by Edward Cox
Uncertain again, Marca glanced at Hillem, but the young Aelf was back to staring at the wolf while digging wax out of his pointed ear with a finger.
‘You’d better start showing me respect,’ Marca said to the humans. ‘My superiors are a long way away from Sunflower. We’re all alone out here.’
‘That’s not true,’ Samuel told Van Bam. ‘His superiors are through one of the portals we saw on the islands outside. It’d take him half an hour, tops, to go and fetch someone.’
‘Is that right?’ Van Bam said levelly.
Marca gritted his teeth. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I’ve been here before, Marca,’ Samuel replied. ‘And I know a bloody liar when I see one.’
The supervisor’s face turned red. He drew himself up and pointed a finger. ‘Now you just listen to me,’ he said. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll start cooperating. I carry all kinds of authority, and not just in Sunflower. I have friends in the Panopticon of Houses, you know.’ He said it like it was the ultimate threat.
‘You are right, Samuel – he is a liar,’ said Van Bam with a tired air. ‘I have no idea what this Panopticon of Houses is, but this Aelf is no one of great importance. He is looking to use our capture as a means to gain himself a little glory. I rather think this conversation is over.’
Samuel scoffed. ‘Did it ever begin?’
‘Shut your mouths!’ Marca was shouting now, and Hillem finally took notice, flinching and dragging his eyes away from Clara. ‘No one gets in or out of the Labyrinth – that’s the Timewatcher’s law! You’d better start talking or things will get very uncomfortable for you.’
Van Bam sighed. ‘You may leave now, Supervisor. And please do not come back unless you are bringing real authority with you.’
‘Oh, I’ll leave all right,’ Marca shot back, ‘but not because of your say so.’ He gestured to Hillem with his head, and together they headed for the door. ‘You’ve broken some big laws, human – you, your friend, and your wolf. And when I come back, you’ll be lucky if it’s not with an order for your deaths.’
As Marca shoved Hillem out of the room, he smacked a wall switch to extinguish the ceiling prism, plunging the room into darkness. He slammed the door behind him. The lock clicked.
What an imperious little bastard, Gideon said in the sudden silence.
Van Bam looked at Samuel.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Samuel said miserably. He climbed onto one of the bunks in the cell and rolled over to face the wall. ‘If we’re getting executed, don’t bother waking me up.’
A millennium ago, each and every Thaumaturgist had been taught that the source of the Nightshade’s power was older and deeper than any of them could understand. The First and Greatest Spell, the Timewatcher told Her children, was far-reaching, stretching beyond the imagination of the mightiest creature of higher magic. The Thaumaturgists were warned to never question their Mother on this matter. But Fabian Moor questioned. He had witnessed the legendary First and Greatest Spell first-hand, back when the Labyrinth was new, and he decided it was high time to test the Timewatcher’s warning, to see if the power of the Nightshade could easily shoulder aside the imagination of the Genii.
In the lower regions of the Nightshade, in an empty room that had probably not hosted a living being in centuries, Moor stood with his hands clenched into fists. Three of the walls still retained a bland cream colour, decorated with a repetitive pattern of hundreds of tiny square mazes, but the fourth wall had cleared to shimmering air. It was now a doorway, a portal into a House of dead time where nightmares roamed the land and soared through the sky.
‘Fabian,’ said Mo Asajad. ‘I’m already bored. Please tell me why we are here.’
Moor didn’t reply.
The implications of what Asajad was witnessing were wasted on her. Perhaps she couldn’t understand the significance of it all; perhaps she could, but didn’t care. In all ways, she disappointed Moor.
This view into the Retrospective – a view that came without sound or scent – it was a view into the future.
At one time there had been an unknown number of doorways scattered throughout the endless alleyways of the Great Labyrinth. Behind each of those doors had been a portal that led to the Houses of the Aelfir. The Timewatcher might have removed those doorways at the end of the war, but the power to create the portals had remained within the Nightshade: the First and Greatest Spell. And now the legendary magic that the Timewatcher had left behind was at the command of the Genii.
