The Mortal Knife

by D. J. McCune

  The black stone glimmered. He was looking at his key.

  Adam kept his preparations to the minimum. He pulled on his coat over his blazer, out of some ancient impulse to stay warm, even though he wasn’t going to need it. A crushed cereal bar at the bottom of his bag wasn’t exactly survival rations but it would do in an emergency. Even as he was putting things together he knew a small voice at the back of his mind was telling him he was crazy. This wasn’t going to be a long visit. Either he would get in and do what had to be done quickly – or he would die. It was that simple.

  The note was the hardest bit. There wasn’t time to go into detail, so he took Luc’s note and scribbled the main details underneath. Where they were, why they were there – and what had happened if they didn’t come back. Maybe it would act as a confession too: proving that his family hadn’t known that he was a Seer. At first he just signed it ‘Adam’ but as he set it on his desk he realised it might be the last time he would speak to his family on this side of his Light, so he added ‘love’ before the Adam. And after a moment’s hesitation, he scribbled a PS: Tell Auntie Jo to stop drinking. He allowed himself a brief grin. He’d probably get a clip on the ear for that when they met again on the Unknown Roads.

  His smile faded. There was no more time. He looked around his bedroom, wondering if he would ever see it again. His reflection in the mirror was pale but he could just see the crest on his blazer, peeking out from beneath his coat. The little scrap of silvery-grey stitching gave him a burst of courage, just enough to get him through the bedroom door and down the stairs. He slipped out of the front door, veering away from his father’s study window. Sam and Morty were roaming free and they ran over to greet him. He petted them roughly and muttered, ‘Bye, boys,’ pushing them away and stepping into the Hinterland. He could hear them whimpering.

  Adam ran then. He had to get away from the house and everything that was so painfully familiar. Once the house and garden were out of sight it got easier. He unzipped the inside pocket of his blazer and carefully pulled out the precious earring, mentally rehearsing the steps. Let the physical world fall away. See the true Hinterland. Find the doorway. And as an afterthought: Don’t get eaten.

  Too quickly, the world went dim. Adam looked down at his feet and the way he seemed to be hovering in nothingness. It didn’t freak him out this time. It was a pity he hadn’t enjoyed himself more in the Hinterland but there was no time for regrets. He clenched the earring tightly in his hand and let his eyes roam through the grey half-light ahead. The Hunter crept into his thoughts but he gave that image a firm push away.

  The doorway appeared – and Adam grimaced. Of course it wasn’t going to be like the simple wooden doorway into Clotho’s realm – that wasn’t ostentatious enough for Morta. This doorway was black and highly polished, surrounded by an ornate lintel and carved pillars. It hinted at luxury and beauty on the other side. The handle was striking: a snarling leopard head with flat, obsidian eyes. Adam’s fingers prickled as he reached for it, some primitive part of his brain screaming that it would bite him, but the handle turned smoothly. He took a deep breath and eased the door open.

  He was back in the hallway of Morta’s realm. There was the same marble floor, a cold sheen glimmering beneath the crystal chandelier. The last time Adam had been here there had been music in the air and tables covered in food, their hostess moving among them, laughing while her eyes flashed fire. Today the hallway felt cold and dead. There was no sign of Morta but the same velvet couches were dotted around and on one of them was his brother.

  Adam sucked in a sharp breath. It was tempting to rush straight over but he forced himself to wait, listening carefully for any sign of movement. The silence was empty and terrible. He pulled the door closed, mindful of the Hunter and the Hinterland behind him. Only then did he move swiftly across the marble floor, his footsteps sounding horribly loud.

  Luc was lying on a velvet-covered couch. The fabric was the colour of fresh blood; rich and dark like wine. Luc seemed terribly pale in contrast, the colour drained out of his face. His eyes were closed beneath his tousled mop of dark hair. He was wearing jeans and a white shirt that had been torn open. He might have been dead, but for the faint rise and fall of his chest. His torso was the same pale alabaster as his face – with one exception. There was a wound on his chest, right over the breastbone, just where a Luman would be Marked. It looked like someone had used a fine blade to draw a crude heart shape. It was crusted with dried blood.

