‘Josiah!’ Naveer called out. ‘Josiah, are you all right?’
Vaulting to his feet, Joss grabbed his mother’s journal, stuffed it into his jacket, then drew the Champion’s Blade from its scabbard and angled it at the door. He squeezed the sword handle tight with one shaking hand and held his grip steady with the other. When the door flew open, he readied himself for the struggle to come. He would not go without a fight.
‘Joss, what’s wrong? It sounded as if –’ Naveer panted, gazing around the room at what could have caused such distress. His eyes flicked to the Champion’s Blade. ‘Is that aurum?’
‘Who are you?’ Joss demanded.
The man with his father’s face looked at him in utter confusion. ‘I’m Naveer Sarif. I’m your father,’ he said as if the answer should be obvious.
‘Then who in the unholy pits is this?!’ Joss said, pointing at the ragged pile hidden behind his mother’s desk. Naveer peered at it, and when he did his face fell in what looked to be shock.
Propped against the wall, a corpse had been left to atrophy. Though the hues of its garments had faded, they could still be discerned. Bright sky blue. Deep ocean green. Threads of sunrise red. And if that weren’t enough, the thunderbolt necklace that dangled across its chest made it all too clear who this was, or once had been, even with its features withered to little more than a skull.
‘I – I don’t understand …’ Naveer stuttered, feigning surprise so deftly that Joss wondered for a split second whether or not it was genuine.
‘Then allow me to explain,’ Joss said. Adjusting his grip on the Champion’s Blade, he forced any trace of doubt from his mind. The monster standing before him didn’t deserve the benefit of it. ‘This is Naveer Sarif. This is my father.’
He pointed the tip of his sword at the impostor’s heart.
‘So what does that make you?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A PALE AND TWISTED THING
‘ADMIRAL Ichor has need of the prisoners,’ said the pyrate with the mechanoid eye as he approached the cells with a regiment of armed muscle in tow.
The guard with the blade for a leg looked lazily up from his stool. ‘You’ll have to be more specific. We got a lot of prisoners here.’
‘Don’t try my patience, Gnash,’ the pyrate sighed as his glowing eye whirled in its socket. ‘You know who I mean.’
‘Ain’t trying nothing, Gnarl,’ the guard spat back. ‘Just doing my job as it’s meant to be done.’
The mechanoid eye jerked to a stop, its pupil contracting to a fiery little point. ‘I require the two intruders. If you would be so kind.’
Grinning, the guard called Gnash pulled himself up from his seat. ‘Was that so hard?’ he asked, and unclipped the keychain from his belt. ‘No doubt it would bring a tear to our old man’s eye to see his two boys getting along so well, Sleeping King keep him.’
Gnarl’s piercing red pupil grew even more pointed in its gaze. ‘You speak sacrilege in the house of our dark lord. And on the eve of his arrival.’
‘Don’t go getting preachy on me, brother,’ Gnash said. ‘It was only a turn of phrase.’
‘See that it’s so,’ Gnarl told him. ‘Now – the prisoners, if you wouldn’t mind.’
Watching the altercation from the back of the cage, Drake and Hero found the crowd of hostages that surrounded them melting away. The armed guards moved quickly to take their place, swords drawn to keep the inmates at bay. Not that anybody attempted to resist them. They all knew better than that.
‘On your feet,’ Gnarl said.
With no other choice, Drake and Hero picked themselves up. But they weren’t alone.
‘I’m coming with them,’ Edgar said, pushing forward to stand at their side. Gnarl’s mechanoid eye homed in on the boy as if to study some strange new species of suicidal sea creature.
‘And why would I allow that?’ he asked.
Drake leant in, took Edgar by the elbow, told him firmly, ‘Don’t.’
‘Because I’m their steward,’ Edgar said, shaking Drake off.
Gnarl and his brother swapped incredulous glances. The blade-legged Gnash shrugged. ‘Take him then, if he’s so eager to meet his maker.’
As the prentices were led away, Lilia found the opening she needed to whisper to them. ‘Remember, all they need is an excuse. These are cruel and violent men.’
