Wrath of Storms

by Steven McKinnon

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s not clear.’

  ‘Don’t sweat it. It’s difficult.’

  ‘There’s… More. Arnault. When you were getting your ass kicked in that arena, I tried to get into his head, but there was something blocking me. Something pushing back.’

  Gallows flashed a grin. ‘Don’t worry about it. We’ll work it out.’

  ‘Have you ever… felt like something else was controlling you?’

  Gallows’ grin disappeared.

  ‘Right, sorry. I didn’t mean the witch who tortured you. I mean, something bigger—subtle, like you’re an actor reading lines on a stage, and…’

  For the first time in a long time, Serena laughed. ‘It sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.’

  Gallows waved a hand. ‘No, I understand. Sometimes it does feel like that. Sometimes you can’t do a damn thing but let things take their course—no matter how much you try and fight it.’

  ‘What if… What if we’ve been wrong this whole time?’ The orange glow of the lamp charmed Serena’s gaze once again. It made her think of Flicker. ‘What if we’re doing exactly as the Idari want? I’m a Siren, right? A myth. No-one really knows what I am, so what if we’re doing everything wrong? The Idari want to kill me. Thackeray wanted to control me. You said it yourself: Sometimes things need to take their course. What if there’s no way to escape either of them? What if I can’t lose the siren-song?’

  Gallows knelt in front of her. ‘First and foremost, you’re Serena. The world is always gonna want you to be something you ain’t. Yeah, you’ve got power—you’ve got power. Use it for good, use it for evil—it’s up to you.’ Gallows shrugged. ‘Or don’t use it at all. You don’t owe anybody anything.’

  Serena wiped tears from her eyes and laughed. ‘We both know you’d rather I didn’t use the siren-song at all.’

  ‘Yeah, well—I’ll stop holding it against you.’

  He stood, and so did Serena. She felt taller.

  ‘All right,’ Gallows said. ‘How about we head back to camp?’

  Serena stretched her arms, grateful for the aches and pains in place of numbness.

  But as she did, something beyond the window caught her eye.

  ‘Gallows…’

  ‘Yeah?’

  Serena marched past him and pointed to the black velvet sky.

  Shimmering, an emerald-green aurora spread out beneath the constellations.

  ‘The Angel’s Breath,’ Serena muttered. ‘It’s real. That’s what Myriel called it.’

  ‘What? The aurora?’

  Serena fished the map from her rucksack. One of its corners had torn. ‘Exactly—the aurora.’ Her heart beat faster. ‘It’s showing us the way.’

  ‘Um…’

  ‘I know it doesn’t make sense, but trust me. Myriel once told me that my tribe, my family—they sailed the oceans in search of the aurora’s earthly twin, but I don’t think they ever found it… When she was younger, Myriel tried to follow the aurora… Shit, I wish I’d listened closer. Damn, I was so close.’ She thrust the map in front of Gallows. ‘The temple’s deeper in the canyons.’

  ‘Uh, right—and you know this because…?’

  ‘The Angel’s Breath is showing us the way.’

  ‘Right... Listen, we won’t be able to take the Childhood’s End through narrow canyons.’

  Serena hefted the rucksack onto her back. ‘So we walk.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The aurora crested across the winking stars, and Serena didn’t take her eyes from it. Even when she spoke to Gallows, her eyes were still pinned to it.

  ‘Hope you know what you’re doing!’ Gallows called across the lashing wind.

  ‘Making it up as I go along!’

  The ice canyon narrowed, casting deep shadows across the path ahead, occasional pockets of light coming from the aurora.

  ‘Look.’ Serena pointed. The gorge’s walls drew in, forming a cavern. The shimmering sea-green from the aurora illuminated its yawning entrance.

  ‘It’s only visible when the aurora’s in the sky,’ Serena said. ‘No wonder Heinrich thought it was lost.’

  ‘What are you talking about? The cave?’

  Serena shook her head. ‘What’s inside.’

  She marched into the cavern, heart racing. Flowing, ethereal indigo-blue light emanated behind walls of ice, coming from a source Serena couldn’t identify. ‘There it is. The temple.’

