Greyblade

by Andrew Hindle

  “Not that,” Galatine said. “That will work, if we get to that stage. It’s the rest. It’s the whole plan.”

  Gabriel finally set down his mug and looked up at Galatine. “‘The whole plan’,” he repeated slowly. “What are you talking about?”

  “Greyblade is tricking us,” Galatine said. “There’s no evidence that Karl the Bloody-Handed is working His way into Earth’s religious structures. There’s plenty of circumstantial evidence, plenty of interpretable evidence, plenty of Damorak fuckery. But it was linked up in a completely misleading way.”

  “Where did this come from? A second ago you were talking about giving Earth fake gravity, and Blacknettle talking out of nowhere,” Gabriel demanded. “Has the Drake confirmed this?”

  Galatine nodded. “She doesn’t do a lot of data mining or talk to us much these days,” he said, “but she looked into this because it was worrying her too. And she confirmed that there was nothing definitive to back up such a bizarrely specific starting assumption. I was just wondering whether you’d known that all along.”

  “Never mind me knowing it,” Gabriel growled, “I barely have any idea what you’re talking about now. I thought it was the Drake who put these pieces together and reached the conclusion in the first place.”

  Galatine studied the Archangel. There was no more point trying to read Gabriel than there was trying to fool him … but he tended not to bother with subterfuge himself. He wasn’t aware of this. Galatine would be prepared to bet on it.

  “She did,” Galatine said, “because the stuff Greyblade had her looking for put all the dots there for her to join up to make her reach that conclusion. He shared a huge Burning Knight database with her system, set it out in a perfect overlay with her trove’s data structure, and it resonated exactly the way it was meant to. It was really subtle, but it was no accident.”

  “Why would … ?” Gabriel shook his head. “Are you saying he was manufacturing a threat? Why? I mean, I know Greyblade’s got some serious blaze-of-glory issues but he wouldn’t start this whole process down here, and go off Beyond the Walls looking for Rosedian’s lost fleet, on a completely made-up need.”

  “I don’t think it’s made-up,” Galatine said, “but I think it might be self-fulfilling. Greyblade’s trick is one thing, but sooner or later our preparations are going to bring Karl down on us. I guess at least we can say that he’s led us by the nose to a point where we’re preparing to kill the right God.”

  “But we might not necessarily have needed to kill a God at all, if he hadn’t set us on this path?” Gabriel frowned. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I want to agree with you,” Galatine said. “I don’t think Sir Greyblade has that sort of mindset – not without very good reason. I think that, given Earth’s history, it was entirely reasonable that sooner or later we’d have an enemy God to deal with, and the best solution for everyone was to bring the fight forward to a point where we could have a chance at winning it. Lure Karl in while we have the capacity to kill Him, and Sir Greyblade and the Pinians and Jalah won’t need to eradicate everything and start from clay again. Take this action before Mercy manages to trap the Pinians behind another veil,” if that’s what Mercibald Fagin is even trying to do, he thought, but didn’t bother to add.

  “But?”

  “But, anything that’s going to lure Karl in might bring all the other Lapgods as well,” Galatine said. “And that, we’re not going to be able to fight off. Earth’s been trampled by the Lapgods before, and we don’t have any allies this time around.”

  “Pissed them all up against the wall,” Gabriel murmured.

  “Yes.”

  Gabriel sighed heavily. “Are you certain of all this, Gaz?”

  “I’m not certain of anything,” Galatine said. “The whole thing is completely beyond me and I can’t possibly care about tactical-level issues and also worry about their technical implementation. Frankly, I had enough on my mind before Blacknettle spoke up and without the Drake clouding the whole thing with uncertainty. I can’t make it all up as I go along. I have to act according to instructions and plans. Otherwise this is above my pay grade.”

  “But you are responsible for the technical implementation,” Gabriel insisted. “So what will you do?”

  “I’ll carry out the technical implementation,” Galatine said helplessly. “I’ll stick to the plan. Keep on developing the network and getting things in place like Greyblade’s story is true,” Gabriel raised his heavy brow. “Until it is,” Galatine concluded.

