by S. M. Beiko
A brilliant darkness.
Wake and Wonder
Five years after
Roan and Eli disappeared
Barton hadn’t known what to expect.
He had gone along with Solomon’s plan, because he had some foresight. He’d earned it. Sacrifices would have to be made for the long run. Solomon had told him about Project Crossover when it was just some throwaway notion by some Denizen, co-opted by some world leader, when the Task Guard was new and flourishing. Long before the Apex was a hole in the ground, it was the hope Barton, all of them, needed. He didn’t know the specifics of how it could work, but he knew, somehow, he could make it work.
Long before he’d agreed to help the Task Guard make their Bloodgate, even when he and Phae had argued, they would always come back to one another. Put the argument away and remember they were together. Barton always made sure to hold her close afterwards, because he remembered what her absence felt like, when she had gone to the Glen. That separation was a chasm he never wanted to experience again, but . . . he had to make choices that were beyond what he wanted. He had Saskia to think of now. And a world full of children who had had their choices taken from them.
If he could open this gate, he could fix things. Hadn’t they all thought the same, childish thing? Even a bad decision is better than making none at all.
So he’d hold Phae close whenever he could and memorize the sensation so that when they were separated again, it could make Barton strong.
Now it had been too long, and he was forgetting what she felt like.
Opening this gate had been different. The first time he’d done it, in the Pool of the Black Star, it had been like looking for a hidden seam in a curtain. Holding it open so Roan and Eli could get back out had been the hardest.
This time, Barton knew he couldn’t hold it open. Once he went through, there’d be no coming out unless the people on the other side managed to do it without him. So he had to succeed.
Something pulled him in. That’s the only way he could describe it. A cry for help. He’d crossed over into a world about to burst wide, and it had; it was shaking so hard that he’d felt foolish for bringing his body with him. But if Roan and Eli could do it — and, damn them, they could do anything — he’d be fine. He thought.
A sensation Barton couldn’t forget was Heen. She was in his blood now, restored there by great pains when all this has started, with Roan’s help. He didn’t think he’d see Heen again so soon, or that this time he would be returning her favour, that he’d be restoring her. It had all happened so quickly. He hadn’t landed, not precisely; it’s like he was careening through the Veil, through a dark passage. There was a great quake, and the Emerald was a green flicker in the distance, and it was coming fast for him as he approached — both he and the stone desperate for help. Barton caught it, because he owed Heen, could hear her deep inside the stone when he’d touched it. Please, she begged. Please don’t let it through.
There was very little left of Heen, but that little remaining sliver of the god hiding in her broken heartstone encased Barton inside a seed, a seed that became armour, and that collided with the rising dark sending out a red, terrible song. The tree around Barton stretched and thrived off the heart of him and his fool’s hopes.
Heen was sorry for it. Please, little leveret — we must hold it back a little longer, until my sisters return. For the love you bear for your world, and the people in it.
Barton thought of Phae and Saskia, every day, every year, every age. He wouldn’t stop fighting, because he knew they wouldn’t, either.
The roots churned the world, but the dark was rising, pushing the tree up. If it couldn’t get out, then it would push through.
* * *
WINNIPEG, PRESENT DAY
Neither Phae nor Natti imagined they’d be strolling the halls of the Old Leg as they had before, a very long time ago when they’d walked through the front door to open the first Bloodgate.
But here they were.
Much of the old iconography was still prominent. The Legislature had been built as a sort of palace with pagan echoes, the heads of old gods. Phae wondered where those gods were when all of this was happening. But she learned a long time ago about the best-laid plans of humans and their makers — they never seemed to make it work on the same playing field.
They walked, side by side, up the stairs flanked by the bronze bison, watched by soldiers and government personnel alike. Outside, a Denizen force waited to back them up if need be. But everyone had been told to stand down. The eclipse would happen tomorrow, around noon. The time for fighting was done. Nothing more could be said with fists.
An ETG soldier stopped them as they rounded the alcove above the Pool of the Black Star and too many memories Phae didn’t have time to confront.
She was startled to recognize the soldier. “Cam?”
Strange what a year could do to a chubby kid with a love of fantasy. Then Phae remembered what a year had done to her and her friends. Cam smiled at her. “Phae. It’s nice to see you.”
Between them stood a war, but she hugged him anyway, which may have startled Cam more. He pulled away and led them the rest of the way towards the proxy chancellor’s office.
“You know,” he said, when they reached the door, and Natti raised an eyebrow at him, “I saw Saskia. Before she, you know . . . went through to the other side.”
Phae was very still. “Did you help her?”
He nodded. “You know Saskia. Usually doesn’t take no for an answer.”
Phae smiled past the pricking in her eyes. “Like so many other people I knew.”
“She said that . . .” He was shy, but he obviously wanted to get this out. “She said I was one of the good guys. I hope she was right. I hope this can be over now.”
Natti pinched his cheek. “Cute, kid.”
The office door opened by the hand of a guard outside it, admitting them into Chancellor Song Mi-ja’s presence and closing it behind them just as quickly.
