The Last Guardian of Everness (War of the Dreaming 1)

by Wright, John C.

  The creature was as graceful as a doe, stronger than a steed from Araby, with a coat like snow; and a mane and tail like moonlight; with a single horn, like a spiral rapier, poised upon her brow.

  More leaves died behind her, and their whiteness left the world, and her terrible beauty came into view, for she grew by degrees distinct against the angles and shadows of nude branch and dry twig.

  She stepped closer, her split hooves sending up hovering rustles of red leaves, while those few pale leaves that had not yet lost all their whiteness, lingering in the air, danced slowly down all around her, like a gentle, warm, and scented snow. A sudden wind on high made all the tree crowns bow, making all things invisible within a blizzard of pale white leaves, except her stately shape, her bowed head, stepping nearer.

  The unicorn touched Wendy’s shoulder with her horn, like a queen knighting her champion. Immediately, Wendy’s sorrow fled, and she was filled with a sense of quiet joy and abiding strength. It seemed to her then that whatever power had made this place, if pleased with it, would make it so again, once all the stain had been healed and cleansed away. And that power might be as close as the unicorn had been when all the leaves were blooming, looking on, unnoticed by mortal eyes, though standing in plain view.

  The unicorn laid her head in Wendy’s lap, and the girl petted the gentle beast softly. Then Wendy giggled, “What would Raven say! He’d really take it in the wrong way if he knew you thought I was a virgin.”

  The unicorn raised her noble head, and Wendy was saddened to see two crystal tears falling from the creature’s lavender eyes. “Oh . . . What’s wrong? What’s wrong . . . ?” Part of Wendy’s sorrow was because, having been comforted by the creature, she had no comfort to give in return.

  The unicorn stepped away, arched her lovely neck, pointed with her horn.

  Two trees whose leaves were utterly red now grew blackened and corroded along their trunks, and a hideous stench came forth. From between their rotting trunks there came a man, and deep twilight radiated from his person, for the shadow on the forest came from him. Across his shoulders was a cape made of white fur from winter foxes, and from the center of his helm, a steel spike protruded. His visor was made from the skull of a horse. And his face beneath . . .

  It was the dark-eyed, stern-faced man Wendy had seen in the portrait.

  Through his belt was thrust a spiral horn of silver.

  A faint luminescence clung to the horn, as if it had been taken from a living being only minutes past and had not yet lost its vitality. In one hand, the man held a dripping knife. The blood was rich red, almost purple, and where the drops fell, even if they fell on the corruption radiating from the man’s feet, flowers sprang up.

  The unicorn spoke in a voice like a woodwind. “Why have you slain my mate, the only other of my kind in all the world? We did not kill Adam when he was expelled from the garden, despite that he deserved to die, having eaten the fruit intended for our use alone.”

  The man said, “Unicorns can pass unharmed and living between this world and the next. It is a power I intend mankind to have. I have drained your husband and taken the horn that holds the key to his power.”

  The unicorn lowered her head, her horn gleaming like starlight on snow. “You boast of murder, but behold! The thrones, dominions, and potentates of heaven descend to my defense. Already I can feel my blood transmute to ichor; they have granted me immortality, that my race will not die utterly, though I am its lone subject now. Already they strip your old name from you; the bird which holds it for you will no longer come down to your hand. I name you anew, and call you Azrael, after the Angel of Death.”

  “I glory in this name, white hart’s wife! For I shall be the death of heavenly power and the birth anew of earthly life!” But his eyes were filled with hollow horror, despite the ringing defiance in his words.

  The unicorn backed away, her lioness tail lashing. “If you would wrestle the scepter from the Most High, you shall receive it only as a rod across your back. For all things serve the All-Father, those who rebel as well as those who obey.”

  “I will be satisfied, for now, with the scepter you carry, madam, on your brow.” And he strode forward, knife smoking, drenched red, and the trees and flowers turned black, curled up, and perished where his shadow fell.