The portal that Moor faced was not a simple doorway that only opened onto the Retrospective; potentially, it could open onto any Aelfirian House that existed. And that, Moor understood all too well, was the true depth of the Nightshade’s power.
Soon, once Hagi Tabet had learned the location of Oldest Place and Lord Spiral was free, the Genii would announce their return to the Aelfir with legions of monsters behind them.
‘Fabian?’ Asajad urged restlessly. ‘Why did you bring me here?’
‘You will see,’ Moor replied. ‘Have patience.’
Moor found it fascinating that however often he gazed into the Retrospective he was never given the same view twice. He couldn’t decide whether it was the doorway that moved location or if the landscape itself was ever-shifting. Perhaps it was both. But Lord Spiral would understand its design; he would be able to control the Retrospective’s random movements, give it direction.
On this occasion, Moor was looking directly out of the mouth of a cave. The view beyond the cave was limited, but sufficient to confirm the pitiless and perpetual war being fought by untold numbers of wild demons. Moor could see them, revelling in violent lust out on the scorched landscape, too many to count. However, thus far the one particular demon that he sought had not yet answered the Genii’s call. And Moor had called for it. He had sent his thaumaturgy out of the Nightshade to search the Retrospective, carrying a summons. The monster would come, given time.
‘You know, it’s curious,’ Asajad said in a light voice. ‘A thousand years have passed since the Labyrinth was created, and this is the first time that I’ve ever actually been here. It is an interesting place, in a repugnant sort of way.’
Moor looked back at Asajad. Her face was thoughtful.
‘For example, that portal outside the Nightshade,’ she said. ‘It is the only one left to the humans anywhere in the Labyrinth?’
Moor was hesitant, wondering at the reason for this conversation. ‘That is correct.’
‘The Aelfir use that portal to send the humans food?’
‘Yes, along with other supplies.’
‘And then the humans collect those supplies as they arrive, for distribution among the townsfolk?’ She chuckled into the back of her hand. ‘It is similar to feeding time at a zoo, yes?’
Moor scowled at her. ‘Lady Asajad, are you going to make a point, or are you merely trying to appease your boredom by irritating me?’
Asajad smirked. ‘The portal outside the Nightshade connects to a House of the Aelfir, Fabian. Does it not seem reasonable that the magickers of the Relic Guild might have used it to escape the Labyrinth?’
‘No,’ Moor said, and he faced the Retrospective again. ‘Nothing living can use that portal. And it only imports, Asajad. Nothing can pass out of it.’
‘A one way portal? I’ve never heard of such a thing.’ Asajad’s tone was as suspicious as it was amused. ‘Never mind,’ she added brightly. ‘Perhaps we should just destroy it, Fabian. Let the humans die. After all, we need relatively few of them alive to provide us with blood.’
Moor shook his head. ‘And what of Hagi? She needs more than blood to sustain her life.’
‘Ah, yes – there is that, of course.’
‘We will not decide the fate of the humans – that will be for Lord Spiral to do.’
Asajad sig
hed. ‘Then maybe I will entertain myself by seeing more of this town. I don’t suppose it will be very interesting, but it has to be less boring than—’
She broke off with a noise of irritation. Two scrawny, leathery demons appeared out in the Retrospective. In a flurry of silent violence, they fought in the entrance to the cave, slashing and stabbing at each other with sharp, thorn-like hands; biting with gaping mouths filled with rows of hooked teeth.
‘Honestly, Fabian,’ Asajad said testily. ‘Do these things never stop fighting?’
‘You should take the time to understand what you are seeing, Asajad,’ Moor replied. ‘What I have learned from my observations is that each time one of these demons is slain, another rises in its place – sometimes two.’
One of the scrawny demons swiped a wicked gouge across the other’s chest. The other paid no mind to its torn flesh, broken ribs and flowing blood, and focused on fixing its mouth to the side of the first demon’s face. Hooked teeth tore away cheek meat.
