by D. P. Prior
Shader saw the philosopher watching him, nodding at Mamba’s refusal of despair. Dave’s glare seemed to say, “The sword you should have slain Gandaw with.” —You were given a chance.
The snake-man turned to face Shadrak. “I will go with you, though my woundsss are many.” He inclined his head, eyes widening in a manner that suggested familiarity, affection even. There was a deep gouge in his shoulder, and scores of gashes across his chest and legs. It looked as if he could hardly move his left arm. Sammy clung to him, as if he couldn’t bare to let him go.
Shadrak held his gaze for a long while, as if he were appraising, or perhaps remembering. Finally he shook his head and looked away. “No. I have my instructions. Just me and Shader. No one else.”
“Instructions?” Aristodeus said. “Who gave you instructions?”
“Not at liberty to say. Why, does that rain on your parade?”
Shadrak was following orders? Whose? Surely not the Sicarii: this was much bigger than them. Shader took some slight satisfaction from the fact that Aristodeus hadn’t been expecting this. The philosopher bit down on his top lip, narrowed his eyes to slits. Green light swirled around him, and then he was gone, as if he’d never been there.
The Emperor Hagalle drew himself up to his considerable height, dwarfing the stocky General Starn even more than he normally did.
“And who goes for Sahul? This is far too important to entrust to a Nousian and whatever the hell you are.” He shot a derisive look at Shadrak.
“I’m Sicarii, Emperor,” Shadrak said, his tone genial, while the words implied threat, especially to one as paranoid as Hagalle.
Hagalle clenched his fists and glowered. If he’d proven anything to Shader in the last few hours, it was that he was a man who confronted his fears. The tension hung thickly between him and the tiny assassin, and then Rhiannon stepped forward.
“I’m from Oakendale,” she said. “Place is a shithole, but I reckon it qualifies as Sahulian. I’ll go.”
She looked at Sammy, but he paid her no heed. His head was buried in the snake-man’s chest. Something about the slump of Rhiannon’s shoulders, the forced stoicism of her face, told Shader she already knew she’d lost her brother.
“No,” Shader said, but his voice sounded thin and weak. He didn’t want her clinging to him just because there was nothing for her here. Oh, she still had the Templum, but that couldn’t be enough. Not for Rhiannon. Not the woman he knew. And besides, it had never been enough for Shader.
“He stabbed you, Deacon,” Rhiannon said, jabbing a finger at Shadrak. “Or have you already forgotten that? No, don’t tell me. You’ve forgiven him.” She snorted her contempt.
The pain was still there, a dull ache in his lower back, in spite of the Archon’s healing. It wasn’t an idea Shader was comfortable with—traveling to an uncharted world with the man who’d killed him—quite literally—but what choice did he have? Without even asking him what he wanted, it seemed everyone had decided Shader was going on this madcap mission; after all, he was the Keeper of the Archon’s Sword, wasn’t he? But what could Rhiannon do? If Shadrak intended more harm, how could she prevent it?
“Yes,” Rhiannon said. “I’m coming, and that’s bloody final. I’ll keep that little shit in his place.” She glared at Shadrak. “And you know I can, don’t you?”
Shadrak’s hand went to his face, but he held her gaze with his unnerving eyes and snorted his contempt.
“Anyone else have anything to add?” Shadrak said, pulling up his hood, either to shield his head from the sun or to emphasize his profession. “Coz I’m keeping a list.”
Hagalle looked at the Ipsissimus, but there was no response.
“I will accompany you, for that is the will of Nous,” Dave said, lurching to Shader’s side.
“Over my rotting corpse,” Shadrak said.
“But Nous—”
“Can go shog himself.” The assassin pushed roughly past him and strode for the edge of the mesa. Clusters of soldiers got out of his way and merely watched as he turned back and hollered, “You coming, or are we gonna sit on our asses and watch the shogging fireworks? Coz the end of the world’s coming, Shader, and now’s the only chance we have.”
Rhiannon turned to her brother. “I… Sammy, I love…”
The boy’s blank gaze seemed to freeze the words in her mouth. He took hold of the snake-man’s hand and tugged it. The two turned away and walked back toward the massed troops and the bodies of the dead.
