by Edward Cox
Van Bam frowned. Explain.
Gideon paused. What if my voice appearing in Clara’s head was an accident? Perhaps a residue of the magic that created our friendly future-guide got confused by the power of a changeling’s metamorphosis into a wolf. Didn’t the avatar’s appearance also coincide with Clara’s change?
Yes, I remember all too well, Van Bam replied, recalling the first time he had seen Clara change into the wolf, and the harrowing torture she had suffered.
Then consider this, Gideon continued. In its confusion, the magic that created the avatar was at that moment attracted to the energy surrounding the changeling, not only returning my presence to your mind, but also spilling me over into Clara’s. Imagine that, and then tell me, my idiot – what magic has a penchant for haunting a person’s mind with a spirit guide?
As Van Bam considered Gideon’s question, the group reached the fifth floor. Symone led the way down a long and wide corridor, flanked on either side by tall urns, many cracked and broken, all quite ancient, roped off with heavy red cord.
Gideon, Van Bam replied dubiously, are you suggesting that the avatar’s master is the Nightshade?
I certainly believe it’s a possible explanation, Gideon said. It has to have been an accident, my idiot. Clara was touched by a residue of the Nightshade’s magic.
But our connection to the Nightshade was severed, Van Bam countered. The Genii controlled it before the avatar appeared to us. And to be honest, it is still a mystery how I was able to hear you again.
Then what, my idiot? Gideon snapped, clearly frustrated. Give me one good reason why the avatar’s master would wish to torture that child by putting my voice inside her head?
Van Bam couldn’t think of one, but remained unconvinced by Gideon’s theory. Before the conversation could continue, the group had halted, and Samuel snorted a mirthless laugh.
‘This has to be a joke,’ he said.
Symone had brought them to the wide open entrance of a display room. As Van Bam read the name of the room, Gideon chuckled in his head.
‘Evidently not,’ the illusionist said, coming alongside Samuel.
‘Incredible,’ Clara whispered.
On a plaque fixed to the wall above the entrance were the words: HUMAN CURIOSITIES.
Standing in a corridor of the Nightshade, Fabian Moor was looking through a one-way observation window into a conference room. Inside, the members of Labrys Town’s Merchants’ Guild had assembled round a long conference table. Men and women, the supposed higher caste of this broken and abandoned society – but human one and all – sat in their seats, faces intent, confused and suspicious. They were listening to the words of Mo Asajad. While she spoke, Asajad walked around the table with the slow, calm and deliberate manner she often employed before moving in for the kill.
Moor could almost hear Asajad’s sly, supercilious tone, gradually drawing her audience to the understanding that they were cattle in an abattoir. Perhaps they already suspected. Nervous eyes darted to the docile golem dressed in a cassock, standing in the corner of the room, still holding the tray that carried drinks to the Nightshade’s guests.
Moor did not pity these people.
His attention was ripped away from the window as a bellow of rage filled the air like the sudden roar of thunder. With a frown, Moor looked to where the corridor doglegged to the right. He heard a dull, meaty thump, and then one of Hagi Tabet’s disfigured aspects, in a blur of pink blubber, flew from the corridor beyond to crash against the wall with the sickening crack of bones. The aspect fell in a ruined heap to the floor, faded, and then disappeared. A moment later, the colossal form of Viktor Gadreel rounded the corner and stamped towards his fellow Genii.
‘Disgusting,’ he growled, his one eye glaring with anger. ‘Those damned things are everywhere! Always in my way.’
Moor made no reply, and he resumed watching Asajad through the window. Gadreel came up alongside him, simmering, his thick arms folded across his wide chest.
‘What’s she doing?’ Gadreel rumbled.
‘Establishing a proper hierarchy in this town,’ Moor replied. ‘She feels these humans have enjoyed privileges they don’t deserve for long enough.’
Gadreel huffed an impatient breath. ‘Why is she wasting time talking to them?’
‘You know how Asajad is, Viktor. She does enjoy her theatrics. At least it alleviates her boredom.’
