The Red Winter

by Henry H. Neff

  Just do your job.

  Max’s job was to reach the summit. He could see it now, a jagged peak framed against the moonlit clouds by a peculiar halo—as though some disturbance or force was keeping them at bay. He and YaYa were well above the tree line, but there was still another seven or eight thousand feet to climb. They only had a few hours until midnight, until Imbolc would officially begin. Praying the others were safe and could reach the summit, Max urged YaYa on.

  The ki-rin climbed tirelessly, giving a wide berth to where the dragons had been fighting. Another hour passed. Something unusual was happening high above. The cloud halo remained and appeared to be rotating slowly, as gusts whipped and howled across the mountains. Max thought he could hear a voice carrying faintly upon the wind.

  Twenty minutes later all doubt vanished. There was a voice coming from above. Its presence was unmistakable whenever the wind settled—a thin, high voice chanting things that Max could not make out but that often ended in pleading cries. Within the halo, the sky was starting to shimmer in buckling waves, like a faint red aurora.

  YaYa redoubled her efforts, chuffing and panting, ascending at breakneck speed. It was everything Max could do to hold on.

  With David’s ring, Max could stay warm and breathe comfortably, but it could not counteract muscle fatigue. As the summit grew closer, Max realized dully he’d been riding at a gallop for over eight hours. That would be a challenging stretch over flatlands, but upon a mountain it was excruciating. His arms throbbed; his hands had long since cramped into stiff, painful claws. And the journey wasn’t over—he’d have to climb the final leg by himself.

  “Aaaaaaahhhhh!”

  The sound was unlike any of the cries Max had heard before. This was a scream of pain, and its tone was deeper than the earlier, beseeching cries.

  This voice belonged to Elias Bram.

  YaYa shivered with rage at hearing him in such agony. Max prayed she could keep her focus. Their objective was not to rescue Bram. According to David, any attempt would be futile and compromise the core mission. If YaYa stormed the summit now in an effort to save her steward, Astaroth would simply vanish. David had been adamant that they could not act prematurely, that they must wait until Astaroth began opening the portal. Once he did that, he would be utterly spent and unable to flee.

  Faint chanting resumed, followed almost immediately by another scream. But YaYa kept on course, pushing farther west toward a small ledge a few hundred feet below the peak. As they approached it, the ki-rin slowed so Max could dismount without forcing her to stop and potentially draw attention to her powerful aura. As she passed the ledge, Max stepped off as if she were a moving trolley car. YaYa did not break stride but continued on as Max crouched on the ledge and pressed his back flat against the mountain. In five swift bounds, she disappeared around an outcropping.

  Max shook out his hands and slid his backpack off his shoulders to access his equipment. He worked quickly, affixing the crampons and laying out the ice axes with the rope. Craning his neck, he saw that YaYa had picked the perfect spot to leave him. From here, his climb was not too steep and there were no significant overhangs or protrusions.

  An aurora was shimmering in the sky above, but it bore little resemblance to the splendor and beauty of the northern lights. This was a dull red, a color of fevers and boils, sickness and burns. It looked like the sky was being brought to a simmer.

  There were also lights on the mountain. Now and again, Max spied incandescent flashes and billows of superheated smoke that carried away on the wind. Assuming they originated near Astaroth, he couldn’t be more than twenty or thirty yards from the spot where Max would emerge.

  Max gathered himself for the final stage. His eyes swept the moonlit mountain below, looking for any sign of his friends. He saw no living things below, not even—

  He blinked. There was something moving. It had just emerged into view, a dark four-legged creature traversing a moonlit ridge.

  Was that Nox?

  He was thrilled she was alive but horrified to see that she’d followed him this far. The lymrill was still far below him—a mile at least—but the animal was moving steadily, nose to the snow as though tracking a scent.

  Taking up the axes, Max began to climb. He stopped when there were lulls in the chanting, but with the wind howling atop the peak, he doubted anyone would hear the soft crunch of his crampons. When he finally reached the top, Max scooted against a rock and peered over the edge. What he saw nearly made him sick.

  Astaroth was devouring Elias Bram.

