The Dying of the Light

by Derek Landy

  Valkyrie froze, horrified beyond measure.

  Dai drove a kick into her stomach so hard it launched her back off her feet. She hit the wall and bounced off, falling to her hands and knees and then curling into a ball. That dreadful panic seized her, the terror that comes with not being able to draw breath.

  She forced open her eyes, manoeuvred her seized-up body around enough to see out of the front door, to where Dai was opening her mother’s car. Moving with a calmness born of unnerving, unnatural confidence, Dai put Alice in the baby seat, and set about strapping her in.

  Gritting her teeth, Valkyrie made her body straighten. Her muscles screamed at her, begging to contract, but she straightened her spine, arched her back, managed to suck in a sliver of air. Feeling sick, feeling weak, winded, terrified and desperate, she rolled over, pushed herself up, the poker still in her hand.

  Satisfied that Alice was secure, Dai closed the door gently so as not to wake her, and put the bag containing the Sceptre on the passenger seat. He walked round the car, and when he was at the closest point to the house, Valkyrie ran at him. He saw her at the last moment, ducked the poker, but she kept coming, ramming her shoulder into his sternum. He fell back on to the bonnet and Valkyrie swung back towards his head. He rolled off the car, the poker striking the windscreen, cracking it, and he grabbed her wrist. Valkyrie let go of the weapon, jabbed her free hand at his eyes. Dai cursed, released her, stumbled away, trying to clear his vision.

  She tore the sash from her dressing gown, looped it over his head from behind, and tightened. Dai gagged, fingers digging into his own neck as he tried to loosen the stranglehold. Valkyrie pulled him backwards, tightening the loop with vicious tugs. His heels kicked, pulverising the flower bed. Then he got his legs beneath him and he powered backwards, the back of his head crashing into Valkyrie’s face.

  They both went down, the sash lost amid the mad scramble. Her face stung with that numb feeling just before the pain kicks in. She felt his hands on her, pulling her up. She slipped out of her sleeves, leaving him holding her dressing gown. She spun, her hands latching on to the back of his neck, and she jumped, driving a knee into his solar plexus. She held on, kept throwing knees, just like Tanith had taught her, never letting up, never giving him a moment to counter.

  She touched down with her right foot and her ankle gave, and in that moment Dai moved. His left arm snaked over her shoulder, his hand clutching her back, and his right shot down and under her legs, all the way under, his hand grabbing the back of her shorts. Suddenly Valkyrie was being lifted and turned, and she clutched at him, but there was nothing she could do to stop him from tipping forward.

  They hit the driveway, Dai on top, and for the second time in less than a minute, her breath left her. She lay there, groaning, eyes open and blinking. Dai looked at her, the black veins running beneath his skin.

  “Nice try,” he said, and stood, brushed himself down. Valkyrie grabbed weakly at his ankle. He looked down at her hand, and slowly raised his foot. She lost her grip and her hand fell to the ground. He gave her a little smile, and stomped.

  Valkyrie sat up, screaming, clutching her broken fingers to her chest, and Dai walked back to the car, got in behind the wheel, and reversed out of the driveway. Her screams had turned to sobs by the time he drove away.

  63

  THE CITY BELOW

  he search for the Necropolis took them to Scotland.

  Fletcher’s feet were sore. The night had been cold and he’d lagged behind Skulduggery and Wreath, finally giving up altogether and sitting down. He left the searching to the experts, and as long as he could keep them in sight, he could teleport to their side whenever they needed him.

  Because of this he only heard snippets of the conversation. At first, silence had reigned. He knew the two men had never liked each other, and so he’d expected this. But gradually a conversation had sparked up, and he caught a few barbed comments every time he was close enough to listen in. They mentioned Wyoming once or twice, and the war – the old war, with Mevolent.

  Fletcher left them to their argument. When he was hungry, he teleported off to grab something nice to eat. When he needed a warmer jacket, he teleported away to get it. When he needed to use the bathroom, he teleported to an annoying celebrity’s house, and didn’t bother flushing. But he spent most of his time not thinking about Stephanie.