  At the sight of this all of Adam’s rage flooded back, threatening to overwhelm him. It was the casual cruelty of it that got under his skin. His brother always seemed so confident and in control; more alive than anyone else he knew. Luc moved through life with a hint of a swagger and a smirk on the corner of his lips. To see him lying here so vulnerable hurt Adam in a way that took him by surprise. He had never really known how much he looked up to his brother until now. Seeing him like this was awful – as if he was an abandoned rag doll.

  ‘Luc!’ Adam hissed in his brother’s ear, shaking his shoulder. ‘Wake up!’ There was no response. His first impulse was to drag Luc into the Hinterland and swoop them both home. Two things changed his mind. First of all, it would only be a temporary measure. When Morta realised Luc was gone all she had to do was cut his thread and he would be dead anyway. She could carry on her killing spree indefinitely. Adam didn’t even know why she had brought Luc here, other than to toy with him. Maybe she was hoping he would confess something for Darian’s benefit. Either way, the end results for his brother wouldn’t be good.

  Secondly – and more pressingly – Luc’s keystone was missing. Adam slipped his hand beneath his brother’s neck, hoping the chain had just snapped. He knew he was clutching at straws. There was no way Morta would leave her prisoner there with a way to escape. She had taken the keystone as a precaution. Adam’s heart sank. With Luc’s keystone he might have been able to swoop them both home, even with Luc unconscious. Without it he didn’t stand a chance. There was no escaping what needed to be done. He had to go and confront Morta.

  The worst bit was leaving Luc there. He looked small and pale and broken. Adam clenched his fist around the earring, welcoming the sharp stab of the metal spike digging into his palm. It helped him to focus. One step at a time, he thought. Find Morta first. She won’t be expecting me. I’ll have the advantage of surprise. But another voice kicked in. This one was mocking. And what will you do then, Adam? Are you going to kill her? Do you actually think you have what it takes to kill someone? Right there, while they stand in front of you? You, the one who wants to be a doctor and save lives. How ironic!

  Adam slammed an imaginary door in his head, shutting the voice up. It wasn’t helping his concentration. He took a last look at his brother’s prone form and forced himself to move. There were three doorways he could see. The first led into an enormous bedchamber. The bed was swathed in white sheets, like a vast slab of ice in the centre of the room. It was the only furniture. The walls were hung with tapestries, most of them dark with sinuous threads of colour shot through.

  The room next door had nothing but a deep, marble bath sunk into the floor. Along the back edge there were glass bottles filled with oils and a single orchid bloomed in a stone pot. It was all rich and beautiful and cold. Clotho had managed to create a cosy space but it was obvious that Morta wasn’t interested in making her realm homely. Luxurious, yes – but a den to rest in only briefly before she went back to work.

  Adam returned to the hallway, miserably aware of Luc’s prone form. There was only one double doorway left and he knew where it led to. In his heart of hearts he had known from the minute he got here where he would find Morta. She would be in the place she loved the best; the place where she got to revel in her own power. She would be in the vast circular chamber above, facing the Tapestry of Lights.

  Adam stepped through the open door. In the darkness ahead he could just see the gleam of the metal steps spiralling upwards. Last time, Morta had il
luminated torches along the wall – but Adam didn’t want a welcoming party waiting for him. Instead, he raised his hand and imagined light coming from it. A second later his palms and fingertips lit up and a soft, golden glow radiated out from his hands, just enough to light the steps ahead of him. He grasped the handrail and began to climb, fast at first then slowing as he rose higher and higher. His head spun a little with the turns and this time there was no Nathanial behind him to break his fall. His trainers were quiet and sure on the steps and after a long time he had a sense that the stairway was coming to an end. There was a feeling above as if the air was opening up around him.

  The first time he had seen the Tapestry of Lights the chamber had been in darkness until the Lumen reached the top of the stairs. This time Adam knew that Morta was already there: the glow from the billions of souls filled the chamber with light, which was now spilling down the staircase. There was no more need for the light in his hands and Adam allowed it to die away, missing the firefly comfort of it as soon as it was gone. He paused, feeling sick and afraid, then forced himself to lift one foot and then another. He crept up the last few stairs, bent double, keeping his head down until he was almost at the top. When he dared to raise his head he was confronted with an extraordinary sight.