‘And you have called me here to witness such pointlessness?’ Gadreel growled. ‘Hamir is still barricaded in that room, Fabian. Perhaps my time would be better spent trying to flush him out.’
Gadreel, his heavy face seething, continued to stare through the observation window, deliberately not facing Moor. His huge hands were now balled fists at his sides, and he ground his teeth together.
‘Viktor, do you need to feed?’ Moor asked.
Gadreel replied with a dismissive grunt.
In the conference room, Asajad continued circling the table, talking, stalking, hunting.
Clearly, Gadreel’s earlier confrontation with Moor still rankled. Moor accepted that he had made a mistake. When Hagi Tabet had revealed that Marney did not have the information on Oldest Place, Moor had vented his frustration and anger upon his fellow Genii. It had been a misguided act.
Moor turned to Gadreel. ‘I should not have treated you as I did,’ he said, and that was as much of an apology as he would give the brute. ‘But it is time to put aside your anger, Viktor. Forget Hamir for now. There have been developments.’
Gadreel faced Moor for the first time. His one eye narrowed as he looked him up and down. ‘You have word on our lord?’
Moor nodded. ‘It would seem that I miscalculated, Viktor. At one time, Marney most definitely knew where the Timewatcher had hidden Oldest Place, but she removed the information from her mind and hid it shortly before I captured her.’
Gadreel’s face twitched, perhaps with hope. ‘Do you know where the empath hid it?’
‘Indeed. In the mind of a young changeling named Clara. A memory transference.’
‘Hmm.’ A small smile came to Gadreel’s fat lips. ‘Then, please – tell me you know how to find this changeling.’
‘It’s a little complicated.’
‘Explain.’
‘Again, I miscalculated, Viktor. The Relic Guild managed to escape—’
Moor was interrupted by a disturbance in the conference room. Whatever Asajad had just said, it had caused consternation among the members of the Merchants’ Guild. Some of them had risen from their seats; others gave each other frightened looks; a few stared at the tall and stick-thin Genii with open terror on their faces.
Asajad was now facing the back wall. She raised her hands and the wall’s cream colour, together with the hundreds of square mazes decorating it, became entirely black, reflecting light like the polished shell of a beetle. A crack of illumination appeared in the darkness; it stretched and widened until it formed a doorway into a damned House of dead time. On the threshold stood the ominous figure of the Woodsman, giant axe in hand.
There was collective panic amongst the humans when the Woodsman stepped from the Retrospective and entered the conference room. They rushed as one for the door, pushing and fighting among themselves in their desperation to leave; but the doors within the Nightshade were not easy to open. These humans would not escape unless Mo Asajad allowed them to.
With a casual wave of one hand, Asajad directed the Woodsman towards the stampeding herd of humans; with the other she grabbed the hair of a man seated at the table close to her. Fear, it seemed, had paralysed him. He began crying when Asajad forced him out of his seat, and down onto his knees at her side.
As the Woodsman raised the axe, sliced it into the herd, and sent a gout of blood splashing across the conference table, Lady Asajad hauled the man to his feet by his hair, pulled back his head, and sank her lo
ng teeth into his throat.
Uninterested in the spectacle, Moor dulled the observation window until it became a rectangle of impenetrable black glass in the wall. He continued briefing Gadreel.
‘There can be no doubt that the magickers of the Relic Guild have escaped the Labyrinth. I do not know how they achieved this, Viktor, but it matters little now. Hagi has found an anomaly within the empath’s memories. It was fractured, scattered – but Hagi has pieced it together. We know where the Relic Guild are going to be. And soon.’
‘This is good news,’ Gadreel said, the usual rumble of his voice closer to an impatient whisper. ‘And where are they going to be, Fabian?’
‘Now that is the question. And I think you’ll like the answer.’ Moor didn’t try to stop the smile coming to his face. ‘Come. I’ll explain on our way to see Lady Tabet. I have a mission for you, Viktor.’