Shader took hold of Rhiannon by the shoulders. “You sure about this? Sammy—”
“Yeah, like he needs me,” Rhiannon said, breaking free of him and storming after Shadrak.
I need you, Shader wanted to say, but a strange paralysis overcame his jaw, and the words remained unspoken. He set off after Rhiannon, lowering his eyes so he didn’t have to look at the troops he passed. When he got to the edge of the tabletop, Rhiannon was already clambering down to a broad ledge that wound around the summit of the Homestead. He groaned, and already felt dizzy. He’d never liked heights. Not even as a child.
Shadrak looked up at him from the ledge. “Left my long-gun on the ridge. Shogged if I’m going back for it now. Ain’t like it was gonna work, anyway, piece of crap. Not after I slung it down.”
Rhiannon dropped the last couple of feet to stand beside the assassin. “Come on,” she said to Shader. “What’s the hold up.”
Swallowing bile, Shader grimaced and lowered his feet over the edge. “No hold up,” he said, twisting to face the rock wall. “Just wondering how falling and breaking our necks is going to help, that’s all.”
He looked back at the troops spread out across the mesa. They were moving among their fallen comrades, or collecting in groups, staring at him. He saw the Ipsissimus walking off by himself, a sorry-looking trio of Elect knights struggling to keep up, horses in tow. General Starn caught Shader’s eye and saluted, then jumped as Hagalle barked something at him. What would they do now that the battle was over? What could they do, save wait and hope? He shook his head, and the weight of responsibility felt like the sky had dropped on him. Why him? Why did it all depend on him? Couldn’t Aristodeus have found someone more worthy? Someone capable of at least taking the chances he was given?
He drew in a deep breath and held it, prodding the rock face with his boot until he found a good-sized niche. Then slowly, ever so carefully, he started to climb down.
The instant Shader reached the ledge, Shadrak turned and tapped the air with his fingers. Light flared in a horizontal beam before his feet and then swiftly grew upward to form a rectangular doorway.
“Well, don’t just stand there gawping,” Shadrak said, and stepped inside.
Shader could feel Dave’s eyes on him, glaring down at the ledge. He pointedly averted his gaze. There was no need to look: the tingling running up and down his spine was evidence enough. But maybe the hunchback had been right. Maybe he should have finished the job. Why had he hesitated? Why had he not struck Gandaw in that fleeting moment of opportunity? It was a question that threw up a dozen more: Why had he left Aeterna for Sahul? Why had he left Pardes? Why had he almost given up all he was for Rhiannon? Why hadn’t it been enough?
He clenched his fists, and acid ran through his veins. She was standing so close to him, he could smell her sweat. No doubt, she could smell his, too. It wasn’t as if any of them had had time to wash these past few days.
Turning back to the doorway, he gestured for Rhiannon to go first. She screwed her face up and pressed it into the light.
“Oh my shogging—” She pulled back out again. “You have got to see this!”
She grabbed Shader’s hand and dragged him through the doorway’s effulgence behind her.
Shader’s heart bounced up into his throat. It was enough to jolt him back to his senses. He tensed and flicked his eyes around, searching for any hint of a threat. The gladius throbbed in his hand and eased the pain in his head, cleared his mind. It must have responded to the
arousal caused by the transition, for where there had been rock and open sky, they were now standing at one end of a metallic corridor, burnished as smooth as glass and lit by an eerie blue luminescence from some invisible source.
Shadrak was striding ahead of them, completely at home.
It wasn’t magic—at least not like any Shader had encountered. This had more the feel of Ancient tech about it, like the weapons he’d seen on Podesta’s ship, or the sketches in the history books Aristodeus had made him read as a child. The closest thing that sprang to mind was the dome he and Barek had discovered in Fenrir. A wave of emotion rolled up his spine and made him shudder. With a quick prayer for the soul of Osric, who had endured centuries of torment only to give up his remaining half-life to protect those he owed nothing to, Shader touched his forehead and dragged his attention back to the task in hand.