  “Really?”

  “The only way this works is if we all turn our cogs in the same machine. If it’s a made-up machine that Greyblade wants to put Karl in, we need to be ready for Karl.”

  “Because it’s marginally better to be ready for Karl and for Him not to turn up, than to not be ready for Him and for Him to turn up,” Gabriel said.

  “Right. At the moment – right up until the Godfangs actually materialise, in fact – it seems all I can really work on is the network and the guns, and the structure for the rest. That’ll have to be enough.”

  “What about the other Lapgods?” Gabriel asked. “What if they show up?”

  “Then we all die,” Galatine said. “I’ll be honest, Gabriel, I think we’re going to die if even just Karl shows up. But maybe it’ll work. Hopefully. Hopefully this is all part of Sir Greyblade’s plan. Use Earth as bait. Let the Damoraks find out about what’s going on here, draw Karl’s attention. Then trap Him when He shows up, kill Him, clean up this blemish on the Four Realms, get humanity to give up their terrible guns and behave like adults. Bring the Last War of Independence to a proper end.”

  “Not a bad final show for a Burning Knight who was always unhappy with the way it all went last time,” Gabriel conceded.

  “Right,” Galatine repeated.

  “How will the Damoraks find out, do you think?”

  Galatine shrugged heavily. “I don’t know. Maybe they really have kept their hooks in us for whatever reason. Maybe we have traitors in our midst. Maybe Mercy knows everything and is passing the news along to his allies.”

  “Time enough to worry about all that,” Gabriel said, although he looked even more troubled than usual. Galatine considered that, if not an improvement, then at least reassurance that he wasn’t alone. “What’s next on the list … oh right, what about the seals? Made any progress there?”

  Galatine had been dreading this question, but the preceding conversation had made him a little more certain of his footing.

  “I don’t know if you’d call it progress,” he said, “but like with several other aspects of this, I’m eliminating the impossible and being left with what might look like progress under favourable lighting.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Galatine nodded. “The network will hold a certain amount, and the fountains will vent off the overflow, and drain Karl to death in the process,” he said, “but the whole system will blow out if we don’t have seals at strategic points. Karl will just do what Gods do, and go back to whatever part of unreality Gods live in.”

  “This much I knew,” Gabriel nodded. “Not physical locations, but conceptual ones. Or something.”

  “Something like that. It was my ‘conversation’ with Blacknettle that gave me the closest thing to a step forward here,” Gabriel was watching him with interest, and he steeled himself. I know Vampire soul makes good gun stock. I know Imago makes better. I know Angel makes best. I am Galatine Gazmouth, Gunsmith of Snowhome.

  “Go on,” Gabriel urged.

  “Metal won’t do it,” Galatine said. “Seals break. Seals always break. We need … Angels, Gabriel,” the Archangel sat and watched him, showing no real surprise on his wide leathery face. “I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out earlier,” Galatine went on. “Didn’t want to, I expect. But of course the only thing with a chance of containing a soul – of standing at that weak point between reality and unreality and denying transition – will be another soul,” he
sighed heavily. “We don’t need seals,” he concluded. “We need you.”

  ANGELIC PRISON

  Things were in a state of barely-controlled chaos, with TrollCagers still coming and going at all hours of the day and night. Gabriel declared that he didn’t want to debate the issue with the other Angels, so their absence was advantageous. Galatine found himself barely able to contemplate the idea of the Angels volunteering, much less being dragged into his ruthless world-sized machine with no idea what they were signing up for.

  “Anyway, I don’t think it’s going to work if they don’t consciously volunteer for it,” he told Gabriel, Magna and – because he was there – Tuesday one morning while they were waiting for word from Adelbairn, Good Intentions, the near-Earth stairs, and a half-dozen other places. “This is still mostly theory, the only starting point I have so far is the buttons…” that, and a monologue from Blacknettle that might as well have been a dream. But he had decided not to mention that, and Gabriel had backed his play so far. “But free will is one of the many, many differences between an Angel and a lump of metal.”

