by Edward Cox
‘Governess Vael said as much herself,’ Angel replied. ‘At least they got their stories straight before the banquet,’ she added dryly.
‘Yes. And if the Hermit is a Nephilim – and that is a big if, Angel – then that would make him a dangerous magicker indeed.’
‘You’ve got that right,’ Angel agreed. ‘But even if you believe every legend about the Nephilim, would he be powerful enough to take on a huge citadel by himself?’ She swirled her wine, a dubious expression on her face. ‘Either way, if I was an Aelfirian ruler, I’d shit a brick if the Nephilim came to my House.’
‘The Hermit’s identity is based more on rumour than fact,’ Van Bam said. ‘Whoever he is, when Ebril suspected that he was helping the Genii and placing Mirage in grave danger, why did he not just report it?’
‘Loyalty, probably,’ Angel replied. ‘And concern for the safety of the citadel. In times like these, any suggestion of supporting Spiral could bring the Timewatcher down upon you.’ She shrugged. ‘Still, Ebril managed to get himself home, didn’t he?’ She stared down into her drink. ‘I don’t like Ebril, Van Bam. What do you think of him?’
Van Bam pursed his lips. ‘I find him pleasant enough company, but most Aelfirian politicians are taught to mask what they are really thinking and feeling, nearly always via magical training. The ambassador is virtually impossible to read. High Governor Obanai is much the same.’
‘So are his wife and daughter,’ Angel replied sourly. ‘You know, I never would have guessed that Namji was the bloody heir of Mirage. She’s a slippery bitch.’
‘You are not the first person to call her that.’
‘And Governess Vael is as miserable a cow as you’re ever likely to meet.’ Angel shook her head, perplexed. ‘She’s Namji’s mother, Van Bam – you’d think she’d at least show a modicum of joy at being reunited with her daughter. But it was like Namji and Vael didn’t know each other at all, or didn’t care to. The ruling family of Mirage is a little too guarded for my taste.’
‘I would say this House as whole appears defensive. Considering Mirage has remained neutral in the war, it has a surprisingly large militia presence.’
With a disgruntled noise, Angel drained her goblet and then refilled it. ‘And I’ll tell you something else, if there are more of the Hermit’s followers hiding among the citizens, I don’t know how we’re going to find them – not quickly. There’s a hundred thousand Aelfir in Mirage, Van Bam. Could be any of them.’
‘Yet, apparently, there is only one Nephilim,’ Van Bam replied. ‘The story cannot be true, Angel. I have been told that the Nephilim travel as a single clan, always – as a herd, I believe they call it.’
‘Maybe there are more of them hiding in the desert,’ Angel said. ‘Maybe we should admit that no one knows anything about the Nephilim at all. What concerns me most, Van Bam, is the doorway to the Labyrinth. It’s all alone outside the citadel walls, sitting on the Giant’s Hand. It’s exposed.’ She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. ‘Obanai doesn’t need the Relic Guild’s help. There should be a Thaumaturgist here dealing with this.’
Van Bam agreed. ‘Until we can uncover the truth, Lady Amilee should at least close Mirage’s doorway to the Labyrinth, as she did in the Houses that sided with Spiral.’ He nodded to himself. ‘First thing tomorrow, we will make a report and send a message sphere to Gideon.’
‘I’d rather just go home,’ Angel said miserably. ‘I really don’t like it here.’
Van Bam watched as the healer rose from the table and took her goblet over to the balcony doors. She stood on the threshold, leaning against the jamb, looking up at the night sky.
‘Do you know what’s funny, though?’ she mused. ‘I’ve never heard of the Nephilim taking anyone’s side before. They’re reviled, yes – I mean, the Aelfir have always feared them, and rightly so. The Nephilim don’t believe in the Timewatcher. They worship something else – the Progenitor, is it?’
‘Yes. I have heard that name before. A patriarch of some sort.’
‘That’s the one,’ Angel said. ‘If this war has taught me anything, it’s that if you’re not following the Timewatcher, you’re either stupid or very unpleasant company. You’ve heard the stories about the Nephilim – about what happened to the Aelfir who tried to drive the herd out of their Houses. Bloodshed and carnage. The Nephilim are savages, Van Bam, but have you ever heard a story of them fighting in someone else’s name? Or trying to conquer a House?’