‘I can be pretty violent myself at times,’ said Hero, glaring at her captors.
‘Quiet!’ Gnash ordered, slamming the cage shut again once the three prentices had been removed. As they were marched across the plaza, they passed the masses of pyrates huddled before the swirling vortex, still chanting. They were lined up along the staircase that descended into the abyss, with the masked Thrall again leading the congregation from the bottom step.
‘It worries me what that stone-faced freak is doing here,’ Hero murmured to Drake.
‘Me too,’ he whispered in reply. ‘But I think we have more immediate concerns.’
Neither of them noticed the way Thrall stared at them as they passed, his followers growing more feverish in their recitations, the vortex swirling hungrily at his feet.
Naveer looked at Joss in astonishment, mouth agape and raised hands trembling. No, not Naveer. The impostor. Joss had to remind himself every other second not to think of this man by that name. This was his punishment for daring to trust.
‘That – that can’t be …’ the impostor was stuttering, acting as if he hadn’t known about the body that he’d stashed away to be forgotten. The whole act would have been very convincing if it wasn’t so infuriating.
‘But it is,’ Joss told him, weapon glinting.
‘Joss, please. I mean you no harm, I swear!’
‘Then why pretend to be my father? Why play out this sick little game?’ he said, and when the man who wore his father’s face didn’t respond, Joss demanded, ‘Answer me!’
‘I’m not pretending!’
‘What other explanation is there?’
‘I – don’t know. I’m as baffled as you are.’
‘Baffled? Baffled is not the word I would choose. Shocked. Deceived. Betrayed. Any of those would do. Feel free to choose your favourite.’
‘Please, son, you have to believe me,’ Naveer said, reaching out for Joss.
‘Stay back!’ Joss ordered as he pulled away, his wrist brushing Naveer’s hand. The protective charms fixed to Qorza’s bracelet made contact with Naveer’s skin, and the effect was as sudden as a lightning strike. Naveer howled as all his flesh quivered to reveal his true face: a pale and twisted thing with pointed black teeth and burning eyes.
Hissing, the impostor tried again to grab Joss.
‘Don’t touch me! Monster!’ Joss screamed, the wisp mark burning into his chest. Spinning around, he shoved the creature back into the bookshelves. The glass shattered around him and heavy tomes fell like hailstones as Joss brandished his sword, taking one step back, then another.
He kept a wary eye on the creature with every move, waiting for it to lash out at him. It never did. It just gaped at Joss, skulking helplessly in the corner, its features shifting back into those of his father’s face. Joss stepped into the hall. Slammed the door shut. The creature made no sound as Joss locked the door and removed the key, pressing his forehead to the hard wood.
‘I was a fool to trust you,’ he whispered, as much to himself as to the creature. He screwed his eyes shut to keep any tears from escaping, waiting until he was sure he had control of himself again. Still no sound of struggle came from within the study. So, Champion’s Blade in hand, Joss ventured out into the main chamber.
It was just as empty as it had been before. No other monsters were waiting for him, or any of Ichor’s men. But if all this had been some sort of elaborate trap, he wasn’t going to wait around to find out. Sheathing his sword, he made for the rope hanging in the centre of the room. With great effort he climbed it, his hands and arms burning hotter than they had on the way down, and t
hen clambered through the broken skylight and out onto the domed roof.
Joss stopped just long enough to check that he wasn’t charging into an ambush. When he was more or less certain, he started the arduous path down the chalky surface of the dome, making his descent in a curving pattern and using the grip of his boots to control his sliding. One wrong move, he knew, and the ground would all too quickly fly up to greet him with its cold, hard surface. Eventually he made it to the library’s rooftop, and from there he began scaling down the scaffolding and stacks of crates that the impostor had led him up.
His mind was like a broken kaleidoscope with its mess of fragmented thoughts. How had the creature known so much about their lives? Was it true, what he’d said about the fall of Daheed? Probably it had all been a lie, a way of confusing and manipulating him, as well as tarnishing his father’s memory. But to what end he couldn’t possibly imagine. A direct attack from a known enemy would have been far preferable to this cold-blooded deception.
