The Hanged Man

by K. D. Edwards

  Then he flung a hand at the door, which spiraled open. Mayan was in the room in a second. Lord Tower said, “Where?”

  “Nearby.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Fatalities reported,” Mayan said. “Assailant unknown. We’re not secure.”

  Quinn said, “I see screaming icicles.”

  ENDGAME, PART I

  Brand pulled the diary out of a jacket pocket, ripped it in half, and dislodged a thin ceramic throwing knife from the lining in the spine. Mayan had produced a secret weapon of his own—an extendable baton.

  We hustled out of the room. The door to the Arcanum’s chamber was open, and Lord Judgment had spilled from it with a small group of Arcana. I spotted Lady World, Lady Death, and Lord Hierophant.

  Judgment lifted his staff of office and banged it against the stone floor. He barked the word, “Seal! ”, and magic flowed along the stone corridor. The sensation was familiar—I’d done something similar to Addam’s family home in the Westlands.

  “Which levels did you seal off?” Lord Tower asked.

  “Our floor and the main boundary.”

  “So we’re in here with whatever is killing people?” I heard Max ask nervously from behind me.

  “No, child,” Lady World said. “We are Arcana. They are in here with us.”

  “Nevertheless,” Lord Tower said, “We need intelligence on what, exactly, has happened. Mayan and Brandon, take point.”

  Mayan and Brand exchanged a look. I’ve never known them to decide on the color of the sky without fighting, but they wordlessly came to an agreement. Mayan took the lead, while Brand faded to the rear.

  Mayan led us down the hallway, toward the checkpoints that separated the Arcanum’s floor from the main Convocation building. We saw the bodies almost immediately—scattered along the hard stone in front of the privacy booths where we yielded our weapons and sigils.

  Lord Judgment started toward the fallen guards, but Lord Tower held up a hand. “Preserve the scene, for the moment,” he said. “Mayan. Brandon.” He hesitated a second, and added. “Rune.”

  I took the compliment with just a blink or two. Mayan, Brand, and I walked forward, cautiously, stopping within a foot of the first body. I wish the dampening bracelet was gone; I would have been able to uncoil my sabre, at least.

  “This makes no sense,” Mayan was the first to say.

  “We need to get closer,” Brand said.

  We walked between the bodies, careful not to disturb anything evidentiary. The rest of the group shifted to the spot where we’d just been standing.

  There were a total of eight dead men and women. Some with fatal wounds. Some dead but unmarked. Some lay in blood spatter patterns; others had just fallen dead where they stood. One dead woman still had a dagger in her hand. Its blade was sunk into the neck of a creature with shriveled brown skin. The flesh was tight over muscle and dehydrated fat, with the exception of plump cheeks. It looked like those apple dolls human children made, an uneasy blend of rot and cute appeal.

  “It’s a banshee,” I said. “Godsdamnit, a banshee was on the loose. It must have been an old one. Banshee screams usually wouldn’t kill this many.”

  Mayan said, “Blade scores on the creature. They attacked it.”

  Brand knelt down. “Look at the pattern. It took a lot of hits. Some of the wounds are bleeding more than others—meaning its heart pumped a while before it died. Why didn’t the banshee scream the first time it was hit?”

  “That’s a very good question,” Mayan murmured approvingly.

  I felt a prickle of . . . something . . . and the hairs on my arm lifted. Looking around me, I saw only three possible exits. The weapons checkpoint ended in a magical barrier that shimmered like liquid nitrogen. Wisps of magic curled off its surface. That would be the shield Lord Judgment had set.

  The hallway continued in the other direction. And there was also an alcove, where I caught a glimpse of a metal door.

  The shadows in the alcove shifted. Spidery fingers crept along the corner of the archway, pulling a shriveled, grayish face into the light.

  “Banshee,” I whispered. “My four.”

  Three things happened at once.

  Lady Death shouted, “NO!”

  Brand whipped toward my four o’clock position and cocked the ceramic knife.

  I grabbed Brand’s sleeve on an instinct I couldn’t even properly explain.

  Brand would likely have taken the monster in the throat, but my disruption sank the knife into its chest, close to where a human heart would be.