They’d seen this woman on screens, heard her voice over broadcast. She’d loomed over the Denizens and they’d chosen her as the figurehead of their enemy. But this woman, they realized, was not much older than Phae or Natti. And she looked small in her pedestrian clothes. The desk was bare. She sat on it, legs crossed and hunched over with her eyes closed.
Natti cleared her throat. “Chancellor?”
“No,” Mi-ja said. “Just Mi-ja is fine.”
Phae moved tentatively forward but tried to make her voice even. “We’re here to discuss the terms of the truce —”
“It’s fine,” Mi-ja said, as if she was annoyed. “It’s done. The ETG will stand down entirely. I’ve already alerted the world’s governments. Those not gone underground, at any rate.” She opened her eyes, and they were exhausted.
“And your little weapon?” Natti asked, confused. “You haven’t even fired it yet.”
“I know what’s going to happen all the same,” Mi-ja said grimly, swinging her legs over the desk and standing. “The world’s missiles are armed and aimed. They’ll be going off within the hour. A waste, if you ask me.” She turned to the two Denizen women before her, and her voice turned pleading. “Please tell me you’ve heard something from the Realms of Ancient. Is that godhead of yours coming?”
The room’s silence was enough of an answer.
“I see,” Mi-ja muttered.
Phae was suddenly in front of her. “We have to have faith.” She took the woman’s hand. “It’s all we have left.”
Natti went to the window and looked out on the city of Winnipeg, or what was left of it. The city had long ago been cleared, and, as Mi-ja said, anyone who could hide was doing so, somewhere, anywhere, trying to see if they could wait out the apocalypse. The only people left in the city were a group of Denizens who were backing Phae and Natti. They’d all sent the others away. Aivik. N
atti’s mother. Arnas. Jordan. Jet. They’d done all they could. They’d held the line and kept their promise. It was up to Saskia now to do the same, if she could.
Rather fittingly, it was snowing.
The last few Denizens were outside, on the Old Leg’s lawn, white flakes accumulating on them and the many disparate bronze statues. The people milling amongst them were looking up at the Darkling Moon, wondering. Hoping. Clinging to faith.
“May it be enough,” Mi-ja said.
* * *
It wasn’t.
The guns blazed. No matter how much ammunition the world had in its arsenal, the Darkling Moon endured. It always would.
The next day, the sun rose.
The world watched as it moved across the sky towards black inevitability.
* * *
Now. Beneath that tree, in the darkness that was so painfully bright, all of the gods’ conceit and everyone’s good intentions were brought to bear.
“This can’t have been for nothing.” Phyr said, turning to them all. Roan, Eli, Saskia, Baskar, her sister-gods. Only Saskia understood, having learned Phyr’s story as she separated Eli from the Moonstone.
“What are you talking about?” Roan finally snapped.
The Owl Matriarch swung towards her, scowling. “Bringing us all here, together. That is what Ancient wants. You’ve played right into it.”
Eli moved Roan aside, to speak to the god from which he was descended. “We’re here to free Ancient, to stop the Darklings from —”
“The Darklings,” Phyr cut him off, “can only destroy if Ancient wills it. Which is what Ancient will do, if it rises.”
WHEN, came another voice, separate from all of them, and they turned to a great hanging knot of writhing roots coming down overhead of them. The three gods held tight to their armaments, prepared to fight.
The roots parted, showing the Emerald. Showing part of the man attached to it, looking weak and ready to let go.
“Barton!” Saskia screamed.
His eyes were open. He stared down at them all, pityingly. “I didn’t want you to come,” he said quietly. “The Darklings would have passed by us. But Ancient . . .”
It wasn’t me! The dream came back to her now, sickeningly, a message, a warning. “The signal was Ancient,” Saskia sobbed. “It made me believe it was you.”
Barton reached for her, but the roots closed over him, pulled him and the Emerald away. Then the darkness rose.
Baskar held her tight and looked away, but Saskia could do no such thing. She felt her human mind trying to work out what she was seeing. After all, it had gotten her this far, and allowed her to see and parse so much cosmic nonsense that it shouldn’t have ever understood. But before them, in that vast emptiness beneath this tree that was actually the last line of defense against destruction, Saskia saw a pulsing, nightmarish mass, and she knew it was the source of everything. Of life, of death, of utter absolute nothing.
This was Ancient. And it was very much awake.
It has been so long, it spoke at them, into them, since I have been able to see the results of my work. My first children, and my last, together with me here.
“Silence!” Phyr howled, her wings beating a tornado at the dark. “Be silent, and sleep! Let us still manage the world you seek to destroy!”
If Creation could laugh, it did, and it made Saskia shrink into herself, bury her face into the hard, rough shell of Baskar that quivered so hard they might fall apart.
You all fight for nothing. The darkness swelled like it was taking a gulp of fresh air. This was always the intended end to the Narrative that I gave to you. Life was a fleeting inkling, a dream. It was not meant to last. It was not made to. And those who people your realm, they wish to see it undone as much as Creation does. This plan was only postponed. My Darklings nearly succeeded once, and now they have been given a second chance. Now our great work can be realized. You have done that for me, all of you, and in return I will repay you with absolution.
