The Black Palace

by Josh Woods

  “Yahweh?” is all Hava found herself saying. “Yahweh the Lord?”

  “Yes, lord of the Elohim, though he long ago grew weary of the world, as I myself do now. He has exiled himself, as I myself now consider. He sits in a cave far deeper than mine, and he found in it for himself a bottomless pit, though not the same that we stationed your mistress Ziggurat to guard in her house. And beside that bottomless pit he sits in the glow of an unending gloom, down among the trickling of countless streams, among deep fields of mushrooms, where his beard grows ignored by him, full of moss. And over his bottomless pit he leans his brow and ponders, and in those deeps of the bottomless pit I do not know what he ponders or what he sees except that he espies no weariness in it, for it is a thing that has no weariness in it, and my thoughts have turned to such a thing, as his did. And for him, as the ages roll on around him, the horns of the cave weep over his mighty head, and over his mighty back, and over his heavy shoulders, and their mineral tears collect on him and grow on his bare skin, for, like I, Yahweh has discarded his armor long ago. But his sword he keeps with him. Matzmatzit, his sword, he lays by his side, for he will need it one last time. I saw it once when I was a little girl, as you, little one, are a little girl, a kind of thing I had nearly forgotten existed in the world. I was a little girl in a crowd, and I saw Matzmatzit. I had nearly forgotten. They moaned and cheered, and the stones of the temple shook. Long ago, before the seas had cracked the plates apart, when my Mountain in Two was one and was not mine. He lifted Matzmatzit for the crowd to see, and it was glorious, and it was terrible, as terrible as the crystal dome of the firmament, and the stones of the temple shook, and I was but a little girl then. I had nearly forgotten.” She paused, and looked away, and almost seemed to cry. “I am so weary of the world.”

  Hava wondered at these words but could think little about them. In her awe she was overcome by great pity for sad old Gróa. It was not the pity she would have for the wounded dogs she had seen in the streets when she herself was but a little girl, but the pity she would have for the thought of a ruined empire and for the cold volcano that would sit over it.

  If the treasure that La Voisin desired in this cave was to be stolen from Gróa, Hava no longer wanted it for herself. And if Hava had been wrong in guessing that it was some treasure that La Voisin wanted, if, as Hava gathered from Gróa’s hints, La Voisin actually wanted Gróa herself, wanted to use Shamir to break Gróa and take her station as one of the Three Arch-Witches of the World, to take the station of eldest of them, then Hava had no more business in this cave, for she did not desire such a thing for herself, not in that way. Hava would see herself as victor. She would see herself as queen. She would even see herself lording over the witches. But she did not want to live forever like Gróa, to be the greatest queen of the world for naught, only to watch time roll by, seated on a lonely rock in the dark, having no hope for any new future but only ever and always the past.

  Without anger but pity, without fear but awe, Hava said to Gróa, “I have disturbed you. And for that I am sorry. I came here for treasure, for anything to help me destroy La Voisin, and though I will still destroy her, I have no business here, for I do not wish to deepen your sadness. With your leave, Gróa, I will go.”

  Gróa lifted her face a third time, but to look away, to look behind her in the deep blackness of the cave that led to places Hava knew not where. Gróa said, “I do not think that I care what happens.”

  Hava decided that this was permission to leave. She turned and began to make her way up the bowl of the valley. Although she did not sneak, she tried to make herself as quiet as possible.

  “Young one,” Gróa said.

  Hava stopped.

  She said, “If you have ambitions still, then take what you will that is outside my door. Take Hafurtann, Buck-Tooth, my goat. If you are well informed he can serve you marvelously. Take my night hags. Command them if you can, though as chickens they will serve you poorly. For all I care you may take the world if you can. But do not disturb me. And with that, I will give you my blessing.”

  “Thank you, Gróa,” Hava said, not knowing what else to say. She began to leave again.

  “Come here,” Gróa said. “For my blessing.”