  “Heal it!” Lady Death shouted. “We need to heal it NOW!”

  Insight exploded in the back of my brain. I scrambled over to the dead banshee on the ground and peeled back its eyelid. There was no iris—just a single dark pupil. “Winter banshee,” I whispered. “It’s a winter banshee.” In the wake of shock came fear. “Addam, the kids, get the kids out of here now!”

  “Our sigils are locked up,” Lord Hierophant said. “If I had them, I could heal—”

  Magic flared. Lady World had thrown back her head, and was floating off the ground. Magical runes made of living green moss rose to the surface of her skin, and a crown of rosemary needles appeared on her forehead. A pale, honeyed light washed from her in an unnaturally slow wave. As the light seeped over me, all pain disappeared. My trick shoulder. My knee— from where I banged it throwing myself to the ground. All gone.

  With her Atlantean Aspect upon her, Lady World floated to the fallen banshee. She lowered to its side, touched its chest, and poured magic into him.

  “It’s bloody difficult with these damnable bracelets on,” she panted. “But I’ve stabilized it.”

  “What’s a winter banshee?” Addam said. He had Quinn’s sleeve in one hand and Max’s in another, ready to run.

  “A race thought to be dead or secured underground,” Ciaran said. “Too dangerous to walk the streets. Its cry is much stronger than the average banshee, but it only screams as a death curse. If it had died, we’d be dead now.”

  “Oh,” Quinn said. “Icicle screams. That wasn’t very helpful of me at all, was it?”

  Brand gave me a horrified look. “I didn’t know. I thought—”

  “Brand,” Mayan said, loudly but not sharply. “I would have done the same. Focus now. What do you see?”

  Brand blinked away his emotion and settled into his bodyguard mode. He stared at the banshee lying quietly under Lady World’s ministrations. “It’s not struggling. It’s not attacking.”

  “These are old, old creatures of the Bone Hollows,” Lady Death said, referring to her court. “I thought I’d imprisoned the last of them when I took over from my mother. They are barely sentient, and used as puppets. Controlled at short range. We’ll find someone nearby with a wand made from elephant ivory. It will have runes inscribed with melted rubies, glowing red.”

  “It’s a delaying tactic,” Lord Tower murmured. “Lord Hanged Man is keeping us pinned down, for some reason.”

  “We shouldn’t make assumptions yet,” the Hierophant said. “Let’s focus on the matter before us. If we regain our sigils, the creatures will pose no harm to us.”

  “But they’ll pose a threat to bystanders,” Lord Judgment said. “Gods. What am I thinking?”

  He banged his staff of office on the ground again. The tip of the staff rippled as humming waves of sound radiated outwards. When he spoke next, his voice came from the very walls of the building.

  “This is Lord Judgment. The building is locked down while members of the Arcanum handle a grave threat. There are creatures on the premise that look much like banshees. Do not attack. Do not interfere. They are dangerous only at the moment of their death. I repeat again, do not attack, at risk of death. Allow us to handle the emergency.”

  He tapped the staff again. “I’m going to release the shield on our floor, so we can seek out any other creatures in the building and keep them contained until we recover our sigils.”

&nbs
p; As he issued the command with his staff, I saw a flash of movement in the corner of my eyes. I turned to see Mayan grab an axe from the waistband of a dead guard. He was rushing toward Lady World. On the ground beneath her wide-eyed surprise, the banshee was raking its ragged, desiccated fingernails across its jugular. Mayan swung his arm back, and slammed the axe blade across the creature’s throat. Its head rolled free.

  Lady World looked like she was about to slap the literal life out of Mayan. Lady Death stepped forward with both hands raised. “Peace, sister. It was about to self-terminate. I think Lord Tower is right—it has instructions to keep us pinned in place. It didn’t react until we made plans to move past it. Rudimentary, but effective.”

  “Are we so sure this is the Hanged Man?” Lord Hierophant asked.

  “We’ll know when we find the control device,” Lady Death said. “And whoever is using it.”

  “We need our sigils,” I said. “We need to get these bracelets off.”

  “Agreed. We should split up,” Lord Judgment said. “One group finds a way into the armory to secure our sigils, another group tries to locate the person controlling the banshees.”