The corridor went on so long it must have passed beyond the edge of the Homestead. Shadrak waited for them at a junction, above which were lintels inscribed with numerals. They followed him down the left-hand passageway, which was identical in every way to the entrance corridor, and paused before a slit partway along the wall. Shadrak pried open a silver panel and pressed a sequence of buttons. The wall slid open, revealing a rectangular cubicle, into which they stepped. The wall sealed behind them, and Shadrak tapped more buttons on the inside. The cubicle shuddered, and a low droning started up. Shader watched Rhiannon out of the corner of his eye, but she seemed more fascinated than scared.
Once the droning stopped, the wall parted, and Shadrak led them along another identical corridor. The wall opened to admit them to a spherical chamber dominated by a bedizened plinth flashing with pinpricks of multicoloured light and topped with black mirrors, across which symbols etched in light raced. A steady hiss like a gentle wind sounded in the background.
Rhiannon lingered in the corridor, staring at the floor. Shadrak had already moved to the plinth and was gazing at the mirrors while tapping buttons and twisting knobs. Rhiannon stooped to pick something up—a slender loop of wire that ran between two short wooden rods. She turned her face toward Shader and raised her eyebrows. Shader shrugged, and Rhiannon shook her head, pocketing the contraption. It looked like something you might slice cheese with.
“The plane ship is huge,” Shadrak said as three ovoid stools twirled up from the floor and he gestured for them to be seated. “Way bigger than the summit of the Homestead. Goes right through it and beyond.”
As soon as Shader lowered himself onto a stool, pliant silver straps wrapped around his waist and over his shoulders. Rhiannon stepped back, and Shadrak sighed.
“Safety precaution. When this thing moves, it gets a bit weird. Trust me, you’re better off strapped in.”
“Like I’m gonna trust you,” Rhiannon said, but she sat down nonetheless, laying Callixus’s sword across her lap.
Shadrak sat and let himself be strapped in, and the background hiss gave way to a sound like the droning of a thousand bees. Shader’s stomach did a lazy flip-flop, and his body felt oddly weightless. When he looked at his arms, they lacked substance. He was as ethereal as Callixus had been.
“Don’t suppose you’re going to tell us how you came by this thing,” Shader said, fighting back the urge to vomit.
“It was beneath Sarum for years. Found it by chance.” Shadrak looked away pensively, as if replaying old memories. He shook his head and glanced at one of the black mirrors. “Never knew what it was till recently, and I ain’t never done nothing like this.”
“Like what?” Rhiannon asked.
Shadrak ignored her. He seemed rapt by whatever was in the mirror.
Shader saw what looked like a painting of a barren wasteland dominated by a lone mountain—no, it wasn’t a mountain: it was too perfect, too symmetrical. More of a cone, formed from black rock—obsidian perhaps—and veined with what looked like malachite. The cone grew larger, and the angle of the image changed.
“That must be it,” Shadrak said. “I’m just going on instructions, but that has got to be the Perfect Peak, Sektis Gandaw’s scarolite mountain.”
“Scarolite?” Rhiannon said.
“Yeah. Whatever that means,” Shadrak said. “But this is where the shit’s gonna kick off, apparently. When the Unweaving starts, this is where it’ll spread out from.”
“How do you know all this?” Shader asked. “Aristodeus?”
Shadrak frowned and shook his head. “Never you mind, mate. Just be grateful I got us here, right?”
The black mountain started to shimmer. The room pitched, and Shader found himself suspended above the plinth, held only by the restraints. Then he was falling to the left, the whole room rolling with him. An abrupt halt, as if they’d slammed into something, and he was upright again. And then the room began gyring at a giddying speed, Shadrak and Rhiannon broken blurs that were torn apart by invisible forces. Just as abruptly, the spinning stopped, and Rhiannon flopped forward against her straps.
“Shit!” Shadrak said.
Shader’s stomach hit his mouth, and the plane ship plummeted.
THE SOUR MARSH
“Tell me this is supposed to happen,” Rhiannon cried over the wail of klaxons.
Shader braced himself and gritted his teeth.