Coming to the edge of the final landing, Joss leapt to the ground below. His feet hit the oyster-shell paving and his boots slid beneath him. He twisted to keep his skull from cracking on the gutter, dusted off his hands and knees, and pulled himself up to his full height.
And then he ran.
He didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t have any plan for what he would do to save his friends, to escape the city, to return to sanity. He just ran. And he kept running, through the endless night that engulfed the Gleaming Isle, into the unknown.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A FRIENDLY CONVERSATION
DRAKE, Hero and Edgar were led into a darkened dockside tenement with brickwork that was as pockmarked as a plague victim, guards flanking them at every turn.
‘Reminds me of where my father works,’ Drake said, before being jabbed into silence by the butt of a spear.
‘Talk again and we’ll cut out that curly tongue of yours!’ Gnarl warned him, the glow of his eye painting his face red. The prentices remained silent as they were led through the building’s entrance hall and up a flight of stairs to the top floor. The expansive room would have once enjoyed sweeping views of the harbour and the ocean beyond it. Now its smashed windows looked out at the cage full of prisoners, and its rotten floorboards creaked underfoot with every step.
‘Ah! There you all are.’ A molasses-rich voice drifted from the dining table that had been positioned across the room, a mammoth-tusk candelabra serving as its centrepiece. The three prentices were pushed towards their places at the table, and as they rounded the candelabra, with its sputtering light, they got their first proper glimpse of their host.
Admiral Ichor sat with his back to the peeling plaster of the wall behind him, an oversized oyster in one hand and dagger in the other. He didn’t need to look at what he was doing as he cracked the shell open with ease and plopped the oyster into his mouth, its juices spilling onto his beard. Instead, he kept his eyes on the three of them as they were each forced to stand beside a chair and wait.
‘Please, have a seat. Rest your weary bones,’ he said.
‘I’d rather stand,’ Hero replied, head held high. Drake and Edgar followed suit.
Admiral Ichor took his blade, wiped the salt water from its surface, then slammed the tip into the surface of the table. He stared at Hero with a cold fury as the handle of the knife trembled from the force of his strike. Each of the prentices looked at one another, then slowly and begrudgingly took a seat. Wrenching his knife from the tabletop, the admiral returned to shucking his oysters.
‘Mmm! These would have to be the most succulent morsels I’ve ever tasted. So fat and creamy!’ he said through a mouthful. ‘I would offer you some but we’re in short supply …’ He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, cracked open another shell, scooped out the contents. ‘Actually, that’s a lie. I just don’t feel like sharing with interloping scum who invade my city and spoil my plans. A fair sentiment, I’d say. Wouldn’t you agree, Gnarl?’
‘Yes, Admiral. More than fair.’ Gnarl’s pupil dilated with a motorised whir as he stood by his leader.
‘We saw your masked crony outside. Too busy to join us?’ asked Hero.
Admiral Ichor gazed at her curiously. ‘Lord Thrall will be along shortly, if his duties permit. And when he arrives, I would refrain from calling him such things if I were you.’ The admiral’s lips twisted in a sinister grin, his teeth a busted mosaic of brown and grey. ‘But we don’t require his presence to enjoy a friendly conversation. I’d like to start with an apology for my earlier outburst. I was exasperated, rightly or wrongly, by your undoing of a lot of hard work, which I’m sure you can appreciate. And I’m just as sure that you would also like to apologise to me for the reckless disregard you showed in interrupting when you did.’
Admiral Ichor sat back in his chair and waited, while the prentices gaped at each other. Hero’s astonishment quickly bubbled over into anger, though as she drew breath to spit what would certainly be an acidic reply she was stopped by a gentle touch on her hand from across the table.
‘If it were any other ceremony we’d interrupted, Admiral, you would certainly have our apologies,’ Drake said, his hand sliding from Hero’s wrist to rest beside it. ‘But you were murdering innocent people. We couldn’t just sit back and watch.’