  I practically heard Brand roll his eyes. In situations like this, he didn’t hear, “Let’s split up. It will be a tactical advantage.” What he heard was, “Let’s split up. The sorority girls take the ramshackle hut on the edge of the property; the frat boys take the overgrown graveyard.”

  Brand muttered, “What makes it even more fun is Rune’s wearing a red shirt.”

  Mayan actually cracked a smile at this. He shook blood off the axe and stood up. “Lord Tower, I can’t allow you to split up until you have your sigils. None of you have any abilities to call on, outside your Aspect, due to the bracelets. That needs to be our first priority.”

  “I . . . may be able to assist,” Lord Hierophant said. “I have a certain . . . practiced influence over control devices. I could remove the bracelets from two, perhaps three of us, though it would leave me insensible afterwards.”

  “Could you,” Lord Judgment said, and gave the Hierophant a steady look. “I wasn’t aware you wore the bracelet as a choice.”

  “It’s a difficult endeavor,” Lord Hierophant said stiffly. “And as I said, it leaves me vulnerable.”

  I wasn’t surprised in the least that Lord Hierophant was good with control devices. He had a terra-cotta soldier hidden in his Westlands compound, a golem strong enough to tear buildings apart with its bare hands. Being able to control it was a requirement of ownership. But I’d promised I wouldn’t speak about that to anyone, so I threw him some cover. “It’s a solid offer. I vote we take him up on it.”

  “Lady World and Lady Death are disciples,” Lord Tower added. Some Atlanteans, rather than invest their training in sigil magic, practiced grueling, lifelong magical disciplines. They were able to manifest limited and specific abilities without sigils. Lady World was an adept at nature magic; and Lady Death was the strongest frost mage in existence. “Remove the bracelets from them, and Rune.”

  “Me?” I said, before I could help myself.

  “I’ve watched you take on groups of armed men with nothing more than a light cantrip. You can handle yourself without sigils, and you’ll be able to use your sabre.”

  “Oh,” I said. Was that the second time he’d complimented me? I wasn’t sure how I felt about the Tower deferring to me. Did Quinn break him?

  “Then we move on the armory,” Judgment said. “It’s behind that metal door. Can you take it down with frost magic?”

  Lady Death stepped over the banshee’s head and stared at the door. “I can make it brittle. We’ll need to ram it.”

  Brand cleared his throat. “I may be able to help with that. I . . . forgot . . . I had some plastique on me.”

  “Brandon,” Lord Tower sighed.

  “I brought some accidentally as well,” Mayan said in solidarity with Brand.

  “We will be rethinking our weapons policies,” Judgment said, but wiggled his staff at the Hierophant.

  Lord Hierophant called on his Aspect—a surge of elemental earth magic that turned his skin to marbled quartz, while his eyes leaked magma tears. He rotated his hands in a complex gesture, and the bracelet snapped from Lady World’s wrist.

  The pressure of his Aspect increased, and my breathing became labored.

  The bracelet snapped from Lady Death’s wrist and my wrist at the same time. Lord Hierophant’s Aspect vanished and he began to sag. Brand, probably thinking being helpful would eclipse the fact that he’d smuggled explosives into the Arcanum, offered his shoulder, which Lord Hierophant grasped. Brand led him over to a padded bench not far down the hallway.

  “Addam,” I said. “Can you take Max and Quinn back to the Iconsgison? If there are banshees there, find another empty room.”

  “But I can help!” Quinn said.

  “Not until the banshees are accounted for. I can’t fight and worry about you, not with creatures like this about.” I looked at Addam, whose jaw was set mulishly. “Please. Please, Addam. I need to know our kids are safe.”

  Max, who was about to add his own complaints to the mix, went quiet. He stared at me, then tugged on Quinn’s sleeve, nodding.

  “They will be safe,” Addam promised me, and led them back the way we’d come.

  Mayan and Brand produced their contraband—Mayan from a hidden compartment in his boot heel, Brand from the tube of eczema cream. Lady Death, free of the bracelet’s dampening power, touched the metal door and sent waves of frost magic into it. The metal squealed and made brittle cracking noises. Waves of glittering fog rose off it. When she was done, Brand and Mayan traced thin lines of explosives around the hinges.