‘This is how the Aelfir remember us?’ Samuel said, angrily jabbing a thumb at the sign that read HUMAN CURIOSITIES. ‘We’re a bloody attraction in a museum?’
Glogelder grinned, Hillem shrugged, and Namji turned to Symone the night guard.
‘We’ll take it from here,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to stick around.’
‘Fair enough,’ Symone replied. ‘Just so you know, two others share this shift with me. I’ve told them to make themselves scarce while I can make a bit of pocket money with a private tour of the museum. But I can’t promise they won’t turn up.’
‘We won’t be here long,’ Namji assured her.
Accepting this, Symone took a final look at the humans, and then headed off. ‘If you need me, I’ll be in the guards’ lounge, down on the fourth floor,’ she called back. ‘But I’d rather I never saw you again.’
When Symone had gone, Namji turned to Hillem and Glogelder. ‘You two guard the door,’ she said. ‘That woman worries me. I don’t trust her, and I don’t want her spying on us.’ She looked at the magickers with an apologetic expression. ‘Come on.’
Clara appeared intrigued and eager to see what was inside the display room. Samuel, less keen, rolled his eyes at Van Bam before following Namji and the changeling inside.
The room wasn’t particularly big; its very smallness seemed a sad memorial to the people and the House which had at one time been essential to the Aelfir. On the walls were artists’ impressions of humans, and scenes of everyday life in Labrys Town – oddly simplistic in style, as though drawn for young children – along with written descriptions of how the town’s society had functioned, and its system of government.
Clara stopped to read a disappointingly small section concerning the Relic Guild; Samuel’s interest was drawn to a scale model of Labrys Town, which was surrounded by the narrow alleyways of the Great Labyrinth. To catch the eye, the description beside the model began with bold letters: NO ONE KNEW HOW BIG THE GREAT LABYRINTH WAS …
Oh, my idiot, look at this, Gideon said, highly amused.
The ghost directed Van Bam’s attention to the information Clara was reading. It informed visitors that no one was certain what became of the humans, and that the last known Resident of Labrys Town was Gideon the Selfless.
You never made it into the Aelfir’s history books, Gideon said without a single shred of sympathy in his pernicious voice. But I have to say I’m glad that tales of my legacy are still being told among the Houses.
Van Bam ignored this and looked to Namji. She had moved to the corner of the room where a stone dais had been placed, with steps leading up to its display piece.
It was a doorway, like the hundreds, thousands that had once been spread throughout the Great Labyrinth. It was housed in a heavy wooden frame. The plaque on a stand beside the doorway listed it as a replica, for display purposes only, but …
‘Samuel, Clara,’ the illusionist called, pointing at the doorway with his green glass cane. ‘Look at this.’
‘What about it?’ Samuel said.
‘It is real.’
Samuel stared at his fellow magicker for an instant, and then left the model of Labrys Town to march up the steps leading to the doorway. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Most definitely,’ Van Bam replied, joining the old bounty hunter. To his inner vision, the wood of this simple, innocuous-looking door held the fading echoes of magic. Colourful. Unmistakable. ‘This is a real doorway.’
‘How, Van Bam?’
‘I do not know.’
The frame of the doorway was thick, lacquered wood. The entire surface had been intricately carved with a host of House symbols. The weak pulse of magic was ingrained into every aspect of this display piece.
‘Maybe it was salvaged after the war,’ Clara offered from behind her fellow agents.
Samuel shook his head. ‘There wasn’t supposed to be anything left to salvage. The Timewatcher removed all the doorways. She just … took them away.’
Van Bam had to wonder: how many Aelfir had visited this room over the years, never realising they were gazing upon a genuine doorway.
‘It doesn’t matter how it got here,’ Namji said. The petite Aelf was standing halfway up the stone steps. ‘This doorway is what the avatar has been leading us towards.’
‘Known Things is on the other side?’ asked Clara, her voice small, afraid.
‘Yes,’ Namji replied. ‘The avatar didn’t tell me exactly where the doorway leads – only that we have to go through it to reach Known Things. And that only a human magicker can open it.’