  When the sun came up all Fletcher wanted to do was sleep. He sat with his back against a tree and dozed until his phone rang.

  “We’ve found it,” Skulduggery said.

  Fletcher stood. It was a cold day and the seat of his jeans was damp. He looked around, saw nothing but trees and rocks and sky.

  “Turn south,” said Skulduggery. Fletcher turned. “That’s east. OK, that’s north. There you go. See us?”

  In the distance, Fletcher saw a burst of fire. He put away his phone and teleported over to Skulduggery’s side. Wreath was standing at a doorway cut into a rock wall. Skulduggery still had his phone in his hand, and when he moved closer to the doorway, the screen blanked.

  Skulduggery examined it. “A dead zone,” he murmured. “Fletcher, stay close. We won’t be able to use these.”

  Fletcher nodded.

  The steps were black marble. Wreath led the way down, and Fletcher stayed beside Skulduggery. It was cold, and getting colder. Dark, and getting darker. Flames sputtered in the iron brackets that were hammered into the walls. The space was tight, and the ceiling sloped with them. Nobody spoke. Their feet echoed.

  They kept going down. Once more, the cold got colder. Once more, the dark got darker.

  And then the ceiling came to a sudden end and their surroundings opened to a vast city of concrete with a rock sky and a thousand glowing orbs of light. Fletcher stopped, frozen in an unexpected moment of awe. The buildings, featureless save for the narrow rectangular windows, formed a maze of right angles. The streets were narrow – made for people, not carriages. To set foot in this city was to be lost – Fletcher somehow knew this.

  “We can go no further,” said Wreath. “The living cannot cross into the Necropolis. Only the dead may go.”

  “Don’t suppose you’ve got a map handy?” Skulduggery asked.

  Wreath smiled. “Sadly, I do not. We’ll be watching, though. There’s a balcony in the rock wall that gives us a panoramic view of the place. We can shout out directions from there, if you’d like.”

  “Wonderful. So what can I expect?”

  “In order to activate the sigil, you’ll need to get to the square in the exact centre of the city. On your way you’ll be faced with two challenges. I don’t know what they are and I don’t know how to beat them. Once you get past them, you’ll face the Guardian in the final challenge. I’m assuming that one’s a brawl, which should make you happy. I know how you like to hit things.”

  “One of my hobbies,” Skulduggery murmured.

  Skulduggery continued on, while Fletcher followed Wreath to a hidden staircase that led up to a long room with an open balcony. Fletcher hurried over, stood with his hands on the cold stone, looking down at the city. He saw Skulduggery almost immediately, a lone figure moving in the stillness. More than that, though, he heard him. He heard every footstep. Somehow the acoustics of this huge chamber fed the sounds from the city up into the balcony.

  Wreath reached out, and Fletcher realised there was glass in front of him. At least, he thought it was glass. A few swipes of Wreath’s hand and their view of Skulduggery was magnified.

  “That’s pretty cool,” Fletcher said.

  “Indeed it is,” said Wreath.

  They followed Skulduggery’s progress for ten minutes. Shouted directions were not needed, as it turned out. Skulduggery was reading the air, somehow divining what path came to a dead end and what led on.

  Then there was movement, and a shape emerged from the shadows.

  “Who goes there?” the shape asked. The voice was male. Scottish. The viewing window showed a person in a black robe, wearing a
porcelain mask.

  Skulduggery stopped and observed the shape. “My name is Skulduggery Pleasant. I’m here to activate the Meryyn sigil. Do you mean to stop me?”

  “No,” said the shape, and Fletcher realised that it wasn’t a mask he wore, but his actual face – porcelain and delicate and astonishingly creepy. “I am the Inquisitor. I mean only to test you. Whether or not I have to stop you will depend on the outcome.”

  “What’s the test?”

  “A simple one. A test of purity. You have no skin, I see. Nor blood nor organ.”

  “Correct.”

  “A curious creature. I know of some who would very much like to examine one such as you. Would you be willing to be examined?”