  “Did you bring a fuse?” Mayan murmured.

  “Disguised as shoelaces. But they’re short,” Brand murmured back.

  “I’ve got this,” I said. “Everyone move.”

  The group retreated to a safe distance. I shook my sabre off my wrist and aimed the hilt. The first shot made a blackened dent against a hinge. The second shot struck true, and an explosion of magnesium-bright light was immediately followed by a sheering sonic boom. The metal door toppled into the hallway.

  “Take point,” Mayan told Brand. “You’re better in ambushes.”

  “Roger.”

  “Because you lead him into ambushes so often,” Mayan added, just in case Brand thought he was being too friendly.

  “Fucking roger,” Brand said again.

  I came up to his side, and we led the group into the armory suite.

  A single hallway, decorated in gray carpet and modern florescent light fixtures, led about thirty feet into the building, ending in closed double doors.

  The carpet was crowded with bodies.

  None of the neat, unmarked deaths of banshee screams. This had been a fight. All of the bodies wore guarda uniforms, but Brand was quick to point out the differences.

  “Frayed collar on that one. Sewn tear on that sleeve. Those buttons are square, not round like the other guarda uniforms.”

  “Lord Hanged Man’s men?” I guessed, though it really wasn’t much of a question. I knelt by one body in a false uniform, and pushed aside the collar of the shirt. There was a brass torc around his neck that emanated a nasty, slippery magic. “Control collars.” They reminded me of the masterslave devices I’d seen in the Green Docks. Horrible devices to force people to act against their survival instinct.

  “The Hanged Man infiltrated the Convocation’s guarda ranks,” Lord Judgment said behind us. It was a casual tone, and not at all unlike the one the Tower used when he ordered an execution.

  Ciaran said, “Well, that’s that. It’s all over but for the tears and bandages.”

  “What is he hoping to accomplish?” Lady World wondered. “Why delay us? Is he running to ground?”

  “He’ll have a bolt-hole,” Lady Death said. She had not relinquished her hold on her frost magic. Tendrils of fog twined about her fingers and drifted into the air. S
he added, “We all do.”

  “He does,” Lord Tower said. “A compound in the arctic circle. Very remote. Impossible to take by stealth. It will be a costly nuisance to dig him out.”

  “Lord Sun,” Judgment said. “Under the emergency powers granted to me as head of the Arcanum, I approve your request to mount a raid on the Gallows.”

  “The Gaia Throne will join,” Lady World said.

  “As will the Dagger Throne,” Lord Tower added. “And I am reasonably convinced the Chariot will attend us.”

  “The Bone Hollows makes bid as well,” Lady Death said.

  “I think I heard the Hierophant say something rather enthusiastic outside,” Ciaran announced from the back. “And I’d wager the Magician would hate to be left out. What fun. You’ll certainly need to rename the Iconsgison after this.”

  “Stay on task,” Mayan said. “Brand, move us forward.”

  We hadn’t gone more than ten steps when the double doors at the end of the hallway burst open. Six men with guns, two rows deep and three abreast, rushed forward, firing.

  A blast of wind pushed the bullets off course, a furious gale that shoved me from behind, courtesy of Lady World. Lady Death threw up a shield—a rocky wall of ice that shivered under the gunfire. The bullets didn’t pierce, but cracks sent chips of ice flying at us like broken glass.

  “Judgment is down,” Mayan barked. “Get low, people!”

  I ducked down and turned to look at the Ladies Death and World. “Can either of you see in the dark?”

  “I can,” Lady World said.

  “I’ll take the lights, Lady Death drops the wall, you hit with precision.” A drop of blood raced down my cheek and over my lip. I’d taken damage from the ice barrier. “Ready?”

  Lady World whispered something, and her eyes rolled with a faint green light. “Ready.”

  “Shield down,” Lady Death said.

  The barrier cracked and exploded outward. I fired my sabre at the light fixtures overhead. The room went dark in quick stages. Before the last chunk of ice from the barrier hit the ground, Lady World sent another gale of wind howling down the hallway, turning the shards into grenade shrapnel.