  Hewn from the ice and emerging from the shadows, the temple sprawled across the far end of the cave. Its spires pushed against the cavern ceiling, and the remains of a watchtower stood behind a low, thick wall, its ramparts ruined by a fist of encroaching ignicite.

  ‘Serena, this isn’t a temple—it’s a fortress.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘At least, it’s the beginning of one, before the ignicite cavern formed around it. See the diagonal slope of the walls? Means this was a bastion. A huge bastion, built to protect the tower behind the wall.’

  Bastion. Serena recognised the word from her lessons in the orphanage. ‘They’re like, tower extensions, right?’

  ‘Fortresses had ’em after the Phadrosi invented cannonballs… But this looks older than that—much older. See, castle walls were built for height, to make it difficult for an invading force to climb—but when we invented gunpowder, well, all bets were off—you could make your own door and waltz in. So, a couple hundred years ago, forts were built with lower, thicker walls, and these bastions were added—their diagonal walls meant archers and gunners could cover each other.’

  ‘So, Myriel was wrong? It was never a temple?’

  ‘Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was never completed. Or maybe it was something else.’

  He’s enjoying this.

  ‘Well, whatever it is, it’s what we’ve been searching for,’ Serena said. ‘I can feel it.’

  ‘You ready?’

  Serena’s heart rate climbed. ‘Where’s the doorbell?’

  The temple-fort’s entrance had no doors, supporting Gallows’ idea that maybe the place was never completed.

  A great, dark hall sprawled open before Serena, bereft of any signs of life. She held her lamp aloft—the temple floor was the colour of white marble, with blue-green and pinkish veins. Ignicite had burst through the structure’s roof and eastern wall; skeletal pillars shouldered the vaulted ceiling, and marble pews curved like rib bones. A few of the pillars had been torn apart, sitting like melted candles.

  The glare of the lamp highlighted the shimmering motes of dust and made them dance.

  ‘Hey—check it out,’ said Gallows.

  ‘What is it?’ The empty room did nothing to heighten the volume of Serena’s voice. From the light of Gallows’ lamp, she could make out the silhouette of something small. ‘Another broken pillar?’

  ‘No—an altar. But that’s not what I mean.’

  Serena held her own lamp up.

  Above the altar, a painting of Musa hung—old, and flaking. She was sitting in a winter garden, a small harp clasped in her right hand and emerald-green hair cascading over her shoulders.

  She was surrounded by children, girls and boys. Their hair was like their mother’s, albeit different shades. A chill that had nothing to do with the wind or ice crept over Serena.

  ‘In the Fayth Codex…’ Serena started. ‘Does… Does Musa have children?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who do you reckon painted it?’

  ‘Only the Gods know.’

  ‘Let’s keep looking.’

  She traced a fingertip over marble decorations set into the wall—angel wings, harps, crossed swords. Like the suits in a deck of cards. The cold seeped through her gloves, but she was past caring.

  Serena hadn’t known what to expect—answers, sure, but to what questions? There was so much she didn’t know or understand—too many half-truths, too much rumour.

  All the way across Ryndara, for what? A destroyed fortress?

  She’d hoped beyond all
reason that she’d find a way to purge the siren-song, to be normal. Was it all for nothing?

  ‘Hey, where you going?’ Gallows called.

  Serena hadn’t realised she’d been walking. As if lured by it, she’d stopped next to a statue of Musa. It held a small, black harp in its right hand.

  From behind the statue, a breeze sang through Serena’s hair. ‘Hey, I think there’s a door here.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Gallows. ‘It wouldn’t be much of a secret temple if it didn’t have a hidden passage.’

  She pulled at the statue but it didn’t budge. ‘Help me shift it.’

  Gallows pulled at it, but the statue wouldn’t move.

  ‘Useless.’ Serena mopped her brow. ‘What do you think?’

  Gallows shrugged. ‘You’re the one descended from the Gods, I’m just a guy with a sword.’

  ‘Don’t put yourself down like that—you’ve got a knife, too.’

  ‘Hey, wait…’ Gallows peered closer.