  Not in a conventional sense—there was no biting or chewing—but there was no other word for what was occurring. The Archmage was bound upon a flat stone that served as an altar. He was evidently still alive, for although he no longer had the capacity to scream, he was moving his legs, kicking weakly as Astaroth circled slowly around him. One hand held the Book of Thoth, the other a slender black rod shaped like a viper. On a finger, Astaroth bore the Founder’s Ring—a Rowan artifact he’d taken from Ms. Richter when his forces overran the school.

  Bram’s head was missing, along with much of his shoulders, arms, and torso. The man’s body was unraveling into glowing strings of light that snaked into his captor’s chest. Astaroth’s pale face was hideously blank. His mouth moved mechanically, voicing the incantations to absorb his ancient enemy.

  The two were just thirty yards away, at the center of a rocky shelf just beneath Ymir’s peak. Something flitted down to the stone on which Bram was bound, a blue-skinned imp no taller than a candlestick with silver hair and glowing yellow eyes. Mr. Sikes … Neheb … Max wasn’t certain what to call him. He could only say that the imp looked delighted as he walked over Bram’s body to survey his ever-dwindling form.

  Ducking out of sight, Max unbuckled the gae bolga from his belt and extended the handle so that it became a long-bladed infantry spear. He would remove the sheath only when he was ready to strike—he could not trust the weapon not to wail or scream.

  Peering back at the scene, Max saw that Bram had nearly disappeared. Astaroth was shining as he had when Max had seen him on Walpurgisnacht almost two years ago. From afar, it must have looked like a tiny star had settled atop Ymir. Mr. Sikes gave a sardonic bow to the Archmage’s final scraps as they dissolved into motes of light that streamed into his master. Despite his triumph, Astaroth remained expressionless, his face as smooth and dead as a doll’s. Cradling the Book of Thoth, he simply turned and gazed up at the flickering red aurora, studying the stars as though they would tell him precisely when Imbolc had begun.

  A distant dragon’s roar cut through the wind. A startled Mr. Sikes turned instantly in its direction, but Astaroth remained motionless. Hopping down from the altar, the imp walked nearly to the summit’s edge and gazed out at the peaks and valleys below. As he did, Max noticed a slight movement just beneath the shelf, a glint of eyeshine as something flattened itself against the mountain. At first Max thought it must be Nox, but these eyes appeared to be more feline and they were almost certainly looking at him. Sikes did not notice the creature almost underfoot; he was busy staring at a distant valley where a forest was now ablaze with yellow-green flames. He turned toward Astaroth.

  “N’aagha sylvastruh istarh.”

  But Astaroth did not seem to care that N’aagha was burning any forest so long as it did not disturb him. The imp’s master appeared to be in some sort of trance. Frowning slightly, Mr. Sikes left the ledge and returned to his perch upon the altar. As he did so, Max saw the creature beneath the ledge turn about and crawl stealthily away. A tail flashed briefly in the moonlight, pale and spotted. It certainly wasn’t Nox. A small snow leopard perhaps, but Max had no idea why one would be prowling such barren heights in the middle of the night.

  Unless that snow leopard was David or Mina …

  A cry sounded, high and unearthly. Astaroth had spread his arms wide, gazing up at the stars as though to greet Imbolc, to greet this day when the boundaries between two worlds—and ev
en universes—might grow thin. Shining brightly, he opened the Book of Thoth and found the page he wished.

  Again Astaroth began to chant in a language reminiscent of the Fomorian’s strange, winding songs. As he did, the shimmering red auroras began to connect to one another and rotate opposite the clouds. Max ducked as a powerful gust whipped across the summit.

  Astaroth’s chanting continued, its pace and pitch increasing until it assumed a crazed, almost hysterical quality. With a bloodcurdling cry, he stabbed the viper rod at the sky, releasing dazzling bolts of energy that fed into the swirling auroras. Mr. Sikes watched in awestruck fascination as they began to glow a dull orange. An eerie stillness fell over Ymir as the wind died away.

  More energy poured into the auroras, which swirled ever faster, blazed ever brighter. The strain on Astaroth was plain. He was shaking violently, smoke rising off his body as his face twisted into a silent scream.

