by J. F. Penn
Sienna quickly looked around for anything she could use to slow the disease. She pulled a shirt from one of the bodies and tied it as tight as she could around Xander’s arm above the spreading black. Maybe the tourniquet would slow the movement of poison.
She thought about doing the same to Asada but he growled softly as he sank his huge head onto his paws, nuzzling against Xander. The lion might be an extension of Xander somehow, but he was still a wild animal. She needed to get them both out of here.
Sienna picked up the remaining sack and gingerly pushed the mewling rat into it, avoiding the jaws with those lethal teeth. She gathered up the other bag with its gruesome contents then pulled the ritual knife from inside her jacket. She nicked the side of her palm and as her blood dripped on the floor, mingling with Asada’s, she hesitated.
She could take Xander and Asada straight back to the Ministry. He would have a chance at surviving and the Borderlanders would not have the plague.
But then she thought of Mila and Perry — and Finn. Their survival depended on her returning with the samples.
She sighed. Who’s to say what the Ministry would do with the plague anyway? Since discovering the Mapwalkers, she had been torn as to who was right about the border, whose side she should fight on, or whether there could be any resolution to the question of who the land belonged to. Would those on Earthside be any better if they were handed this biological weapon?
She trusted her friends and together, they would figure out the next step.
Sienna drew a map with the scarlet drops, a map of a refugee camp with a grand tent at its center marked with the head of a wolf. She closed her eyes and traveled through.
When the smell of woodsmoke overpowered the stench of the bloated dead, Sienna opened her eyes. Xander and Asada lay before her, both unconscious, the two sacks by her side, one moving as the dying rat shifted inside.
Sir Douglas stood over her with a triumphant smile. He clicked his fingers at the guards on the door. “Bring the stretchers. We need to transport them to the pens.”
His words echoed through Sienna’s mind as she struggled to get her bearings. She was still woozy from traveling so fast, carrying the weight of the sick and the dying, the heavy load of the plague virus dragging her down in some unknown way. She couldn’t stand up, she could barely breathe properly.
Sir Douglas ignored her as he opened the two sacks, his smile widening at what lay within.
The Warlord, Kosai, peered in at the rat, his nose wrinkling at the smell. “I’m getting my men out of here before you release those creatures into the camp.”
Sir Douglas nodded. “Go now, take your best soldiers and start incursions into Earthside. Be ready when I open the gates fully.” He laughed and shook his head. “They won’t know what’s coming until it’s too late.”
Sienna thought of her father and Bridget back in Bath. She needed to warn them of what was coming but she could barely move, let alone get herself and the others out of there. Her limbs felt weighed down as if she was smothered under a thick blanket and she could almost feel the spread of shadow in her veins.
A group of soldiers stepped into the tent and bundled them all onto stretchers, tying them down with strips of cloth. Xander and Asada didn’t surface from oblivion as they were manhandled. Sienna tried to resist, but she was helpless against the strength of the men. She gave up, pretending to be woozy even as she began to feel her mind return to its former sharpness. Where were Mila, Perry and Finn?
* * *
The soldiers carried the stretchers double time back down the causeway toward a row of tents at the bottom of the hill nearer the river. As they approached, the stink of animal bodies grew stronger and Sienna heard the sound of squeaking — just like the plague island.
More rats. And they sounded hungry.
The soldiers carried the stretchers inside one of the biggest tents and laid them down on a dais in the middle of a series of pens each containing hundreds of rats trapped in wooden crates. Sienna tried to calculate how many there were in the tent and then multiplied it by the other similar tents nearby. There must be tens of thousands of the creatures. But how would they all be infected?
Sir Douglas stalked into the tent, his presence even more spectral than it had been before. A young woman with short silver hair skipped along by his side, her face angelic but something about her made Sienna’s skin crawl and her blood turn to ice. She feigned exhaustion, relaxing her body as if still semi-conscious even as she wanted to cry out in fear.
They approached the dais and the young woman ran to Asada, her slender fingers stroking the lion’s fur. She bit her lip and clenched her fists with excitement. “This one first.”
Sir Douglas nodded. “Of course, Elf.” He waved across the sea of rats. “You know what to do.”
The girl placed her hand on the lion’s flank and stretched out the other over the first pen of rodents. Her body tensed and then an almost ecstatic look came over her face, as if she was touched by some unseen force. The rats squeaked wildly as Asada’s body began to wither, his muscles dissolving under his tawny skin. Xander moaned and writhed on his stretcher, still unconscious but deeply connected to his lion through the magic that bound them together.
“No!” Sienna couldn’t help herself. “Stop it. You’re killing him.”
Elf looked down at her with eyes like a pool of ice. There was no regard for life in those depths, no love for her fellow creatures, just pure joy at the thrill of power that ran through her veins.
Sienna knew then that she had tasted a glimmer of that joy when she traveled and if she gave in to it, she would be like Elf, a creature completely of the shadow.
Asada’s body deflated, a bag of skin with dead bone inside, his life force and the plague that infected him now within the rats in the pen before them.
Sir Douglas gestured to a group of soldiers. “Take those crates to the other camps at the far gates and release them there. Be ready for the Warlord’s signal.”