  “Angels aren’t actually famed for their free will,” Gabriel noted. “How many will you need? Will the seven of us be enough?”

  “Seven seals is pretty classic,” Magna commented, “even if the seals being living things is a bit of a twist.”

  “We’re not living things,” Gabriel told them gruffly. “We’re undead – literally glorified undead. We were made, and given power, to serve the Brotherhood. We’re supernatural wetware. If we’re needed for this step, then we do it. If you need more components, I’ll see what we can do to get more on board for you.”

  “They need to volunteer,” Galatine insisted stubbornly. “Like we were talking about before, a seal will break – but a living thing, an Angel, will recover. And resist. And…” he hesitated.

  “And be corrupted?” Gabriel asked. “If we’re pinning a dead God to reality like a butterfly, I don’t see how that can’t corrupt us.”

  “Everyone’s acting like I’ve done this before, or there’s some set of notes and equations that I can use to extrapolate what’s going to happen to all the variables,” Galatine complained. “I don’t know what will happen … but I don’t think you’ll be able to remain entirely unchanged. This isn’t something an Angel can do, not as we understand the concept. It’s possible you’ll become some other order of undead in the process.”

  “Demons?” Magna whispered.

  Galatine shook his head. “Not Demons either,” he said. “Demons – forgive me – are just Angels with all the statistics reversed.”

  Gabriel waved this off. “And surrender?” he asked. “Will they – we – this new form of undead have the free will to let the seals fail if it comes to that?”

  “Sort of,” Galatine said, although this too was still almost entirely guesswork. He looked at Tuesday warily, but the Ogre was examining something under his gauntlet’s nonexistent fingernails. “Except part of the starting condition will be a binding oath not to.”

  “An oath?”

  Galatine shrugged. “If the seal was a metal button, I’d layer its internal structure around a recursive power matrix and polarise each node with a sequential…” Gabriel sighed heftily, and Galatine took the hint. “But I can’t do any of that to an Angel.”

  “What can’t you do to an Angel?” Frogsalt appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “Layer our internal structures around a recursive power matrix and turn us into the seven non-Angel, non-Demon seals of the Last Days of Earth?” she smiled around at them brightly, then trotted into the kitchen and wiggled a space for herself at the table using her wings. “I heard everything.”

  “The Last what?” Magna frowned.

  “You know, the old apocalyptic drama based on the Oræl Rides to War epic,” Frogsalt explained. She picked a scrap of meat protein off the side of Magna’s plate and chewed it.

  “Don’t try to make popular culture references to these people,” Gabriel grumbled. “I gave up around the time of Deputy Bamblemore.”

  “Who?” Magna dutifully asked.

  “Actually I’ve heard of the Ride,” Galatine said. “Osrai is a fan.”

  “Still doesn’t explain the seals thing,” Gabriel pointed out.

  “I’ve really only just begun to think about this in any serious way,” Galatine said. “I know I say that about everything, but compared to the seals … the fountains and the guns and the power network are all well in hand. Even the Eden Road. I think as long as we can get the stairs evacuated, and the Godfangs can at least program the relative field, Earth can generate it and the guns venting can power it. With or without any help from … cheesecake,” he added awkwardly. “The same luminal transfer tech we’re planning on using to distribute the fountains to their correct locations can also be set up around an Imperium ring above and its counterpart below Earth, they can get skimmed out of the way, and the field can go right through and Earth can be moved before the rest has a chance to fall. We’ve still got some juggling at that point, with Earth gone and Heaven dropping, not to mention wherever we skimmed the rings to … Lucifer thinks the three Godfangs might be able to just catch Heaven and lower it down and put the two ends of the hub back together like Earth wasn’t even there, if we cut the stair close enough–”

  “So the seals,” Gabriel said patiently, “would be us.”

  “You,” Galatine said. “Yes.”