‘Fascinating,’ Asajad said drolly.
The scrawny demons continued their eerily silent battle.
Moor continued, ‘The Retrospective, I believe, uses all organic matter as raw material for creation. Perpetually rebuilding its denizens – maybe expanding its landmass. Can’t you see? Our army will be self-replenishing.’
‘Fabian, the Retrospective may provide everything that we need to conquer the Aelfir, but with just you, me, Viktor and Hagi – we are not strong enough to tame it. Until Lord Spiral has returned, the Retrospective is useless to us. I am bored and will leave unless you explain to me why we are wasting time watching this nonsense.’
A shadow fell across the fighting demons as a huge figure loomed behind them.
‘Ah …’ A small smile curled Moor’s lips. ‘I think your interest is about to be engaged.’
Wholly focused on victory over each other, the scrawny demons did not seem to notice the newcomer. As they tore and ripped and bit, the new demon, larger and stronger than those before it, lofted its mighty woodcutter’s axe. With surprising speed and agility, it chopped the scrawny demons into bloody chunks that hissed and steamed and melted into the ground. In a fleeting moment, they were reduced to nothing more than joints of raw material, which the Retrospective absorbed greedily to later create new abominations.
With its axe in hand, the huge and powerful demon stepped over the rapidly diminishing remains, and stooped to enter the cave.
Asajad stepped up alongside Moor. In his peripheral vision, he could see her intrigued expression.
With heavy footsteps, the demon approached the portal on the wall of the cave, its face hidden within the folds of its pointed leather hood. Stringy pieces of flesh still dangled from the wicked head of the woodcutter’s axe which the demon laid down only a few paces from the Nightshade portal. The monster then knelt and bowed its head to the Genii.
‘Oh my!’ Asajad said after a sharp intake of breath. ‘What is this, Fabian?’
‘Hmm,’ said Moor. ‘Perhaps we should call it the Woodsman.’
‘It … it is obedient?’
‘Now do you see?’
Asajad took a few steps closer to the wall of shimmering air. She was obviously impressed with the demon’s size and physique, or perhaps she found beauty in the grotesque gashes on its limbs, stitched together with twine.
She looked back at Moor. ‘This creature remembers its loyalty to the Genii?’
‘Perhaps also the Aelf it used to be,’ Moor said. ‘I have observed this specimen on a few occasions. It is surprisingly intelligent – for one of its kind.’
‘I see.’ Asajad studied the muscular hulk of the wild demon on its knees. ‘The Woodsman,’ she said, amusement in her voice. ‘Congratulations, Fabian. You seem to have found our first ally in the Retrospective. But, remind me, how many other wild demons do you need to tame now?’
‘I do not compare my power to that of Lord Spiral’s, Lady Asajad, not even remotely,’ Moor said warningly. ‘But I think our master will be interested to know that some demons are more intelligent than others, don’t you?’
Asajad sighed and looked back over her shoulder. ‘This thing might have a modicum of intelligence, Fabian, but is it enough? Can it be controlled? Can it learn?’
‘Let us find out.’
Moor flexed his thaumaturgy and sent it snaking out of the room in the Nightshade, into the cave within the Retrospective, where it latched onto the demon’s bestial consciousness. He gave it a command, a simple order which it followed immediately, as if it had been waiting its entire life for this instruction.
Rising to its full, impressive height, the demon picked up its huge axe and strode towards the Genii with confident steps. Exhilarated, Mo Asajad quickly skipped back to stand behind Moor.
‘What are you doing, Fabian?’ she said excitedly, breathlessly, over his shoulder.
Moor stood resolute as the demon crossed the divide without hesitation. The wall of shimmering air parted with a quick tumult of rage and violence, along with the heavy stench of age and rot. The rip in the veil then sealed, and the demon stood in the Nightshade, towering over the Genii, wild and menacing.
‘Bow!’ Moor ordered.