  The unicorn turned, looking back over her shoulder. “If you would do battle, behold! The morning star that is the emperor of Night has come down from starry heaven to defend me, brightest prince of the Celestial.” Beams of gold and white and blue pure light came shining through the trees, clear rays twining through the trees like dawn, but as if the sun were walking on feet through the forest, approaching. Music swelled; and that whole side of the forest grew too bright to look upon, even though the bearer of that light was hidden yet from view.

  Onward it came, with a great rushing noise as of an avalanche, or perhaps the rustle of mighty pinions, and the music crashed into a roar of trumpets that shook both earth and sky.

  The unicorn called out, her voice rising like a pealing bell above the din: “Surrender the horn, repent, and save yourself!”

  But Azrael clutched the silver horn at his belt with tightest fist and turned the knife toward the oncoming hurricane of light.

  The unicorn said to Wendy, “Mount upon my back, and I shall return you to the world and aeon right for you, for this is far before your proper time. Cling tight! For I am swift and can outrun the forgetfulness which otherwise would overcome you. You have been shown these things for a purpose. Ready?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  And Wendy dreamed of speed, speed, speed, and she laughed and screamed for joy.

  Her arms around the unicorn’s strong neck, Wendy leaned forward and whispered in her ear as stars and clouds fled by underfoot, “Oh, and please, please, could you let me remember how to fly?” and she buried her face in the unicorn’s sweet-scented mane.

  IV

  The mane seemed to change beneath her hands, becoming the heavy, soft fur of bearskin. The light from the horn dwindled and became a tiny lamp on the mantel. Wendy was lying safely back on the couch, and the dim fire spread ruddy warmth through the darkened room, but a floating sensation seemed to thrill through her body.

  Wendy got up and found the curved metal hook that held the picture to the wall, even though she had searched that place before. But there it was now, glinting in the firelight. Curious, she took up the miniature starlamp, and brought it close; the hook seemed to grow indistinct and hard to see.

  Putting the lamp back, she undid the hook, and the picture swung open on hinges.

  V

  Inside was a small cabinet. On a velvet pillow sat a spiral horn of ivory, tipped with a tiny point of silver.

  Wendy remembered words Galen had told her: “The Unicorn’s horn was fashioned into a Silver Key by the Wisecraft Cadellin. He gave us the Key. The Key can open the gate.”

  She put out her hand and picked it up. It tingled slightly in her fingers.

  “Okay. I’ve got the most powerful magic object in the world. Now what do I do with it?”

  There came a rustling at the windows, and she turned and saw many eyes there, peering in. A throng had gathered outside the windows. Here were sailors in caps, with striped shirts and neckerchiefs, but their eyes were entirely black, like the eyes of beasts; and pressed up against the window- pane, creatures in long black coats with polished buttons, wearing tricorn hats, their faces black with sleek fur, their long whiskers like a cat’s.

  One of them said, “Ahoy there, lass. May we come it?” And he smiled, showing his white and cruelly pointed teeth.

  Wendy shrieked, crying, “No! Stay out!” and pulled the drapes shut with such vehemence that she was turned around and facing into the room.

  Across the room, the stern, dark face in the portrait had turned to look at her.

  “Surrender to me the Clavargent Key,” he said.

  VI

  She pointed the unicorn horn at him. “Stay
out!” she cried. The picture at once grew stiff and immobile, no more than a painting once again, but with the figure’s head cocked at a different angle than it had held for centuries.

  The sight frightened her. A voice from behind the drapes called out softly, “Now, lassie, you don’t mind if we come in? We have a game to show you, and pretty tricks!”

  She snatched up the silver lamp and ran out of the room, her stocking feet slapping stone floor.

  Wendy ran without knowing where she was running. She fled upstairs. A wide balcony overlooked the gardens; here was a giant, stepping over the trees, dressed in a coat of ash, his hair and beard the color of smoke. His face was terrible to look upon; teeth clenched, eyes aflame, deep lines of wrath graven into his cheeks; a face so angry, so wrathful, that it would never know peace again. Even as she looked out, he drew the two torches he wore at his belt and glared at them, and the fire in his gaze lit them both aflame.