  “And as seals, we swear a solemn oath not to break,” Frogsalt said with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “The keystone seal will bind the others,” Galatine said, “meaning they sort of don’t have a choice but to not break,” If anyone was going to voluntarily stand at the door to a Lapgod’s prison and hold it closed until He was too weak to escape, he thought, it would be an Archangel.

  “Keystone,” Gabriel seemed, as always, to read Galatine’s thoughts. “That means me or Lucifer. The others might not do it for me, but they’ll do it for her, I think,” he gave Galatine a massive grin. “They’re almost as infatuated as you are.”

  “Aw,” Frogsalt said, and leaned over to nudge Gabriel with a wing. “I’d do it for you, Gabe.”

  “Me too, Turkeyman,” Tuesday rumbled.

  Gabriel laughed.

  “Could you use Ogres?” Magna asked seriously.

  “I don’t think so,” Galatine replied. “Different kind of immortality, very different kinds of minds. Whole different set of conditions.”

  “And will the seven of us be enough?” Frogsalt asked. “Or will you need a trillion Angels of ludicrous size?”

  “No,” Galatine smiled, “seven should work nicely.”

  “It’s right up your alley, Gabe,” Frogsalt said. “Helping humans, getting them out of another mess, holding back the tide so there’s time–”

  “I gave up trying to be clever about the same time I gave up on cultural references,” Gabriel said, his voice abruptly harsh. “Trying to guide things for the greater good. It always goes wrong. Always. I did as I was told after the veil lifted, and it went okay.”

  “This is okay?” Magna asked, gesturing at the world in general.

  “If the Pinians want to do something about it, they know where Earth is,” Gabriel snapped. “Jalah knows where Earth is, if it comes to that. It’s right down the damn stairs. This is what happens when you let humans decide shit for themselves.”

  “Maybe so,” Frogsalt answered, “but you and I, we’re not Firstmades. We’re protectors of the Four Realms. And the fact that God and the Disciples aren’t doing anything right now doesn’t mean they’re not going to. It just means that by the time they step in, it’s going to be a spanking for everyone.”

  “Then let it be a spanking,” the Archangel said wearily. “I just want to retire. Sleep.”

  “Why sleep,” Lucifer appeared in the doorway just as suddenly as Frogsalt had, but didn’t step into the kitchen. She was still speaking Latin, but Galatine thought this was perhaps the first time he
’d heard her respond directly to something said in another language. “Why sleep, when you can die with sword in hand and a shred of anus flap of the nemesis between teeth?”

  “That probably lost a lot in translation,” Frogsalt remarked.

  WAR STORIES

  The humans had gone to war, as they so often had, without really knowing why they were doing it. The soldiers had done what they were told, and the general public had believed what they were fed, and the real agendas of the war puppeteers were at once blatantly obvious and a matter about which nobody, it seemed, could do anything.

  The Last War of Independence was technically between Earth and everywhere else – that was what ‘independence’ was generally understood to mean – but in practice that meant it was between Earth, and the rest of the Four Realms. It wasn’t marketed that way, however, because the idea of war against Heaven was an incredibly difficult one to sell to the sorts of humans the puppeteers needed on-side. Humans, as a whole, remained convinced they were friends with Heaven and that God and the Pinians hadn’t turned their backs in disgust.

  It was the usual issue when humans went to war against ‘outsiders’. They wanted to control the influx of hostile aliens like Damoraks, Deathmites, the Argothmod, all the rest. All the groups that had done such damage to the Four Realms in the past. They didn’t want to stop them all, not at the start. They had noble ideals about there being good in all sentient races, a potential for common cause, a marketplace of ideas that could replace the arena of battle. And they weren’t necessarily wrong about that. That was the tragedy of it all.

  But sooner or later, after the puppeteers had whispered enough and enough atrocities had been committed, it was difficult to see the marketplace through the red haze. And the earnest desire to control the number of alien visitors and residents turned into a blood-flecked monkey hate-scream against anything and everything that wasn’t human.