Admiral Ichor grinned. ‘An idealist, I see,’ he said, then pushed back his chair to circle the table, keys jangling against his hip, knife spinning around in his hand. ‘Young, too. Which is good. Idealism is for the young. I remember I was much the same. All I ever dreamed of was a boat of my own, a crew to man it, and a wide blue ocean to sail. And for years I had everything I hoped for. But then the day came that I watched from the deck of my ship as the sky tore open above this very city and ripped all the life from it, like the flesh of an oyster sucked from its shell.
‘For the first time I knew just how small I was. How truly insignificant. But more than that, I knew in one divine revelation of the greater force that existed out there, in the dark, beyond our dreams, preparing to subjugate and destroy all those who were foolish enough to try standing against it. So I gave up my name, gave up my life, and I sought out this holy place – this land first graced by His Majesty, though his touch meant its doom – so that I might dedicate my life to something greater than my own wretched self. Something greater than us all …’
The keys fell silent as the admiral came to a stop behind Drake’s chair, forcing Drake to crane his neck to see him. ‘There are things I want to know. Things you’re going to tell me. We’ll start with how you found us here. You’ll resist at first, I’m sure, but then you’ll find I can be very persuasive. And once you’ve answered that question, you’ll then tell me who your friend was who escaped us, and where we might find him.’
‘You sound very confident about that,’ Drake said, and Ichor laughed.
‘If only because I’ve seen this little scenario play itself out, oh, countless times now. You’re not the first band of malcontents I’ve had to parlay with and, until we’ve built our glorious new world, you won’t be the last. So what do you say, my idealistic young friend? Want to start with telling me how you came to find us here?’
Again, Drake looked at Hero and Edgar. Then he turned back to address their host. ‘I’m sorry, Admiral. You may have done this countless times before, as you say. But as you also pointed out, I’m young. And I’m only just getting started.’
The admiral laughed again, deeper and darker this time. ‘I thought as much,’ he said, and drew his knife up into the air to slam it back down into the table, straight through Drake’s hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A GHOSTLY VISION
SWEAT ran down Joss’s face, stinging his eyes. His breath was a tortured knot in his chest, worked tighter with every step he took on his aching feet. How long had he been running for? How far had he gone? It felt as if he’d doubled back on himself more than once. Thankfully the dome of the library was nowhere to be seen, giving
him some cold comfort that he had at least put a degree of distance between himself and that wretched place.
He thought again of the deception that he’d all too eagerly allowed himself to believe, and for the hundredth time he cursed himself for a fool. Yes, he’d been wary at the start. First of ‘Darra’ and then of ‘Naveer’. Deep down, he had felt the whole situation was too good to be true.
But he’d ignored that doubt. And it had cost him dearly. His mind was poisoned by seeing the transformation of Naveer’s face from fatherly concern to leering ghoul. It soured his stomach and made him want to cough up his heart.
Stopping for breath, he tried to shake away the fog of his thoughts. Where was he?
To his left there was what looked to have once been a schoolhouse, its clay bricks crumbling, its doors hanging from their hinges. Many of its windows had been smashed, knocked out like teeth in a brawl. But in the few untouched panes hung a collection of children’s paintings. On curled parchment and in swirling water-colours, now faded, they depicted sailboats floating beneath smiling suns, pterosaurs with tundra-blue plumage scooping up fish by the beakful, families gathered together beside palm trees, standing outside their island homes. Joss was struck by the same eerie sense of familiarity that he’d had when standing in the middle of the Imperial Library.
The yard that surrounded the schoolhouse was swamped with weeds. A playground could just be seen among the thistles and wild grass. The tilting sailboat, the whirling mermaid, the bouncing plesiosaur – they had all been choked to a standstill, paint flaking from their hides, eyes faded, spring-mounted joints rendered solid.
Turning to his right, Joss saw an olive tree at the corner of the street. It was little more than a withered husk now, its dead branches pointing down the adjoining avenue like a bony hand. Heeding its advice, Joss turned in that direction.
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