  Max glanced around the summit’s ledges. How much longer did they have to wait? Above Ymir, the sky was starting to burn and smoke. Within the auroras, Max no longer saw just the stars—he saw hints of other worlds, other stars, as though he were looking at overlapping transparencies.

  Taking up the gae bolga, Max exhaled and prepared to spring over the ledge.

  And then he saw Cynthia.

  She stepped out from behind an outcropping some fifty feet to Max’s right, almost rigid with terror. Mina was behind her, holding the older girl’s hand and urging her forward. As they walked into the light, a startled Mr. Sikes nearly fell off the altar. Shrieking at Astaroth, he whipped out a thin blade no longer than a finger and vanished in a puff of smoke. In a blink he reappeared right by Cynthia’s ear, his blade poised to slash her jugular.

  “NO!”

  The imp flew backward, jerked away from Cynthia as though snagged by an invisible hook. He fell at his master’s feet as Astaroth, breathing heavily, mastered his obvious rage. Slowly, mechanically, the pale face assumed its characteristic smile. But its eyes were hollow black slits, utterly alien. When Astaroth spoke, his voice was not the urbane tenor that Max associated with him. Its pitch, timbre, and even accent were inconstant, as though Astaroth was too spent or distracted to maintain all aspects of his disguise.

  “Mr. Sikes,” he said coldly. “This is Cynthia Gilley. I swore not to harm her or permit her to be harmed by any power within my control. You nearly made me break that promise.”

  “I beg pardon, my lord,” said the imp, regaining his feet.

  Astaroth gazed at Cynthia. “Poor little puppet. Do you think you are the first to try and trick me into breaking my geis?” He tutted before turning his attention to Mina. “The Faeregine as a human? What a strange notion. Come out and let me have a look at you.”

  But Mina would not move. She remained firmly behind Cynthia with one hand in her pocket, undoubtedly clutching the green stone that would summon Yuga.

  “And where is your puppet master?” said Astaroth. “Surely David Menlo is here. If he does not show himself, there will be consequences.” He thumped the Book of Thoth.

  A snow leopard bounded over the ledge by the girls and transformed into David. Like Mina, David stood behind the untouchable Cynthia. Astaroth’s dead-eyed grin stretched wider.

  “Not very chivalrous, but I’m happy you’re here, David. I wanted you to witness this moment. Shall we draw the Creator out of hiding? Shall we see if God exists?”

  “Master,” said Mr. Sikes nervously. “There could be others lurking. The Hound—”

  “He is not here,” Astaroth interrupted. “I would have sensed his presence a mile off. I doubt he even escaped Tartarus. The only other one to fear is Bram, and we know where he is.”

  Mr. Sikes tittered.

  Astaroth gazed up at the swirling auroras and skies that still shifted and shimmered within their borders. “Your grandfather has made me stronger, David, but the gate is stubborn. You and the Faeregine will help me open it.”

  David shook his head. “I can guarantee that will not happen.”

  Astaroth did not respond immediately. Instead, he remained focused on the heavens while Mr. Bonn watched Max’s friends. Had he been just a little closer, Max might have attacked. His former self could have closed the distance in a heartbeat. But Max was not his former self. The instant Astaroth realized he was present, Max would be slain out of hand. He had to wait for a better opportunity.

  “And why wouldn’t that happen?” said a distracted Astaroth to David.

  “We will summon Yuga.”

  This got Astaroth’s attention. He turned away from the skies and focused on David. “Impossible,” he scoffed. “Yuga cannot be summoned.”

  “She can,” said David matter-of-factly. “And when she is, we will all be destroyed.”

  Astaroth walked slowly toward them. “Mutually assured destruction? How twentieth century.”

  David backed away with Cynthia and Mina. “That’s right. No gateway. Just Yuga. Are you strong enough to withstand her? I know you’re not strong enough to flee—you’ve spent too much energy. If we call Yuga, everyone dies. Unless you accept our terms.”

  “What would those be?” said Astaroth.

  David and Mina continued backing away, keeping Cynthia between them and Astaroth, who followed them like a shark casually trailing bait. David was leading their enemy toward Max’s hiding place.

  “Surrender the Book of Thoth and promise to leave this world forever,” said David. “Reinvent yourself someplace else. You’re better at that than trying to play God.”