‘No,’ the illusionist admitted.
Angel shook her head. ‘You’re right, Van Bam. The Hermit can’t be a Nephilim, can he?’
A hint of uncertainty in Angel’s voice gave Van Bam pause for thought.
Nobody really knew where the Nephilim came from, but there was a colourful myth that claimed they were created a thousand years ago, far back enough in time for the Labyrinth to have been new, by a mysterious entity known as the Progenitor. Van Bam knew of no other race that believed in this entity, and had always considered the Progenitor an invention by the Aelfir to distance themselves from as fearful a tribe as the giant blood-magickers. The Nephilim had never been considered a race of the Aelfir. They were more like an anomaly, a clandestine tribe of nomads wandering from House to House, without a realm to call their home. Every story painted the Nephilim in the colours of nightmare, for it was said that cutting themselves was their sole method of expressing the power locked within them; that blood-letting was the only way to release their magic.
But for a thousand years, the Nephilim had never shown any interest in trade with the Aelfir, or in sharing cultures, and seemed perfectly content to abstain from contact with anyone outside their own kind. Of course, there were the many tales of troubles, of blood being shed and Aelfir disappearing – all of which was blamed on the Nephilim. But every story also concerned people who went out of their way to pick a fight with the blood-magickers. Given their usual lack of involvement, based purely upon what was known about their actions and conduct, it would seem that the Nephilim were by and large apathetic towards other races – if they were left alone.
But as Angel had said, next to nothing was known about them.
Van Bam took his goblet from the table and sipped the wine for the first time. It was sweet and warming as it slid down his throat.
‘Angel,’ he said contemplatively. ‘Gene once told me that one of Gideon’s ancestors was likely a Nephilim.’
Still standing at the balcony doors, looking up into the night sky, Angel scoffed. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if it was true.’
‘I cannot help wondering that if Gideon’s sociopathic manner is an indication of what it is to be a blood-magicker, then the Nephilim might be as merciless as the Genii.’
‘If only it was just his personality,’ Angel replied. She turned in the doorway and gave Van Bam a serious look. ‘You didn’t know Gideon before he was Resident, when he was just an agent of the Relic Guild. I worked the streets of Labrys Town with him, Van Bam. I’ve seen what he can do with his magic.’
‘Yes,’ said Van Bam, ‘Gene implied that he could be a little … unpredictable.’
‘That’s one way to say it.’ Angel shivered. ‘I once saw Gideon rip the skin off a black marketeer, using no more than a cut on his hand and a dirty look. And I really wish I could say that’s the worst thing I ever saw him do.’ She puffed her cheeks. ‘Blood-magickers are rare, thank the Timewatcher. And Gideon is the most dangerous magicker I’ve ever known.’
‘He has always been the same?’ Van Bam asked. ‘There was never a time when he was more amiable?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ Angel replied. ‘Gideon never really learned to temper his blood-magic, but he certainly knew how to revel in the power it gave him. It was already taking its toll on his mind when I met him. But he got worse over the years. It was like he became addicted to himself. And when he cut his skin, you kept well clear. He was nearly impossible
to control, Van Bam. I can’t tell you how scared I was when he became Resident. Trust me, you do not want to cross Gideon. Ever. You or Marney.’
Van Bam placed his goblet back onto the table. He didn’t need skills in reading micro-expressions to understand the implication behind Angel’s words.
‘Tell me,’ Van Bam said. ‘Earlier we were talking about how Gideon loathed his agents having anything other than platonic relationships. You said that you had personal experience.’
‘It was a long time ago, Van Bam.’ Angel walked over from the open doors and sat down on the pillows at the table again. ‘Macy and me were an item for a while.’
‘You were?’
‘Ah, it’s well in the past now.’ Angel sighed, and she topped up her goblet. ‘I suppose we were good together. We were young. We both enjoyed life.’ She sipped her wine. ‘But when Gideon became Resident, he made it very clear I was to stop seeing Macy.’ She chuckled sadly. ‘As I said, you don’t cross Gideon. It didn’t occur to me to argue with him.’