  Morta was working. She had her back to the stairwell, all her focus on the Tapestry of Lights. In one hand she held a long, thin hook; in the other the Mortal Knife. She was staring at a patch of lights in Europe. As Adam watched she raised the hand with the hook and the lights in the Tapestry got brighter; so bright that Adam had to turn away, spots dancing across his vision. When he was able to look again he could see that most of the lights had dimmed down, leaving only the palest, weakest lights. Morta lifted both arms and her body simply left the chamber floor. Adam felt his jaw go slack as she hovered in mid-air, leaning forward with the hook and catching a thread. She pulled it away from the Tapestry and with one quick movement the Mortal Knife darted forward and cut the thread. She used the hook to tease out the ends and they fluttered to the floor. Their glow faded away in seconds.

  Someone had just died. They were probably in Spain, judging by the position on the ‘map’. Even now, a Luman would be on their way to the scene to guide the soul into his or her Light. The only blessing was that the soul in question probably wasn’t too shocked. Their thread had been wan and flickering. They were either very old or very sick. Either way, they probably knew they were dying. Was that better or worse? Maybe they had a long and happy life. Maybe they were tired and ready to go. Maybe they were pleased when they saw a Luman waiting for them. Older souls found it easier to shuck away their physical life. In the Hinterland they instinctively returned to the age they felt inside, not the age they saw reflected in the mirror. They didn’t cling to the bodies they had finally been freed from.

  Morta was working with speed now, dipping and lunging, rising and falling in a strange, graceful dance. Thread upon thread met the tip of the Mortal Knife and darkened. There was no malice in what she was doing; she was simply being a professional. For the first time Adam could see some quality in her that helped explain why she had been chosen as a Fate. She was skilful and delicate and she worked quickly and carefully, never taking the wrong soul.

  But just as Adam might have found some admiration she turned her attention to the Kingdom of Britain. Her body language changed. Adam could see her tension as she hovered in front of the tiny knot of lights. The rest of the Tapestry dimmed and this time the threads she was seeking were bright and strong, glowing with fire. She slashed with the knife almost carelessly and three people died, two in the south and one in the north, every one of them in the prime of their life.

  There was a viciousness there that made Adam flinch. He drew in a sharp breath and clapped his hand to his mouth, trying to take the sound back – but Morta had heard it. Far from seeming alarmed she laughed and didn’t bother turning round. ‘Don’t be shy, Darian. I thought you would be happy with what I left for you downstairs. Did you like my little gift?’

  Adam scowled and stepped up into the chamber. ‘You have crap taste in presents.’

  Chapter 23

  Morta turned sharply and dropped to the floor in one movement. When she saw Adam her eyes opened wide and he had the satisfaction of seeing the shock register on her face – if only for a second. She recovered swiftly. ‘You.’ She studied Adam for a moment and shook her head, her face twisted, caught somewhere between a smile and a frown. ‘This I did not see. You. The quiet one. The clumsy one.’ She studied him for a long moment, then started to laugh. ‘No wonder my new pet seemed so surprised. I didn’t believe him but it seems he was telling the truth.’

  ‘Let my brother go home. He didn’t do anything.’ Adam was trying to sound brave and calm and in control, like someone with a plan – but he could hear the faint quiver in his voice.

  Judging by her smile Morta could hear it too. ‘I think I’m going to keep him. He was flattered by my invitation at first. Maybe he’ll forgive me when I explain it was a mix-up. Maybe I can make it up to him before I kill him.’ She smiled. ‘Maybe I should keep you a little while too.’

  Adam couldn’t help staring at her. She was so beautiful. Even now he could see that – her eyes, her mouth, her hair, the curve of her hips. Her beauty was like a cloak, covering the darkness inside her. He could feel himself responding to her, lethal though she was. For Luc, who loved a challenge, it was like a moth dancing helplessly into a flame. Thinking about his brother helped him to focus; remember why he had come. ‘You don’t deserve to be a Fate.