  “Probably not.”

  “A pity,” said the Inquisitor. “If you agreed to be examined, I could let you pass. I would deem that a worthy enough compromise.”

  “I’m not here to compromise,” said Skulduggery. “I’m here to take the test and activate the sigil.”

  “But the route I offer you is easier. All it would require is your consent to be examined. I assure you, it would take no longer than the life of a day.”

  “I said no.”

  The Inquisitor was silent for a moment. “I know of some who know you, skeleton. They whisper in my ear even now. They know the things you have done. They know of the things done to you. They know of your wife and child.”

  Now it was Skulduggery’s turn to pause. “What does any of this have to do with the test?”

  “Your wife and child,” said the Inquisitor, “murdered in front of you by a man whom you later turned to dust. They died screaming. They died begging you to save them. Your existence from that point on has been defined by that moment.”

  “If you’re trying to provoke me, it won’t work,” Skulduggery said.

  “These are not my words,” said the Inquisitor. “These are the words being whispered into my ear.”

  “Who’s doing the whispering?”

  Now there was amusement in the Inquisitor’s voice. “Ones who know you. Ones who are aware of you. Ones you would not wish to be aware of you.”

  “Any of them got such a thing as a name?”

  “You and your kind rely so much on names,” said the Inquisitor. “But there are those who do not.”

  “Fantastic,” Skulduggery said. “Can we please get to the point before—”

  “Your wife and child,” said the Inquisitor.

  Skulduggery stopped. “What?”

  “They whisper to me also. They are here, in this city. Waiting for you.”

  “They’re dead.”

  “And is this not the City of the Dead?”

  “They’ve been dead hundreds of years,” said Skulduggery. “They’re gone. They’re not here. No part of them is here. You’re lying. Why?”

  “If you believe that I am lying, you can pass on and I will not stop you.”

  “What about the test?”

  “This is the test.”

  Skulduggery didn’t move for a few seconds. Fletcher glanced at Wreath. The Necromancer had a slight frown on his face.

  Skulduggery walked by the Inquisitor, and the Inquisitor stepped into the shadows and vanished.

  “That was easy,” said Fletcher.

  “So it would seem,” said Wreath.

  Fletcher frowned. “It was too easy, wasn’t it?”

  Wreath nodded. “So it would seem.”

  64

  CHASING ALICE

  alkyrie’s mum helped her dress.

  “Get Fletcher,” her dad said, his eyes frantic. “He appears and disappears, doesn’t he? He’ll take us right to Alice.”

  “Fletch teleports to places, not to people,” Valkyrie said while her mum guided her right foot into its boot. Her ankle was sore, but at least she could walk on it. The rest of her ached. Her ribs, her face, her jaw. Her left hand was already swelling up to twice its normal size. The pain would have been excruciating were it not for the leaves she chewed.

  Her mother pulled the cuffs of Valkyrie’s trousers down over her boots, and Valkyrie stood up from the bed. Hissing, she slipped her left arm through the sleeve of her jacket, and her mum helped her with the right, then zipped her up.

  “We’re coming with you,” her mum said. She’d been quiet since Valkyrie had stumbled back into the house. Now Valkyrie knew why.

  “No,” Valkyrie said, limping out of the room. “This is dangerous. You have to stay here.”

  “Alice is our daughter and we’re coming with you,” her mum said.

  Valkyrie got to the bathroom, grabbed a wet cloth and cleaned the blood from her face. Wiped her eyes, too. “Dai will kill you.”

  “I thought Dai was one of the good guys,” said her dad.

  “He is,” said Valkyrie. “He’s got a Remnant inside him. He isn’t himself.” She dropped the cloth, turned to them. “Dad, please say you understand why neither of you can come. I’m going after Alice. I know this world and I know these people and I’m used to things like this.”

  “We’re wasting time,” said her mum.

  Valkyrie looked at her parents, realised there was no way she was going to win this argument, and her mother was right. Dai already had a five-minute head start on them.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’m driving.”

  “I’m driving,” her dad corrected, already heading downstairs. “You’re injured and your car is slow and you’re not a very good driver.”