  She ran down a corridor. Here were many pictures of hunting scenes. She pointed the unicorn horn at the sphinx that crouched under the shade of a myrtle tree.

  “Where is the country of gold where the talismans are kept?” Wendy demanded.

  The painting turned to look at her: a haunting gaze, a cryptic smile. “You know where it lies and have seen its gates a thousand times.”

  “Thanks! Go back to sleep!” And she ran.

  A nursery rhyme ran through her head as she was running, “Five for silver, six for gold . . .” And she sought out the corridor of the crows.

  Through the windows on her right, she saw torchlight. There, armored knights were riding rotting horses through the arbor, and their swords were dripping blood and pus, and a smell came from them that reminded Wendy of the hospital.

  One of the knights cried out, calling on her not to be so selfish or so proud as to try to hold the House against them alone. She did not answer, but ran on.

  There was an open window right in front of her, and a grinning, whiskered seal face peered in; smiling with sharp teeth, it made an affable gesture with its webbed hand. “Here, me pretty!”

  Wendy shrieked and ran back another way, shouting for Raven.

  She came out upon a balcony overlooking a roof.

  The balcony extended along the south wing up to an open door in the distance through which she saw the tapestries and crows of the corridor she wanted. But she would have to pass along a gallery with nothing between her and the milling army in the courtyard below, not even a window, nothing except a line of posts holding up the overhanging roof.

  A titanic, robed figure stepped over the building into the courtyard, far vaster than the giant of fire, vast as outer space. Her face was like a woman’s face, but made of iron; in her hands was a flail made of shackles and chains. Behind her, wading through the sea, another vast, hooded shape came, holding a lantern of trapped small lights (like the light she had seen once in Galen’s hand) and carrying a great sickle.

  In another step, the dread figure was on the other side of the house.

  Wendy hid the lamp in her pocket and started creeping along the balcony, one cautious step at a time. She held her breath and tiptoed, one step, another. . .

  “Hoy mates, there she be!”

  At once a great clamor arose, shouts and yells and laughter. Wendy broke into a run, screaming Raven’s name. She wondered why none of the monsters in the courtyard shot at her, even though some of the knights had bows, and some of the seals dressed up as pirates had flintlock pistols and muskets.

  She was about halfway along the gallery when the screams and shouts fell hushed. Wendy tried to run faster, but now her stocking feet were hurting on the cold boards, and her breath was coming short.

  In the silence, she heard a sad, pained whinny.

  The Wizard wearing Galen’s body came silently down out of the sky on the back of a winged colt and landed on the roof the balcony overlooked, almost directly between her and her goal. In one hand he held a broomstick for a staff; a sheet of imperial purple swathed his shoulders. On his necklace, he carried amulets of power.

  Wendy skidded to a stop, eyes wide.

  The Wizard dismounted. Wendy saw the dream-colt had been cruelly used, her head tied tightly with black straps, her flanks cut and bleeding from marks of spurs and whip. The colt looked up, and her eyes were the sad, lavender color of the unicorn’s eyes.

  Wendy’s sudden anger and pity for the beast gave her courage.

  She straightened up and drew out her lamp; holding the unicorn horn like a sword, she walked forward, even though her legs were shaking. She walked toward the Wizard.

  The same voice that had spoken from the picture now came from Galen’s mouth. His burning eyes were so magnetic, so penetrating, that Wendy wondered how anyone had been fooled for a moment into thinking this was Galen.

  “Young one, what is in your hand is mine. Do you doubt I have a claim?”

  Wendy, coming closer, saw that he was not standing on the balcony itself, but had his feet still on the rooftop next to it. She would have to walk by him to get to the door, but he was not actually blocking her path.

  “You have no claim!” Wendy said. “Get lost!”

  “You don’t mind, at least, if we discuss the matter? You surely wish to learn where your young husband is?” And he started to step forward between the posts.

  “No!” she cried. “We have nothing to discuss! I don’t want to talk to you!”