The demon did so immediately, bending at the waist. It remained locked in that position, and Moor clasped his hands together, chuckling with pleasure.
‘The Woodsman indeed,’ Asajad said. She waved a hand before her face, trying to dispel the stench of the demon. ‘What shall we do with it, Fabian?’
‘Test the extent of its obedience, of course,’ Moor replied, his smile growing. ‘You said that you wanted to see more of this town, Lady Asajad. Perhaps you would like to show the denizens exactly who is governing them now.’
In the silence of the jailhouse, Samuel’s slow, sleeping breaths filled the air. But Van Bam was awake.
Clara could sense the illusionist’s proximity. She could feel him leaning against the other side of the wall that separated their cells. She could taste his concern in the air, mingled with the reek of stale sewage.
Van Bam wants to know if you’re all right, Clara, Gideon said.
The wolf replied to such a frail and mawkish question with mental derision.
I thought as much, Gideon said happily. I’ll tell him you’re not in the mood to talk, shall I?
And while you’re at it, ask him if he knows why you’re in my head, Clara demanded.
I already have, and he agrees with me – it’s something the avatar did to us.
Then why can’t I hear Van Bam’s voice too?
It’s a mystery, to be sure, Clara. I’m certain the avatar had its reasons – though I really can’t imagine what they might be. This little threesome isn’t exactly fun for yours truly, either.
Clara snorted and began pacing the cell.
The edge of Sunflower’s strange purple sun could be seen through the window, but its light barely lifted the shadows as it crawled weakly into the jailhouse. The sky outside was full of stars glinting above an alien landscape, but the narrow view did not impress the wolf. She felt constrained, restricted within these confines. With the bunks at either end of the cell, Clara could only take a few steps before having to turn around and pace the other way. Her frustration was building with every step. It hadn’t been that long since Supervisor Marca had left with his dumb lackey, but to her it felt like a lifetime.
Clara, what are you doing? Gideon said.
Why do you care? she snapped back.
I don’t. But I am curious. He was quiet for a moment. Tell me, what purpose do you think the wolf serves in this situation?
Clara was offended. You think I’m useless, is that it?
Oh no, far from it! You bravely fought the demons of the Retrospective, undoubtedly saving the lives of your colleagues in the process, and your control over the inner beast is admirable
. You have done gloriously, Clara. But I am wondering if the wolf is steering your thoughts to … to less important issues.
Less important? Clara could feel that Gideon’s praise was only a brittle veneer beneath which malice reigned. What are you—
Just shut up and listen for a moment, Gideon interrupted. You are eager to rage against your confinement, yet you find no wonder in the people who are keeping you confined. You long to escape this cell, but you don’t think to appreciate exactly where this cell is.
The Genii control the Labyrinth, Clara growled. Stopping them, protecting the denizens – that’s the only thing that matters.
Of course it is, but I do wish your brains would match your brawn, child. Gideon sighed. You are the first living thing to leave the Labyrinth in four decades. For a generation or more, no denizen has laid eyes on the Aelfir or visited an Aelfirian House. Yet here you are.
So?
Really, this doesn’t impress you at all?
It very much didn’t, and Clara let Gideon know in no uncertain terms.
You know, he said slyly, you could follow Samuel’s example. You could lie down upon a comfy mattress, catch up on sleep. It might help you gain a little perspective. Of course, the wolf is much too big for these bunks, and you’d have to take human form first—
Human, Clara retorted. As if I’d ever allow myself to be that weak again.
Gideon’s laughter was harsh, and it rattled inside the wolf ’s head.
You really are a delight, Clara. As dumb as wood, but a delight all the same. You are a creature of two halves, and you should be celebrating both. Come, why not slip on your human skin?
Now it was Clara’s turn to laugh back at the ghost, and it was full of scorn. And why would I follow the advice of a psychopath?
Psychopath? There was an edge of surprise in Gideon’s tone. It felt genuine. Have I offended you?
No, but I’m sure you will. I know you, Gideon. I know your sort.
