them, the city was swathed in the glow of the fires raging through the streets. She gazed around. Apart from her and the guards, no one else was there.

  Without hesitation, she shot her range-vision off the side of the tower, reaching a section of the Old Town wall close by. She pivoted her sight round, taking in the devastated streets. Ahead of her was the Kellach quarter, and her heart pounded at the thought that Karalyn was somewhere in the desolate and deserted district of the city. The fires in the quarter had been extinguished, and she could see soldiers patrolling the streets in numbers.

  Despite her longing to see her daughter she paused.

  I know you’re watching , she said in her mind. I know you want me to lead you to Keira. Truth is, I don’t know where she is, or if she’s still alive, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.

  Her vision snapped back to her body as she felt her chains being pulled by a powerful force. She fell to the ground, her eyes opening. Standing over her was the Creator, his black armour blotting out the light from the fires. He dragged her by her chains across the roof, and she screamed in agony as her left arm was wrenched and twisted. He threw her down next to one of the five posts, and leant over. With one hand he ripped the post from the flagstone where it was embedded. He looped her chains around it, then drove it back into the solid slab. The stone seemed to grow soft and viscous as the post was rammed deeper, pulling the chains with it. He touched the stone, and it hardened again.

  He stood by Daphne, who lay with her arms out-stretched, the chains swallowed up into the rock by the post. Without a word, he turned and walked away to the stairwell. Daphne lay still, her face clenched as the pain from her arm overwhelmed her. For a second she longed for death.

  She heard movement around her, but the pain was all-consuming. Her name was called, or it might have been, she wasn’t sure. She withdrew into herself, her mind slipping between consciousness and oblivion. She heard her mother telling her to sit up straight, act like a lady, smile and, above all, always be polite.

  A cruel laugh mocked her. She felt a surge of power ripple through her, and the pain vanished in an instant. She gasped.

  As much as I enjoy watching you suffer, Holdfast , the Creator said in her head, I need you lucid, in order to extract the maximum life from you.

  She opened her eyes. Around the roof in a circle, attached to the other posts, were faces from her past. Was she dreaming?

  ‘Hey, Daphne,’ said Shella, sitting on the flagstones a few feet to her left. Her hands and wrists were enclosed in large metal gauntlets, and her chains were sunk into the rock by the base of the post.

  Daphne stared, her mind foggy and distant, despite the absence of pain. She could feel that her arm was still broken, and realised that the Creator had numbed her. She gazed round the circle. To Shella’s left was Agang, squatting by his post, his fists clenched. After him was Dean, the young fire mage from Slateford, and lastly, between Dean and Daphne, was Laodoc. He was sitting cross-legged by his post, gazing at her.

  ‘Are you alright, miss?’

  Daphne sat up, and pulled her nightgown down over her knees. She cradled her left arm across her legs.

  ‘This is a right laugh, eh?’ said Shella, holding up her metal-encased hands. ‘What a bunch of dumb asses. The Emperor must be pissing himself laughing at us. I came all this way ready to fight him, and I walked right into a fucking cell.’

  ‘What did he make you see?’ said Agang.

  ‘My brother Sami,’ she said. ‘You?’

  He bowed his head. ‘An old friend.’

  ‘Dean?’ said Shella. ‘What about you?’

  The boy raised his head to look at her. His face was ashen, and covered in bruises. His fists were also bloodied.

  ‘Lilyann,’ he said.

  ‘Looks like you put up a fight, at least,’ she said.

  He shrugged.

  ‘What about you, professor fork-tongue?’

  ‘Simiona.’

  Daphne gazed at them. ‘He trapped you all with visions?’

  ‘Like distracting kids with candy,’ said Shella. She looked Daphne up and down. ‘Judging by your appearance, you went down fighting.’

  ‘He raised hundreds of dead peasants. They overwhelmed us.’

  Agang stared at her. ‘He raised them?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘just after he’d killed them.’

  ‘Then he’s a true soulwitch now,’ Agang said. A tear ran down his cheek. ‘What else can he possibly want? He is the most powerful being in the entire world, and he rules it. What more does he need?’

  ‘He wants to go home,’ she said. ‘He told me.’

  The others stared at her.

  ‘He wants to leave?’ said Laodoc.

  She nodded.

  ‘And he needs us to do it?’ said Shella.

  ‘Perhaps the level of power required is of an order of magnitude greater than any one mage could achieve,’ said Laodoc.

  ‘It’s greater than many mages could achieve,’ said the voice of the Creator, booming across the roof. They turned to see him emerging from the stairwell. Rahain soldiers followed him, and took up position around the length of the parapet, surrounding the five posts.

  ‘Why do you think it has taken so many attempts?’ the Creator said, striding up onto the platform in the centre of the roof, Arnault shuffling after him. The Creator gazed at each of the mages. ‘This however, will be the final attempt. You each have enough in you that, combined with my own power, will be sufficient to trigger the collapse of this universe.’ He laughed. ‘And just in time. There are so few mages left in the world that it’s unlikely I would be able to assemble another group. Yours will be t
he last faces I see before I am free of this wretched world, and all of its miserable inhabitants.’

  ‘Hurry up then,’ said Shella. ‘So you can fuck off.’

  ‘Patience, my little amphibian witch,’ he said. ‘You should have stayed in Silverstream. Instead, you shall have the honour of being the only mage to participate in two rituals. I hope you told the others how painful it is to have your life force slowly drained from your body?’

  ‘Where’s Killop?’ said Daphne.

  The Creator turned to face her, and she felt his vast power bore into her mind.

  ‘Where’s Keira?’

  You’re going to fail , she said, pushing her words into his head.

  He ripped his mask off and stormed towards her, his eyes red, his face blistered, and she flinched back against his raw power. She felt her mind raided, and fell to the ground writhing as he scoured her thoughts, sending every nerve aflame. She screamed, her head feeling like it was about to explode.

  ‘You’re hiding something,’ the Creator cried, his rage seething above her.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ said Laodoc.

  The Creator turned to face the old Rahain man, and Daphne felt his presence leave her mind. He stared at Laodoc. For a moment Daphne thought he was going to strike him, but he turned away.

  ‘In a short while,’ he said, striding back to the platform, ‘I will be laughing about this.’

  Daphne pushed herself back into a sitting position, leaning against the post. Her pain had been numbed again, but she was exhausted.

  ‘I can see why you wore that mask,’ said Shella.

  ‘It is only Guilliam’s worthless flesh,’ the Creator said. ‘My powers may have disfigured his features, but my own body lies pristine, waiting for me to return to it.’ He turned to Arnault, who was standing in silence by the platform, his head bowed. ‘Shall we begin?’

  The Lord Vicar looked up, his eyes glazed over and vacant. He clapped his hands together, and more soldiers filed up the steps, leading a row of chained prisoners. They were Kellach Brigdomin, and each had been beaten. They shuffled onto the roof, crossbows aimed at their backs, their shackles binding them closely together.