‘I am sorry, Angel,’ Van Bam said. ‘No one ever mentioned it to me.’
Angel shrugged. ‘I think the others avoided the subject because they thought it was a sore point, but it wasn’t really. It wasn’t as if Macy and me would’ve lasted forever. Neither of us are the settling down type, and Bryant gets a bit jealous, anyway. He never takes kindly to his sister’s partners. Pain in the arse, to be honest with you. Likes to play gooseberry, that one.’
Angel paused and tapped the rim of the goblet against lips that had turned into a light smile, as though lost to memories of a better time. She snapped out of it.
‘My point is, Van Bam – if you and Marney really love each other – as much as it pains me to say this – you might want to stop your relationship while you’re still ahead. Before Gideon decides to settle the matter himself.’
It was the honesty in Angel’s face that disturbed Van Bam. She was speaking with the experience of a magicker who had served the Relic Guild for over twice as long as he had. He looked out of the open doors. Did his time with Marney really have to come to an end?
‘Anyway,’ Angel said, ‘in the morning we’ll send a message sphere to our terrifying Resident, and wait to hear what he wants us to do about the Hermit and anything else that might be going on in this bloody House. For now, I need to sleep.’ She swirled the contents of her goblet. ‘This wine really is good stuff.’
Rising, she made her way across the lounge, taking her goblet into the bedroom with her. ‘Goodnight, Van Bam.’
‘Goodnight, Angel,’ the illusionist replied, still staring out onto the balcony.
‘Oh, and one more thing,’ Angel called out, voice muffled behind the closed bedroom door, ‘if you figure out how Buyaal did his trick, please don’t ruin it for me.’
A wind this bracing was near impossible to walk against. Howling a song more mournful than any Marney had ever heard, it blew with a graveyard chill that cut to the bone, stinging exposed skin with grit and chips of stone. The wind stole the voice from Marney’s mouth as she pulled her travelling cloak tighter around her body and turned her back to it.
What’s going on? she thought to Denton, wiping grit from her eyes. Where is everybody?
I don’t know, Denton replied miserably. He was struggling to hold his hat down on his head. Let me think!
The ground sloped upwards with a steady gradient and was covered in scree. Marney suspected that she and her mentor stood upon a mountainside, but she couldn’t tell for sure. A fog, as thick and white as billowing clouds, shrouded the area, drifting almost lazily, strangely undisturbed by the bracing wind. And within this contradictory weather system of the House called Ghost Mist Veldt, the empaths were entirely lost. The heavy fog had secreted away the portal that had delivered them there from the Union of Twins.
Shivering within her cloak, Marney focused her energy into locking down her panic and confusion. Only then did she sense a presence in the air that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It was light and inquisitive, bordering on emotion.
Denton, Marney thought quickly, I can feel magic!
Of course you can feel bloody magic! Denton replied testily. Ghost Mist Veldt is riddled with the stuff. Still pressing a hand to his hat, the old empath looked out from beneath the brim, searching the fog. I think this House is protecting itself. Something bad must have happened here.
Marney quelled a pulse of fear. Had the Genii conquered Ghost Mist Veldt?
Where are the soldiers, Denton? Where’s the fighting?
I don’t know, Marney. A liaison should’ve been on this mountain to meet us … wait!
Marney sensed it too. The magic in the air welled up and pressed against her, making her skin tingle, drying the inside of her mouth. The bitter wind moaned savagely, this time displacing a patch of fog, parting it like curtains to reveal two huge boulders. Jammed between the boulders was a stone hut , windowless and crudely built. Its chimney was crooked and looked about ready to collapse. At its centre, a rough wooden door had been set.
Come on, Denton urged.
Struggling, helping each other along, the empaths hurried as best they could down the tunnel that cut through the fog like a pathway in the Nothing of Far and Deep. As soon as she opened the wooden door, the wind snatched it from Marney’s hand, slamming it against the hut wall. Together, she and Denton heaved it closed and latched it securely once they were inside.