  Hava was surprised at that, for she did not know what Gróa meant. She had assumed that a blessing was a wish for good luck, a thing of words. But she would do as Gróa asked. She worked her way over the sands and stone and came to the feet of Gróa, and being this close now, being so close that she could have been touched by Gróa, so close that she could have been lifted by her like a little toy, Hava’s body shivered. She could not help it. This close, all other thoughts and feelings left her, and all was awe.

  Gróa said, “Show me your back.”

  Hava turned and showed her the open back of her dress.

  And then Hava’s back was pressed by something the width of her shoulders, the length of her spine, a pad of enormous size, and her skin sizzled. Hava clinched her teeth, determined not to flee in fear or pain, whatever was happening to her.

  It was over, and now Hava breathed, realizing then that she had been holding her breath. There was no more pain, but she reached to her back and felt the pattern of raised ridges scarred into her skin.

  Gróa said, “All who are well-informed will read the print of my touch on you and know that you have received the blessing of Gróa. At a time, it would have been a great gift, but I do not know these times, so I might have given you the greatest curse in the world. I must pass the concern about such things to you, for I cannot care, not anymore.”

  Hava turned to see Gróa’s face again, but she looked away into the darkness behind her.

  Hava said, “I thank you for your blessing nonetheless. May you find the bottomless pit that you desire.”

  “I know where it is. And I will open it at last. I am finally decided on that. I was once a little girl…” She seemed to speak now to herself. “And with all hope, the world will never see me again.”

  Hava went back up to the brim of the valley, taking some of the glowing moss to help her on her way out. And before she passed the crest and lost sight of this place, she stopped and looked one last time. She watched, waiting to see if Gróa would stand and walk away into that farther darkness, and Hava wanted briefly to see Gróa stand, to see her walk, to see what that would be like, but Gróa sat unmoved. It was not for Hava to see. So she went away from the gloom of the Seat of Gróa. Hava said under her breath, Goodbye, great Gróa, and it seemed to her that she heard a distant whisper in return, Goodbye, but she was not certain, for it was likely her own echo in the limitless dark.

  Chapter 20

  Jan needed her help getting up to his feet, though they both wobbled as she hoisted him by the hand. She wasn’t used to keeping her balance like this, blind as she was. But then he stood on his own and checked his wounds. He groaned and coughed. Blood showed up on the floor when he spit—she could see that. With her strange sight, she could sense even the mortar between the tiles as clearly as she could feel the movement of her own joints.

  “Hey, DiFranco?” he said, grabbing onto her shoulder, bringing her focus back. “Which of these guns do you want me to take?”

  That was her first confirmation that the guard had indeed surrendered his guns. She said, “Kick them away, out of his reach. Then pick whichever one you like, and help me talk through the inventory.”

  Jan was silent for a moment. She didn’t hear him moving the weapons along the floor. They might have already been far from the guard’s reach. Then Jan said softly, “You really can’t see, can you?”

  She wished he had not asked that in front of their captive, who might be waiting for an opportunity to attack. She said loudly, “I saw well enough to kill this guy’s team out there, and I can see well enough to kill him too, if that’s what you’re asking.” She listened for any reaction out of the guard, but could tell nothing. He was staying pacified.

  “No,” Jan whispered. “I mean, wh
at are you seeing under there?”

  She didn’t even know how to explain it yet. “Nothing but darkness,” she said. “But I can see way too much. I feel like if I tried, I could look into every room of the Black Palace. I feel this place all around me.”

  “I feel you,” Jan said. “And I’m sorry, by the way. You were right about them. They were even going to chop off my feet.”

  “We’re not done with them yet,” she said.

  “You don’t have to kill me. I can help.” It was the guard on the floor who spoke up. “I can join up with you guys. I’ll do whatever you say. My name’s Tango. I’m on your side now.”

  “Can you help lead Jan back to an exit?” she said.