The plane ship fell and fell, the background susurrus now a torrent of raging water.
“Something hit us,” Shadrak yelled. “Some kind of force from the mountain. That ain’t s’posed to happen. This ship passes through walls.”
“Gandaw?” Shader had to shout to be heard.
Silence.
They were no longer falling.
He forced his body to relax.
“I think we’ve crashed,” Shadrak said as his restraints released him and he moved to the plinth.
Shader’s straps retracted and he stood, but Rhiannon remained seated, wincing, her cheeks bulging, as if she were going to be sick.
“But there was no—” He was going to say impact.
“Plane ship,” Shadrak said, as if that were answer enough. When Shader shrugged his incomprehension, the albino explained. “She merged with the sewers of Sarum, passed right through the rock of the Homestead. But to answer your other question, yes, it must’ve been Gandaw. I was told this is one of his ships.”
“Told by whom?” Shader asked.
Shadrak pointedly ignored him. “Everything’s still working.” He peered into a mirror. “We’re just not where we’re s’posed to be.”
“Was it a barrier of some sort?” Rhiannon finally stood and drew in a long breath. “Around the mountain?”
“Not as stupid as you look,” Shadrak said.
Rhiannon bristled but bit her tongue. Shader sidled closer, but she had eyes only for Shadrak as she leaned on the black sword and glowered.
“Ain’t the foggiest how this works.” Shadrak slapped the side of a different mirror and waggled a lever. “But something tells me it’s meant to show what’s outside.”
Shader stooped to look at the mirror. At first it seemed blank, as black as the Void, but then he discerned ripples of movement, bubbles and dark detritus that oozed across the surface.
“We’ll have to do this the ol’ fashioned way,” Shadrak said, scurrying across the chamber and tapping a panel. A section of the wall slid open onto an endless corridor. “Stay here, if you like, but I’m going outside to see if it’s started. I’m dying to see what the end of everything looks like.”
“Oakendale,” Rhiannon muttered, but Shadrak had already gone.
Or Britannia, Shader thought. At least that’s what they would have said in Aeterna.
“Are you really going to use that?” Shader said, indicating the black sword.
“Too bloody right.” Rhiannon shouldered the blade. “I’m not trusting my arse to Nous, if that’s what you’re thinking. Did that before, and look where it got me.”
“Then you’ll need something to keep it in,” Shader said, “so you don’t trip over it and lop your leg off.
” He unbuckled his belt and slid it through the loops of the scabbard holding his longsword. He removed the sword and propped it against the plinth, then handed the scabbard to Rhiannon. “Should fit.”
“Don’t I need a something to hang it from?” Rhiannon asked as Shader re-buckled the belt and adjusted the gladius’s scabbard so that it hung just behind his hip.
“Here.” He pressed close to her and reached for the knot of the rope that cinched her robe.
Rhiannon flinched and pulled back.
“Sorry,” Shader said, raising his hands. “I wasn’t thinking.” Wasn’t thinking about Gaston, and what he’d done to her.
Rhiannon shut her eyes and steepled her fingers over her lips. “No, it’s OK. I just… You know.”
Shader resumed his work on the knot, careful not to make any other contact.
“I should be good at this now,” he said. “What with all those hours of meditating on the prayer cord.”
Rhiannon scoffed. “You expect me to believe that?”
“See,” Shader said with a little fanfare as the rope belt came away. “I’ll be a luminary in no time.”
Rhiannon gave a slow handclap. “Deacon Shader, raised to the altars. Just don’t expect me to pray to you.”
Shader threaded the rope through the back of the scabbard and then fastened it over Rhiannon’s shoulder. She handed the black sword to him, and he recoiled. The air around the hilt was icy, and waves of darkness danced along the blade like a deathly miasma.
“You get used to it,” Rhiannon said.
“Not sure I want to.” Shader took the sword and hurriedly sheathed it on her back. “Might be a bit awkward, drawing it from behind, but it’s the best I can do for now.”
Rhiannon studied him for a moment and then dropped her eyes.
“Thanks,” she said, before starting down the corridor.
Shadrak was on his way back as Shader followed her out the chamber.