The soldiers raced forward, lifted the crates and headed out the door. Sienna watched them go, dread rising within her at what they planned.
Elf walked to Xander’s side and looked down on the young man. She stroked the hair from his pale face, sweating now as the black nodules of plague covered both arms and rose up his neck. “He must have been beautiful once,” she whispered.
“Please, help him,” Sienna sobbed.
Elf placed her hand on Xander’s chest and stretched out the other over the next pen of rats. Her body tensed again as dark power surged through her. Xander convulsed under her touch, his body withering as the life was sucked from him.
Sienna wept for her friend’s passing.
It was only a matter of minutes to reduce another life to dust and Elf seemed to grow in stature as she radiated the plague out to the rats gathered below. Another phalanx of soldiers picked up the next set of crates and ran with them into the night.
Then Elf turned to look at Sienna, her eyes alive with blue fire as she assessed her next victim.
22
Sir Douglas stepped in front of Sienna, arms stretched wide to protect his possession. “Not this one. She’s a Blood Mapwalker and she’s not infected anyway.” He gestured at the sacks. “There are diseased remains in there. Use those for the rest.”
Elf stared back, challenging him, raising her hands as if she would use them against even her own. Sienna recognized that she was on the edge of her control and yet her power was barely yet grown. It was terrifying in one so young. If these were the children of the Shadow Cartographers, the future would bring far more terrors than the Ministry realized.
If there was a future after the plague of rats had stormed the gates into Earthside, of course.
Sir Douglas opened his palm and curled a pillar of flame into the air, spinning it into shapes of sharp-toothed rodents feeding on bloated corpses. Elf smiled at the fiery tableau and took a step back, acknowledging his superior power — at least for now. He had
some kind of hold over her, Sienna realized, and as she looked closer, she saw a faint resemblance between them. The patrician nose, even the arrogant stance. Could Elf be Sir Douglas’s daughter — and Perry’s sister?
Perry watched in horror as a boiling mass of rats streamed out of white tents at the bottom of the hill. From their vantage point high on the hill, he could see the bristly bodies writhing as they fought to find a way out of the pack and into the wider camp. The high-pitched squeaking was soon drowned out by the sound of screams.
The sound of drums beating suddenly echoed across the camp, slow at first but with a rising tempo.
“My father’s war drums,” Finn said, looking out to the source of the sound. “They must be about to open the gate and let those people through along with the plague. We have to stop them.”
Mila pointed at the soldiers herding people forward. “There are too many, and you said there were other gates, too.” She shook her head. “We have to find Sienna. We have to get back to Earthside and close the gates from the inside.”
In the tent of rats, Sir Douglas untied Sienna from the stretcher and pulled her to her feet. “Don’t fight me now,” he whispered. “Leave Elf to her magic before she turns it on you.”
Sienna nodded her agreement but he did not let her wrist go as they walked to the door, his bony fingers tight and cold against her skin. With every step, Sienna expected the sudden wrench of magic draining her life energy but it never came and when they stepped out into the night air, she found herself almost breathless with relief.
Then the sound of squealing rats and crying children surrounded her, the shouts of people trying to fight the creatures and the screams of those bitten and infected.
“How can you do this?” Sienna whispered. “These people came to you for help.”
Sir Douglas dragged her up the hill back to the main tent, his hand like a vise around her wrist. “These are your people, not mine. Their fate is the fault of Earthside and their death will be the instrument of justice.”
They reached the tent, guarded by two soldiers who held their ground even as mayhem broke out around them. Their eyes were wide with fear but they stood to attention as Sir Douglas approached. He pushed Sienna forward and followed her in.
“There is one more thing I must do tonight. You’ll stay here for now, but after this is over, you’ll return with me to the tower in the Castle of the Shadow.”
Sienna gasped as the vision of the turrets came to her mind, the place that called to her when she traveled. It promised dark joy, a sense of purpose, a future where she could live within her magic.
But that was also the training ground for Elf and those of her kind.
Sienna shook her head. “Never.”
Sir Douglas smiled and opened his palm. This time, instead of flame, he conjured a ball of shadow, its surface like the shimmering waters of a deep pool. There were creatures inside, flying through the pearly depths with wings of gossamer.
“You’ll change your mind once you see the possibilities.” Sir Douglas let the ball go and it floated toward Sienna. She reached out a hand in wonder to touch it and as she did, the orb turned ashen and grew bigger until it surrounded her with a bubble of silver shadow.
She fought its power but her shouts were like those in a tomb, echoing back to her, bouncing off the walls of her shadow prison. She couldn’t hear the screams of the infected now, she could only hear her own heartbeat. The creatures flying in the clouds drew closer until she could see their teeth and feel their claws. Sienna fell to the ground, hands wrapped around her head as they attacked.
Sir Douglas watched Sienna curl up within her shadowed cocoon. The creatures were all in her mind, but the torture would keep her occupied while he completed his own mission.