  Jan said, “I’m not splitting up with you again, DiFranco. I’m with you to the end.”

  “But you’re going to let me leave though, right?” Tango said with a jabbering accent. “Listen, I wasn’t really with those guys. We just met up for the job. I swear. Never saw them before. I’m just auxiliary. Me and the guy I came in with just haul and transport Witchfinder shit, logistics grunts, you know? We just hauled a house over here a few days ago, me and him. Then they dragged us along and he got killed as soon as we crossed over. I never saw no one get killed like that before. I don’t do field agent stuff. Just two or three times. It’s not my thing. I swear to god I had no idea who we were hunting in here until they told me. Then over here they said that thing we was shooting at in the mirrors was Conrad. I was like, for real? And then they said we were after DiFranco, you, you know? And I was like, but that’s his daughter. What’s she doing in here? So we’re after both of them? What the hell is going on, you know? And then they said Sledge was a traitor too, like the Sledge, and that we were going to have to get him too, just us seven, but there was only four of us alive by then, and I was like, you know what? Fuck this. I’m out. And then here comes this kid, and they start beating on him, so he starts speaking in tongues and saying shit like he’s the voice of the Black Palace and that she is coming for us, some crazy name—I guess that was you—that you’re coming to end us, and I’m like, you know what? Fuck this job. This is as good a time as any to switch sides. I wasn’t going to do any of that stuff that the commissioner was talking about to either one of you. So fuck those guys, you know? I’m with you guys. My name’s Tango, by the way. I’m with you guys.”

  “We’re not traitors,” Jan told him.

  “Right, I’m with you,” Tango said, agreeing. “I’m with you.”

  Jan said, “I’m serious. We were set up.”

  “Yeah, I hear you, man. That president probably needed to die anyway. You got to make a buck where you can. Fuck the Witchfinders Union.”

  “No, you don’t get it,” Jan said. “We’re the good guys.”

  Tango’s voice grew clear, his face lifting from the floor to look at them, and he said, “Holy shit, you know? No offense, but you two don’t look like a couple of good guys. You’re both freaking me out a little bit.”

  “I told you not to look up.”

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Tango said, returning his face to the floor. “I’m not judging. You are what you are, you know? I’m on your side.”

  That was probably all the information she was going to get out of this guy. It was so little to go on that it didn’t matter whether he was lying about anything or not, but it did at least confirm what she had figured: they had been framed as traitors, blamed for assassinating the president, for stealing the Shamir, and for selling it to the witches.

  She needed a private word with Jan about what he wanted to do now, whether he wanted to reconsider and split up on better terms, taking his chances as a fugitive out there in the world, or whether he really did want to stay with her to the end. And she was not sure he would be up for going with her, for she knew with certainty where she would finally plunge herself, to the top of the Hollow. She would seek those steps as soon as they took care of Valentine, if they could find him before he managed a counter-attack, which she also needed to tell Jan about.

  She said, “Jan, step back with me for a moment.”

  She took a few steps back from Tango and found Jan by her side. She said to him quietly, “Did you take a gun?”

  Jan rattled it, beside her. He must have been holding it right in front of her, probably with some expression of obviousness.

  She whispered, “Listen close. We still have a problem. Do you see anything out in the gallery right now?”

  “What’s going on, DiFranco?” Jan said. “Tell me the truth.”

  “I’ll need your help seeing for a little while longer,” she told him. “Valentine’s still alive out there.”

  “To hell with him.” Jan said. “I hope something eats him. He deserves it.”

  But they were interrupted by gunshots and screaming from a distance.

  Jan and Tango were asking what it was, and who it was.

  She focused forward. She could see the pain in the waves of sound lapping against the walls of the gallery like a breeze on her own skin, but she could not tell who it was. It did sound like someone was being eaten, and it only made sense that it would be Valentine. His getting attacked out there, so near, meant that their immediate threats had just multiplied. If she were even going to make it to the Hollow tonight, she was going to have to keep fighting. And she would.