  ‘What?’

  His brow furrowed. He wiped dust and grime from the harp in the statue’s hands.

  ‘Gallows, if you’re gonna be all cryptic and annoying, can you not say “Hey, wait” first?’

  ‘Sorry, it’s just… There’s something written here… In the old tongue.’

  ‘“Old tongue”?’

  ‘Yeah, a nameless language from before… anything, really. Back home they call it “Old Dalthean”, but that’s bullshit—it predates Dalthea.’

  Serena eased an ache from her shoulder. ‘You speak it?’

  ‘Uh, I’m a little rusty, but… “The holy path will open when Musa’s light shines upon the black harp”.’

  ‘Musa’s light? Does it mean the aurora?’

  ‘I don’t think so… “Holy path…” In the height of winter, daylight only lasts three hours a day in some parts of Tarevia.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And some folk believe that’s holy light—a gift from the Gods when the world’s at its darkest.’

  ‘So, what, we gotta wait until the height of winter? The Month of Nyr? That’s weeks away.’

  ‘Unless…’

  ‘Unless what?’ Serena’s hands flew up. ‘Gallows, you’re doing it again.’

  He chuckled.

  ‘You got an explanation to go with that smirk?’

  ‘Like money, gold and ignicite, people worship something more when it’s difficult to get—and back when this temple was built, they couldn’t predict how far technology would come. Nowadays, a focused light is portable and—’

  ‘And we can get it whenever we want.’

  Gallows worked his ignium lamp and put it to its brightest setting, then held it close to the stringless harp. It cast golden light throughout the hall, washing over the symbols. Its warmth spread over Serena’s skin, and she waited.

  And waited.

  Nothing happened.

  Gallows’ shoulders slumped. ‘Damn, really thought that would—’

  Scraping against the stone, the statue of Musa turned, revealing a descending, spiral stone staircase.

  ‘Reckon a blind man built these steps,’ Serena said after slipping for the third time.

  ‘It’s intentional,’ Gallows said. ‘The steps are uneven and run counter-clockwise because invaders ain’t familiar with the layout, so they trip over them.’

  ‘Why counter-clockwise?’

  ‘Most people are right-handed; if you’re charging up a castle tower, you gotta use your left to hold your sword so you’ve got space, while the defenders—’

  ‘Are coming down, with space to their right.’

  ‘Got it. The attacker is disadvantaged, the defender has the upper-hand.’

  ‘Unless the attackers anticipate that,’ Serena began, ‘and recruit only left-handed soldiers.’

  ‘Ha. You’ve got a general’s mind, Serena.’

  After five more precarious minutes, the stairwell ended at a narrow, arched passageway. Steeped in darkness, even the ignium lamps struggled against the shadows.

  Making it all the more terrifying when a sword swiped down and clanged against the floor.

  Gallows staggered back. ‘Shit!’

  The lamp in his hand revealed a suit of armour clutching a sword.

  ‘Gods damn,’ muttered Serena, waiting for her heart to leave her mouth.

  ‘Yeah. Right there with you.’

  The suit of armour wasn’t like any Serena had ever seen; it was made of marble. Its closed visor had no slits to peer out of, and its limbs—even its fingers—had joints, allowing for movement, but no belts or straps. ‘How does a knight wear that?’

  ‘Just a statue,’ Gallows explained. ‘Some statues are made in stages then stuck together with iron bars—probably just a loose joint.’

  ‘Right.’ Serena stepped around the statue-armour, feeling it watching her.

  More unsettling than the darkness was the absence of sound. No wind nor hail, no jangling of chains or crackle of fire.

  The darkness swallowed the lamplight—Gallows’ shadow stretched and flickered in the waning power of his ignium lamp; Serena kept hers at a low setting to conserve gas.

  So far, the reasons for a hidden, underground chamber weren’t clear. ‘Do you reckon this leads outside?’ Serena asked.

  ‘Impossible to tell.’ Gallows’ lamp highlighted a red scrawl painted across the stone wall. ‘The ruptured ignicite changed the landscape—it might lead nowhere.’