  Valkyrie limped quickly after him. “I’m a very good driver.”

  He grabbed his keys from the hall table and stood at the door impatiently. “Not at the speed we’re going to be travelling at.”

  There were two roads out of Haggard – one going south, one going north. They took the one going south, and the old familiar countryside whipped by at a worrying rate. Going over the slight hills, the car actually left the road a few times, sending a wave of weightlessness churning through Valkyrie’s belly. Melissa Edgley, in the passenger seat, held on tight, but didn’t caution her husband to slow down.

  Valkyrie’s dad swerved round a tractor on a tight bend. Not even that elicited a complaint. Valkyrie realised her parents had become missiles, locked on to their target, unmindful of anything else.

  For a curious moment she felt like she was a kid again, strapped into the back seat of the car while she took a drive with her folks. Maybe they were going to the cinema, or the zoo, or maybe to her uncle’s house. Wherever they were going she was safe, because she was with her mum and dad, and nothing bad ever happened when she was with her mum and dad.

  The pain from her hand brought her back to the present. Her fingers were now a deep, ugly purple that ran past her knuckles to the back of her hand. She could move her thumb, and her pinkie, but the others were useless. Every time the car took a turn, every time Valkyrie swayed in her seat, the pain stabbed at her despite the leaves that had left their usual bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

  “Where do we go?” her dad asked, his voice tight.

  Valkyrie looked up. Around the next few bends there was a straight stretch of road, and at the end of that was a junction. They could go right, towards Balbriggan, or straight, into Lusk, or left, towards Dublin.

  “Left,” she said.

  “Where’s he taking her?” her mum asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

  “Thurles,” Valkyrie said. “That’s where the other Remnants are. There’s where Dexter Vex is.” She didn’t say why they wanted her baby sister. She didn’t mention the Sceptre or the fact that in order for Vex to be able to use the Sceptre, he’d have to kill Alice. “She’ll be fine,” she said instead. “Dexter won’t hurt her. He’ll just use her to lure me in.”

  They got to the straight stretch of road. There was a line of slow-moving cars ahead of them, puttering lazily along. Valkyrie’s dad beeped his horn and flashed his lights at oncoming traffic, warning them that he was about to do something stupid. Then he swerved into the middle of the road, o
vertaking everything in his path while other cars turned sharply to avoid a collision. He clipped a wing mirror and got a blast of a horn in response, but they’d already reached the junction. The car drifted a little as it made the turn.

  Valkyrie’s phone was in her left pocket. She reached across with her good hand, lifting her hips to allow her fingers access. She lost her grip, tried again, managed to pull it out slightly, like a turtle emerging from its shell. She lifted her hips again, got a firmer grip, pulled it out. Immediately, she dialled Skulduggery’s number.

  It went straight to voicemail. As she feared it would.

  “Skulduggery’s not answering,” she said.

  “You’ve got other friends,” said Melissa. “Call them. Call the girl with the sword. Call all the magic people.”

  She couldn’t. If it got out, that Alice was bonded to the Sceptre and the Sceptre was up for grabs, then her sister would never be safe again.

  “Roarhaven’s in lockdown,” she said. “No calls in or out. But I don’t need them. I can get Alice back myself.”

  “With our help,” her dad said.

  Valkyrie said nothing.

  The day was pulling the brightness from the sky and by the time they reached Thurles it was beginning to get legitimately dark. The streets were quiet. Empty. No cars passed them. No one was out walking.

  Valkyrie’s dad slowed their car to a crawl. “I don’t like this,” he said. “It feels like a trap.”

  “How would you know what a trap feels like?” her mum said.

  “I just know. Steph?”

  Valkyrie nodded. “It feels like a trap. Pull over somewhere. I’ll look around and come back.”

  “No chance,” her mum said, turning in her seat. “We all go.”

  “And what will you do if there’s trouble? These people will be trying to kill us.”

  “Then I’ll fight,” said her mum. “Anyone comes after me, I’ll kick them between the legs.”