  “Can you see if they left behind any exotics?” she said. “Are there any more on the floor?”

  He said, “Some bandoleers. Four. But who was that?”

  “A shotgun too?”

  “Yeah, five of them,” Jan said.

  “Help load me up,” she told Jan. “We need to go out there.”

  Jan handed her a pump-action and helped her sling two bandoleers over herself crosswise, and he was asking whether she knew who that was and what was going on out there.

  She said, “Those screams are close, and Valentine wouldn’t have made it too far by now. Something’s getting him, and we need to find out what it is before it finds us.”

  The screams continued. Valentine might have been in the process of dying, but he wasn’t dead yet.

  She said, “Tango, you still want to join our team?”

  “Yeah, as long as we ain’t going toward those screams.”

  “We are,” she said. “And we could use all the help we can get. Can I trust you with a gun?”

  “For what?” Tango said.

  She told him to stand and to grab one of the shotguns and to load it with any random choice from the exotics shells because she didn’t know what they would be shooting at, only that they would be shooting at something.

  He stood. “Can I look at you now?”

  She said, “You’re better off looking for a gun, and then looking out for things trying to eat you.”

  Jan helped her load some rounds into the shotgun she now held, telling her that he had given her mustard seed and white oak, and that he had gone mineral for himself, silver and salt.

  Tango sounded as if he were following her orders, and then he said, “Okay. I’m ready.”

  Jan said, “I’m ready too.”

  She led them out of the gallery, toward the screams. The sounds looked to be coming from a farther wing. They stayed careful with their footing over the shattered tiles, and Tango let slip some profanities at seeing the remains of the explosion and the two dead bodies of his former teammates.

  She saw that she was getting closer to the screams, but then something changed. She saw that something let loose, retracting its claws out of its grip of hot flesh, and then it climbed away, and hid. She could not tell what it was, or where.

  The screams softened to pained groans. And now that those sounds subsided, she could hear Jan’s whispering something quickly. “What is it, Jan?” she whispered back. “What do you see?”

  But he was not whispering to her. It was something else. He was talking strangely again, but this time she could not understand him. He was speaking a string of old babel, as if his tongue had be
en taken over by the priests of long lost temples.

  She reached for him, found his arm, and tried to shake him out of it.

  He kept whispering, whispering faster, whispering faster.

  “Jan!” she yelled. She shook him.

  He stopped whispering and flinched. “What is it? What happened?”

  “We were losing you again,” she said.

  He spit a little more blood on the floor and said, “What did I say this time?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “It’s not English anymore.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I can’t seem to keep holding it back. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s strange.”

  “I feel you,” she said. “So how are we doing right now? What do you see?”

  “We’re still in the gallery,” he said. “We’re coming up on another wing, off to your left.”

  She already knew that much. They kept going toward it, and they turned the corner. A man lay on the floor, alone, alive but huffing air and bleeding out.

  “Holy fuck!” the man yelled.

  Jan yelled, “Don’t make a move, you sick bastard.”

  It had to be Valentine.

  “Is that DiFranco?” Valentine said. “Holy fuck, get her away from me. Why is her eye glowing under there?”

  “What attacked you?” she asked him. “Where did it go?”

  “You got to help me out of here,” Valentine said. His voice was full of pain. “It took off when it heard you. I’m bleeding out.”

  Jan yelled, “Don’t move, I said.”

  “It’s a tourniquet, you fuck. I have to. Hurry up before it comes back.”

  She kept her shotgun ready and was trying to sense anything else in the area with Valentine. “Where’d it go?” she said again. “What was it?”

  “Why are her eyes covered?” Valentine said with a struggle. “She’s one of them now.”

  “You shut your mouth about her,” Jan said. “I should kill you right now.”

  “If you do, you’ll wish you saved your ammo when it comes back,” he said.