This was the last time he would have to cross over, the Shadow had promised him that, but it was critical to the success of the plan. He sighed. The mission was dangerous and somewhere deep inside, the part of him that was still a man wondered if it was the right choice. Then the Shadow rose within him, darkness suffusing his blood. He gasped as a thousand thousand pinpricks of shade pierced his heart, shuddering as the ecstasy of pain and pleasure possessed him.
As the convulsions passed, Sir Douglas strode out of the tent toward the gate, his eyes dark with shadow, his skin more shade than flesh. It was time for the reckoning.
Deep within the Ministry of Maps below Bath Abbey, the Illuminated Cartographer sensed the borders shift, then he heard the blaring alarm that warned of a breach. The sounds of the Mapwalker team running for the War Room echoed through the corridors beyond, a flurry of activity that seemed ever more frequent these days.
He stirred in his nest of maps, the rustling around him intensified by his movement. His own heartbeat pulsed ink through the living borders, but he was old and it was weaker now, the ink thinner in his veins, the magic diminished by his own fragility.
The library was bright with rays from the moon. Even though it was deep beneath the earth, a series of mirrors reflected light down into the darkest corners. A sheen of pale blue spread across the piles of maps, some rolled and stacked, others spilling over buried furniture. It smelled of rosewater, spice and incense, reminiscent of the souk in Istanbul where cultures crossed in an ever-moving melting pot. This was his home. Once upon a time, he had known where to find every map, he could summon the details of each drawing, each line, but now memory slipped away like the moonlight shifting with every passing minute.
The sound of shouting came from the corridors beyond, the clash of steel, a moan of pain. Then footsteps coming to his door.
The Illuminated Cartographer shifted his great bulk behind one of the giant bookcases, pulling the maps about him, their spiraling mass keeping him hidden in a pile of contours and symbols of the land.
The door burst open.
Two huge Feral Borderlanders stalked in, faces marked by the half-moon, sharp swords clenched in meaty fists. They stood either side of the door as Sir Douglas Mercator walked through, his aristocratic features more wolf-like than human now, his skin etched with shadow, his eyes as dark as the void.
The Illuminated Cartographer gathered his maps closer still, winding them about his body, protecting his heart with their pages. They would protect him for a while, but even as death stalked him in this realm, he could feel every hammering blow against the many gates of the border. His weakness was more than physical now and it threatened all of Earthside.
“It’s time,” Sir Douglas said softly, his voice as cold and sharp as a blade. “You have sought peace all these years and now I will give it to you. But no one said peace would be on your terms.” He raised his arms and opened his hands, conjuring balls of fire. The heat of the center burned blue surrounded by a penumbra of bright orange, its edges the scarlet red of blood.
The Illuminated Cartographer shrank back from the flame, every fiber of his entwined being recoiling from the element of destruction.
“You can’t burn this place,” the Illuminated Cartographer called out. “It’s the beating heart of the maps. The borders will crumble if they are all destroyed. The ancient magic will dissolve and there will be nothing holding the two worlds apart.”
“Exactly.” Sir Douglas hurled the balls of flame into the thickest part of the pile of maps. The dry paper caught and the fire spread quickly even as Sir Douglas cast more heat into the blaze, his face alive with power.
Agony seared through the Illuminated Cartographer as he reeled back from the burning bookcase, pain suffusing his body even as the fire devoured the maps, each page like a piece of his own flesh. He wept for the destruction in the library even as he desperately tried to keep the border intact between the worlds.
One of the bookcases crashed to the floor, sending up a plume of sparks before spreading the fire further into the library. Sir Douglas laughed with the mania of destruction as he burned the ancient maps, pieces of ash rising in the updraft, whirling in the flame.
The Illumin
ated Cartographer crawled deeper into his warren of burning paper, coughing and retching as he struggled to breathe. He didn’t have much time. He could sense the holes in the borders widening, the gates pushed open, every second weakening what remained of the ancient magic.
It was almost too late.
23
The sound of fighting came from the corridor beyond and this time, gunshots. As the two Feral Borderlanders ran out of the room, Sir Douglas lowered his hands.
“Give up now and I’ll spare this city the worst of the plague.”
The Illuminated Cartographer remained silent as he gathered the last of his strength, tugging on ancient pathways that wound through the maps and into his veins. He pulled the vellum closer, huddling deeper inside layers of projection and elevation. Smoke enveloped the library now, the smell of burning like a pyre of the damned.
In the corner, a painted celestial globe mounted on wooden legs sat just out of reach of the fire, behind the line of Sir Douglas’s sight. The Illuminated Cartographer sent his magic out through the tangle of maps, reaching crumpled paper tendrils out to grasp and wrap around the legs.
Sir Douglas raised his hands again. “So be it.” He unleashed a hail of fire that swept over the remaining maps, his face transformed by the leaping flames.
As the lick of extreme heat reached the Illuminated Cartographer, he curled his hands and lifted the globe with the edges of his magic, wielding it as a giant club to beat at his enemy.
Sir Douglas fell to the floor under the weight of the globe, his fire extinguished as he smashed his head on the ground.
He rolled free, dark blood dripping from his forehead, face distorted by fury. He kicked the globe away and directed his stream of flame at what remained of the twisted paper.