The group fell back as a tangle of roots shot to them, pulled away, and dangled something over them. A man’s body — not Barton’s. This man had been made a part of the Heartwood, the roots piercing his eyes and his brain. Saskia thought she’d pass out and staggered to her hands and knees to look away, though she’d never, ever, unsee it.
Saskia recognized the husk as Chancellor Grant, who must have fallen through the Apex behind her and paid the ultimate price for thinking he could ever rule this place.
This creature is the pinnacle of human ambition, Ancient went on, hollow voice singular, puncturing, and absolute. I have seen what he has seen. What is in his dark heart. It is where the Darklings have always lived. It is where I live. Human beings and Denizens alike allowed themselves to be consumed by greed, avarice, apathy. The world they inhabit will die before they do. My end, my way, is clean. Wipe it all away now, end all potential future suffering. Nothing left, not even a memory. It is just. It is inevitable.
“It’s not!” This time it was Roan, and she’d pushed her way past the gods. “We fought for life. For love! Do you know anything about it? Did you ever?”
The three First Matriarchs looked paralyzed by Ancient’s words, but they seemed to be animated again watching a human show no fear in the face of it. But the gods were Ancient’s direct children, after all; together they were Ancient. And like children they wanted to be reassured. Told that Ancient had made them because it had truly wanted them, trusted them —
Love is a construct. As am I. Nothingness is a kind of peace. It is what you have all been searching for. I will give it to you. You have given it to me, by bringing to me the children I have longed for. I will bring them close to me, and we will be strong again in our unity.
There was no way they could have stopped the roots coming down like grappling hooks on all three gods at once. They touched their Calamity Stones with the barest flick, and they shattered into dust. Phyr, Deon, and Ryk all looked to the others one last time.
“Do what we could not,” Phyr managed to say, and the gods were suddenly gone.
The Brilliant Dark was quiet as it went back in on itself, almost considering, pulling its roots and its cables and then shivering with excitement.
Ah. Already I feel them inside me as they were meant to be. All is close now. These realms, all as one, and I will bring this Deadland into the Uplands, there into then, and for a moment every piece of my creation will wonder at this waking, before it sleeps forever, and I will never have to dream or long again for any of it. Do you not crave the same?
Saskia was staring at the Onyx in her hand. No matter what she did, it could not reach for the other stones. They were gone now. Ancient had taken them back.
“We can’t kill Creation,” Saskia heard Eli said. “The gods are gone.”
“They’re not,” Roan said, coming down beside him and Saskia. “There’s still us.” She clasped Saskia’s wrist, where the Onyx was. “All of us. Together. Now. We’re going to go home. I don’t care what the odds are. Just think of the place, think of the people we love.”
It was foolish and saccharine and, Saskia thought chiefly, stupid, but she felt Baskar beside her, too, felt them nod, desperate to believe.
The roots came down, aiming for Saskia, but Roan was all fire, and Eli was the wind, and they battled them back. The tree itself seemed to be warring from inside, because the roots could not reach the Emerald, either. Barton was still fighting. So would they.
The darkness roared, seeming to come to a decision. Then I will take you all with me. I will show you. We will all do this together, whether you like it or not.
Then, all around them, with the mightiest of quakes, they felt themselves shooting upward with the force of Creation’s will to see it all undone, pulled by black plinths and pincers that Ancient had been sending out through the underworld all this time. The Deadlands rose, and so did
Ancient, and the fighting tree with it.
Roan and Eli grabbed hold of Saskia and Baskar, and they pressed into the bottom of the Heartwood. They didn’t have time for despair. The tree was getting higher and taking them, and the land of the dead, with it.
They held tight to one another and thought of home.
Part V
Umbra
This Marvellous Wreckage
The Darkling Moon was one thing, but it was three things first. Three beings, intricately wrapped up in one another, as they had been when Fia had made them so long ago.
In the Darkling Hold, they had been in three separate prisons, and it had been unbearable. Now they were together, as they were meant to be: three bodies, one mind, one moon, and they would be together like this until the end.
As the moon tracked over the blue world below, the three minds that were one had thought, perhaps, they could pass this world by, as they’d once dreamed. Perhaps we can continue moving through this cold black space and find somewhere for ourselves. Perhaps we can outrun our purpose.
But the Darklings that were the moon did not get to choose. They thought they could, once. They thought, by putting Seela into the world, they might be able to build their own domain — if not in the world below, then above it, beyond it, away from it. But they could not escape Ancient’s design. They were as much children as the humans below.
They had wills that were never their own to begin with. They moved to their place, their final place, and did as they were bidden, finally fulfilling their purpose. They held on to each other, too. Ancient was singing. Ancient was calling them from the place it, too, had been made to sleep. While they did not want to do this thing, they could not deny they were pleased that everyone might be free now, including the malevolent creator of all. Despite what it meant for Creation itself.