Denton slumped against the door; Marney sat down on a rusted metal chair at a rickety metal camping table. They both caught their breaths in silence while the wind whistled through gaps in the stonework.
The hut was larger than it appeared from the outside. Fixed to one wall were two bunked cots, devoid of mattresses or blankets. Another cot had been laid in an alcove on the opposite wall that must have been cut into one of the boulders the hut was built between. The cots, table and chairs were the only items of furniture. The floor was bare stone, hard and rough, and at the far end of the room was a fat, black iron stove with a slim chimney that rose all the way up to the ceiling. On one side of the stove was a box for storing wood or coal, but it was empty.
‘How about we try to get that stove working?’ Denton suggested. ‘Warm this place up a bit, and then we can figure out what in the Timewatcher’s name is going on here.’
‘Be my guest,’ Marney said miserably.
Now that she was sheltered from the harsh weather, Marney found her thoughts lingering on a subject much grimmer than the confusing situation she and her mentor had stumbled into in Ghost Mist Veldt.
Denton frowned at her, sensing that she was now struggling with feelings of anger and remorse.
‘You’re thinking about Lieutenant Morren, aren’t you?’ he said sympathetically.
Marney looked at the floor. ‘He shouldn’t have died,’ she whispered. ‘Not for us.’ If she let it, Marney was sure the image of Morren’s chest erupting, the memory of him falling to the ground, his young face slack and dead, would haunt her forever. ‘The Thaumaturgist could’ve helped us, he could’ve spared Morren instead of acting like a spoilt child.’
‘Lord Habriel is not responsible for Morren’s death,’ Denton told her kindly but firmly. ‘And we cannot change what has happened.’
Marney looked up at him sharply. ‘Is that your advice, Denton – get over it? Is that what you’re telling yourself?’
‘Marney …’ Denton sighed. He moved away from the door and took a chair on the other side of the table. ‘Please understand that Morren is not the first Aelf to die protecting the Labyrinth from Spiral and the Genii. And he won’t be the last.’
‘They’re not just fighting for the Labyrinth,’ Marney retorted. ‘They’re fighting for themselves too.’
‘Ah, but Morren considered himself a guardian of the Labyrinth – and that, Marney, is what I keep telling myself. His death,
as much as it saddens me, is the inspiration that makes me more determined than ever to succeed in our mission.’
Marney blinked away tears as Denton reached across the table and patted her hand. He sent her a wave of emotions that at once comforted her and helped to bolster her defences against the grief she felt for an Aelf she barely knew, who had given his life to help the Relic Guild.
As for the mission, Marney had come to realise that she was as much in the dark about the details as Lord Habriel had been.
‘What is it you haven’t told me, Denton?’ she demanded. ‘Why hasn’t Lady Amilee informed the Thaumaturgists about our mission?’
‘I’m not entirely sure, to be honest,’ Denton admitted, looking troubled. ‘For all I know, Lady Amilee hasn’t told the Timewatcher Herself what she is doing. Only we might know.’
‘But I don’t know, do I? Not really.’
‘Marney, we have been entrusted to find a very dangerous place—’
‘Yes, the Library of Glass and Mirrors is a dangerous place. I get it, Denton. But there’s more to this than just going to find information on the Icicle Forest, isn’t there?’ There was an edge of pleading to Marney’s voice now. ‘When you were talking with Lord Habriel, he made a really good point, Denton. Why are we traipsing across the Houses? Why didn’t Amilee send us directly to the library’s portal?’
Denton allowed her a small, conceding smile. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any harm telling you a little more.’ He took off his hat and placed it on the table. ‘Marney, the Library of Glass and Mirrors is not an Aelfirian House. It has no doorway in the Great Labyrinth. The portal to the library is hidden, and to find it we first have to travel what some would call the Way of the Blind Maze.’
There was a hint of amusement in his voice, and Marney narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You made that up,’ she accused. ‘You’re making fun of me? At a time like this?’
‘No, Marney! That’s just the name that I like to call it. I don’t know if it has a proper title. Let me explain. There are many secret realms hiding between the Houses of the Aelfir, each as near impossible to find as the next. Unless, of course, you happen to have knowledge of a peculiar method of travelling.’