  He drew his foot back casually, but Wendy saw it tremble as if it had been stung, and she laughed.

  And she walked by him, so close he could have reached out and touched her, but he did not. Her footsteps shook at first, then grew more firm, and she walked right past him.

  Now he started walking along the roof, an arm’s length away from her, even with her steps. He could have reached out and grabbed her shoulder, but he did not.

  “I bring you a gift. . .”

  “Don’t want it!”

  “You have entered my house without permission . . .”

  “Have not! It’s not yours anymore!”

  “I will depart, young miss, if you apologize, at least, for . . .”

  She turned on him, eyes blazing, and said, “The bird which holds your name will not come to your hand again when you call!”

  A look of grief and horror twisted his face, and he actually staggered back, dropping the broomstick, one hand clutching his stomach, one hand touching his face.

  Wendy ran to the door, but she heard the noise of a dry sob behind her. At the door she turned.

  Azrael stood only a few feet away, straightening up again, a look of cold pride smothering whatever moment of remorse had stung him. In a cruel and kingly voice, he cried out, “All I have done is for the betterment of mankind! I defy the gods and curse them! Their spirits and angels shall be the slaves of men as we were once their slaves!”

  Wendy said back, “I know men like you! I’ll bet you did it for no one but yourself!”

  “A wager! I accept it. I shall collect at a time and fashion of my own choosing, as the world shall witness.” And he stepped onto the balcony, reached out toward her with one hand, the other touching his necklace.

  The colt behind him spoke in a voice like a woman’s voice: “Deny him the threshold of the door.”

  And Wendy skipped back into the open doors. “I declare the balcony is outside the house! You can’t come over this threshold here, or any other door or window or chimney or opening into the house!”

  The colt said, “Call upon the spirits of the world to witness.”

  Azrael grabbed his necklace. “Euryale, be silent, I compel you by the ancient names that bind you.”

  Wendy said, “Spirits of the world, witness this: the one the Unicorn named Azrael can’t come into the house, or send anything! Not at any time, nor by any means!”

  Azrael said, “By what authority do you speak?” He stepped up to the door, but did not step in.

  Behind him, the colt shook her head vigorously.<
br />
  “I don’t have to answer you!” Wendy said, stamping her foot.

  Azrael smiled cruelly. “Perhaps not. But I have servants from the waking world, men not bound by laws of magic. They are even now upon you. Listen.”

  Downstairs somewhere and far away, she heard booted feet kicking open a door, and shouts. “Open up! Federal agents! Everyone here is under arrest! Fan out! Secure the area! The subjects are armed and dangerous, so shoot on sight!”

  A second voice, farther away, but still clear: “Follow them. We get the things, we get the cash. Let the cops go first and get shot. We’re just here to party. Kill the men, rape the women.”

  From another part of the house came the sound of breaking glass, and strange voices, slurred and intoxicated, lifted in song, and, with them, a third voice: “Forward, children, for the Dark Messiah commands! Hallelu- jah!”The house echoed with shouts.

  “I will protect you from them. And I will safely find and restore to you your missing husband,” said Azrael, eyes glittering. And he extended his hand.

  “Yield unto me the Silver Key.”

  “Never!” she cried, and fled away down the corridor.

  18

  Battle Before

  the

  High House

  I

  It was still dark, though pink clouds foretold dawn. Raven and Peter were on the main drive leading to the house, rows of trees, whispering in the night wind, to either side. In the distance, the High House rose.

  There were fires about the house; someone had laid torch to the arbors. Boiling black smoke rushed up from the garden walls, and leaping flames were spreading to the south wing.

  Here, the grass was bare of snow, as if it had only snowed near where the frost-giant walked. Raven crouched on the grass, Peter’s flashlight in hand. He pointed.

  “Three groups of men, coming here. First group wears boots and march; second group wears expensive sneakers, and they saunter and swagger like frightened men trying to look grand; third group are mixture of men and women, wearing long robes that brush the ground, and their leader wears slippers. He is older; bad feet. Third group walks slowly in a line. Some of them are swaying as they walk.”