Samuel and Van Bam exchanged looks, then the old bounty hunter grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.
Nothing.
All that greeted the group were the two walls meeting to form a corner behind the display. Samuel closed the door and opened it again. Nothing.
Well, that was a bit of a let-down, Gideon said.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Namji. She looked perplexed. ‘The avatar was adamant that the touch of a human magicker would activate the doorway.’
Samuel tried and failed again. Van Bam saw the hues of frustrated anger bloom in him.
‘Wasn’t there some procedure you used with doorways?’ Hillem suggested, stepping away from the entrance. ‘Didn’t you have to select a House symbol, and then draw it into something?’
‘You need to know the symbol of the House you wanted to travel to first,’ Samuel replied, jabbing an agitated hand at the host of symbols carved into the doorframe.
Oh … my idiot, Gideon hissed excitedly, I’ve thought of a reason why the avatar’s master might want Clara to hear my voice.
Why?
I can see something very interesting.
‘The process you’re talking about only summons a shadow carriage,’ Samuel was explaining to Hillem, his tone berating. ‘And all that does is take you to the correct doorway.’
What am I missing, Gideon?
Look at the doorframe.
‘I was only making a suggestion,’ Hillem said defensively.
‘And I’m telling you we’re already at the doorway,’ Samuel snapped.
‘What’s going on?’ Glogelder asked from the entrance.
‘Arguing won’t solve anything,’ Namji intervened.
Look harder, my idiot. Before Samuel starts shooting people.
‘Listen to what I’m saying,’ Samuel said, his voice rising. ‘The portals behind the doorways were never inactive. To use them, you only had to open the door and step through.’ To emphasise the fact that what should be happening very much wasn’t, Samuel opened the door and slammed it shut again. ‘The avatar must have told you something else, Namji.’
‘It didn’t,’ she said.
‘Then how do we get it to work?’
‘I don’t know, Samuel! I thought it would activate when you touched it.’
‘What have we missed?’ Samuel said to himself, and he made an angry noise. ‘What do we do
, Van Bam?’
But Van Bam wasn’t listening to him. He had discovered what it was that Gideon found interesting.
Among the House symbols carved into the doorframe, one stood out to him. It was situated at the centre of the crossbeam, and it wrenched an old memory from the illusionist’s mind.
‘Impossible,’ he whispered.
Yet there it is, said Gideon, clearly pleased. Do excuse me, my idiot. I need to have a quick chat with Clara.
‘Van Bam?’ said Samuel.
The symbol comprised a spiralling pattern with a straight line that connected it to a square shape with a triangle on its right side. The last time Van Bam had seen that symbol, it had been drawn in blood.
‘Just … impossible.’
‘What’s impossible?’ Samuel pressed.
Namji and Hillem had also become intrigued by the illusionist’s reaction.
‘This,’ Van Bam said. He stepped forwards, reached up, and tapped the symbol with his cane. ‘It should not be there, Samuel.’
The old bounty hunter studied it for himself. ‘I’ve never seen a House symbol like that before.’
‘I have,’ Namji said, climbing the steps and standing beside Van Bam. ‘Why do I recognise it?’
Van Bam raised an eyebrow. ‘I suspect it was shown to you a long time ago, while we took refuge in the mountains close to your old home.’
Namji’s eyes widened, and her features fell slack. ‘The Sorrow of Future Reason,’ she whispered.
‘The Sorrow of Future Reason?’ Hillem said. ‘That’s not a House I’ve heard of.’
‘What’s going on?’ said Glogelder.
‘That’s a good question,’ Samuel growled.
‘You would not have heard of this place, because it does not exist,’ Van Bam said. ‘That symbol is for the House of the Nephilim.’
‘The Nephilim?’ Samuel was almost shouting.
Hillem shared his surprise. ‘There hasn’t been a reported sighting of the Nephilim for decades. Not since before the Genii War.’
‘Be that as it may,’ said Van Bam. ‘Namji and I met a Nephilim in Mirage, during the war.’