  “And who will play God in my stead, David Menlo?” asked Astaroth. “You? The Faeregine? Good luck. I have watched mankind go from caves to space stations, but they have remained savages throughout. The beauty and rarity of this world are wasted on them. My masters and I will make better use of its matter.”

  Releasing Cynthia’s hand, Mina pulled back her hood so that Astaroth could see her clearly. Ymir’s summit was so still, not even a breeze fluttered her long black hair. “You’re like Yuga,” she said. “In pain. Misunderstood. I don’t think you even know what you are. Please let us help you.”

  Astaroth’s smile became dangerous. “Do you remember your past incarnations, Faeregine?

  “No,” said Mina. “Each is new. Instinct tells me what my purpose must be.”

  “What a luxury to be born knowing such things,” said Astaroth. “I’ve had to create my own identities and purpose. There have been many.…”

  Reaching up with one hand, Astaroth calmly tore off his face. Cynthia screamed as it dangled in his hand, a bloody mask of skin, revealing a mass of writhing, ropy black tendrils beneath. Even as he dropped the mask on the icy rock, a new face emerged from the teeming matter—that of a bearded Mongolian. This melted away to reveal an elderly African woman, which was momentarily replaced by more faces of every age, race, and gender.

  Human faces were replaced by demonic visages, some bestial and others beautiful. “Who would you like to meet?” he asked. “Phyrael? Baphomet? Woland? Allu?”

  When he spoke this last name, Astaroth’s face became a misshapen lump of pale, scarred flesh. Its only visible feature was an enormous oval mouth filled with sharklike teeth. As he advanced, David and the others backed farther away. Max was ready. Another twenty feet would bring Astaroth within striking distance.

  But then he stopped. Allu’s hideous visage became Astaroth again. But there was no smile, no expression, only a blank hollowness. “God should not have to wear disguises.”

  “You’re not God,” said David.

  A chilling smile crept across Astaroth’s pale, masklike visage. “Not yet. But soon.”

  “The Book of Thoth cannot make you God,” said David. “You are simply insane.”

  “An interesting word,” mused Astaroth. “Einstein said that insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. In ten thousand years, I have learned the ways of this world, conquered its inhabitants, and acquired the Bo
ok of Thoth to shape it. But that is as far as I can go. As you have pointed out, David, I did not make this universe and can never be its true Creator. And the Book of Thoth will not allow me—an outsider—to use its powers fully. If I were insane, I would continue playing a game I couldn’t win. A rational mind would end the game and start a new one.”

  “What new game?” asked David. “Your masters will destroy everything and you’ll be punished for abandoning them.”

  Astaroth nearly laughed. “Punished? My masters have consumed almost all of the matter and energy in my universe. They created me to find more, and I have. My gift will sustain them for eons. And while my masters feed, I will take the matter that is my due and create a new little universe hidden away from them. And there, I will not be an outsider. I will be God!”

  The instant he said this, David attacked. Reaching past Cynthia, the sorcerer released a bolt of coursing energy that Astaroth merely absorbed into the viper rod.

  “So crude, David Menlo. Didn’t your grandfather teach you how to shape it?”

  Astaroth released the bolt back at them. It forked viciously around Cynthia and would have obliterated David but it struck an invisible barrier and was channeled harmlessly into the rock. Astaroth laughed.

  “Faeregine, was that you? Well, you’ve tasted Menlo’s magic. Now try mi—”

  Mr. Sikes cried out as YaYa leaped over the summit’s opposite ledge. She was a blur of white as she raced at Astaroth. He barely had time to turn as the ki-rin roared and impaled his chest with her jagged horn. There was an explosion of fiery light and YaYa was flung backward, striking the pinnacle’s base with a hideous crack.

  But Astaroth was hurt. He staggered sideways, still clutching the Book but dropping the viper rod as light and smoke gushed from the wound.

  David attacked again. This time Astaroth did not have the viper rod and was forced to absorb the spell with his hand. A connection formed between him and the sorcerer, a hissing, buckling rope of raw energy. David gasped and clutched Mina’s shoulder as though channeling some of her power. Even so, he could not sustain this much longer.