  Gallows pressed ahead, the passage growing narrower with each step.

  Serena brought her own lamp close to the wall, finding more red scrawls. ‘More old tongue riddles?’

  ‘Huh?’ Gallows stood alongside her, squinting in the low light. ‘Maybe… Prae… mon… Lux… Something about a warning light or warning against the light... Can’t make it all out.’

  ‘Wonder who left ’em here.’

  Gallows pushed on. ‘C’mon, won’t be long before the lamps extinguish.’

  Serena shared his desire to explore—and then leave—but what if the writing was something to do with Musa? She thought back to the painting hanging in the main hall, of Musa and her children. She looked older than in most depictions.

  Did the Gods really exist the way the Codex says they did? Could Musa have been here?

  She left the thought unspoken and tore herself away, walking straight into Gallows’ back. ‘Hey, watch it.’

  Gallows didn’t answer—he stared through the narrowing tunnel ahead; from the soft light of his lamp, Serena made out the silhouette of one of the marble knight statues standing in the opening of a tunnel.

  ‘Yeah, great craftsmanship.’ Serena brushed past Gallows. ‘You wanna take a closer look?’

  Gallows eased his hand in front of Serena and guided her back behind him.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘That wasn’t there a second ago.’

  Serena’s throat closed and her fingers tightened around the lamp’s handle. ‘Say that again.’

  Through clenched teeth, Gallows said, ‘The gate ahead was open but the statue wasn’t there a sec—’

  It lurched forward.

  ‘Back!’

  The silhouette lumbered toward Gallows with awkward, inhuman movements, its heavy footsteps resounding through the chamber.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  ‘Go!’ Gallows called.

  Serena twisted around and scrambled backwards through the dark, her heart threatening to burst through her chest.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Icy sweat ran down Serena’s brow, breaths shearing her lungs. She came face to face the first statue.

  It had followed them from the stairwell.

  Fear stole the words from her throat.

  In an erratic, jerky motion, it raised its sword—Serena ducked to the floor but the blade swept the ignium lamp from her hand, smashing it and drawing the darkness deeper around her like an executioner’s hood.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  ‘Serena, get
behind it!’ Gallows called.

  ‘I can’t see!’

  The weak light from Gallows’ lamp limned the marble knight’s silhouette. It righted itself and lurched towards Serena, raising its sword again.

  Gallows set his lamp on the floor and unsheathed his own blade; it clanged against the statue’s, blocking it and buying Serena time to scramble further away.

  She couldn’t see Gallows well in the weak light; she only caught glimpses, flashes of metal and heard steel ring on steel.

  Then it wrested the lamp from his hand.

  ‘Gallows!’

  But he didn’t answer.

  Serena crawled through the darkness, palms scraping across the floor. Gallows flickered in and out before the darkness reclaimed him. She heard his breaths and grunts, heard the swords clash.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  The second marble knight was close.

  Gallows screamed.

  No, no, no…

  He was alive—she could sense him close by.

  With no weapons and no idea what else to do, Serena summoned the siren-song. She reached out into the dark, the electricity unwinding from her fingertips.

  But Gallows’ was the only mind there.

  How is this possible?

  She heard his sword strike the hard marble, ringing out like the pluck of harp string.

  But the living statue wasn’t interested in him.

  It stomped towards Serena, amber light flickering over its hard, featureless face.

  It was slow—Gallows weaved in front of it, striking at its sword arm, redirecting its attack away from Serena. Its limbs rolled and it righted itself each time, its arms reforming, the workings inside scraping and grinding together.

  Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Serena ducked beneath the second statue’s strike, but it wasn’t like escaping the Watch or the other kids in the orphanage—they didn’t get flustered, frustrated or annoyed; they didn’t get tired.

  Gallows retrieved his lamp, but it burned low.

  ‘I’ll lead ’em away, you disarm ’em!’ Serena called.

  She didn’t wait for Gallows to respond—she fled into the darkness, a marble knight close behind her.

  Gallows yelled, and a sword clattered to the ground. Whether it was Gallows’ or the statue’s, Serena didn’t know.