  ‘I don’t deserve it?’ Morta frowned. ‘Why is that? Because I’m a woman? Because I was poor?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Adam was stung into answering her. ‘You don’t deserve it because you’re evil! You’re a psychopath! You kill people you don’t have to kill. Heinrich told you that you didn’t have to take all of your quota – but you do. And you’re taking them all from Britain! It’s not fair!’

  Morta moved fast. One moment she was by the Tapestry of Lights; the next she was in front of him, her hand gripping his throat, nails digging into his skin. She was taller than him but he could see the fury in her eyes. ‘It’s not fair,’ she whined, mocking him. Her laughter was harsh. ‘Do you think it is fair that you were born a boy? A Mortson? Is it fair that you, who breaks our laws and can barely swoop, has a vault full of Keystones? Is it fair that my father – a Luman, just like yours – lived in a favela and could barely feed us? That I could not get betrothed because no one wanted a Luman from a minor family? Do you think anything in this world is fair, child?’ She pushed him away and Adam coughed and gagged. He watched her move back towards the Tapestry of Lights through watery eyes. She was talking almost to herself now. ‘I was a seamstress and a slave but look at me now. I made a new life. And now I am going to take yours.’

  Adam thought at lightning speed. She doesn’t know I’ve been here with Clotho; that I know how things work here. So I need the knife and I need it to stay in my hand and I need it NOW!

  There was a shocked cry and the Mortal Knife flew from Morta’s hand. Adam barely had time to splay his fingers and catch it. The hilt was woven with fine silver and gold and the metal threads peeled away from the hilt and wrapped around his hand, lashing the knife against his palm. He held the knife up, trying to keep his hand from shaking. ‘You’re not going to take anyone’s life. Ever again.’

  To his dismay, rather than looking afraid, Morta cocked her head to one side and studied him. ‘You’ve been here with someone else.’ Her lip curled. ‘I know it was her. I’ll deal with her later.’

  ‘Let my brother go home,’ Adam said again, trying to buy some time. ‘And stop killing people in Britain. Just go back to normal. The way things were before.’

  Morta shook her head and looked at him almost pityingly. ‘I don’t take orders from men any more. Or boys. Least of all those who rob me of the souls that are rightfully mine.’ She swept her hand towards the Tapestry
behind her. Mocking him. ‘What are you going to do, Adam? Are you going to cut my thread? Are you going to end me? Please, go ahead. I give you leave to try. You have a one in seven billion chance of finding me.’

  ‘I could kill you.’ It sounded like a lie even to his own ears.

  ‘You could.’ Morta nodded. ‘Just like that.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘You could put the knife between my breasts and slide it into my heart. Is that what you want to do?’

  She was moving towards him. Adam held the Mortal Knife up, the point facing her. ‘Don’t come any closer,’ he said but his voice was weak.

  Morta smiled and kept walking. She moved so close that he could feel her breath on his face, smell an exotic, cloying perfume. He could feel the knife pressing against her breastbone. When she spoke she sounded almost kind. ‘Are you going to Mark me, boy? Make me a Luman?’

  He wasn’t going to kill her. How could he ever have thought he could kill her? Adam stared at her mutely, hating her.

  Her voice was soft and sinuous. ‘It’s not easy to do what I do, is it Adam? So easy to talk of killing someone, of cutting a thread. Not so easy when they are looking in your eyes. You don’t have what it takes to do this – but I do.’

  She turned suddenly and moved away, before Adam realised what was happening. At the same time she lifted one hand and made a summoning gesture. The wires around the knife snapped back sharply, lashing Adam’s hand and wrist and he cried out as thin weals of blood sprang up on his skin. The knife hurtled through the air into Morta’s hand. She was talking as she walked, never missing a beat. ‘I’m bored of you now. It’s time for you to step into your Light, little Luman. Your brother and your father will follow.’ She paused and turned back to him, tapping the knife against her lips. ‘Maybe I should let your eldest brother live. At least he can feed the women. I know what it is to starve. I don’t like to see the women go hungry because their men have failed them. First your uncle, now your father and brother. Of course the shame will probably kill your mother anyway.’ She shrugged and made for the Tapestry.