by Scott Hale
Merna, Arbo, and the six silent soldiers they’d brought with them left R’lyeh and the Skeleton and went to the greeting party. They seemed eager enough to meet their guests, but nevertheless, they were blocking the way.
“What do they want?” R’lyeh said, leaning into the Skeleton. “Obviously, they think you can get it for them.”
The Skeleton ran his fat, black tongue over his teeth. “Something out of reach, I expect. Something guarded. They’re terrified of dying. I’m bored of it.”
Screaming from the center, below the pyramid. Not a human screaming, but a machine. Lights flickered around the Dead City. The massive tubes hummed out numbing vibrations. Whirring, clicks… the sharp discharge of energy. A pungent smell drifted from the center; something she’d never smelled before; it made her eyes water. And then finally, thankfully, silence.
On edge, R’lyeh said, “What the hell is that?”
“Don’t know.”
“Are you going to give them what they want?”
Merna and Arbo turned around and headed back their way.
“Depends on what they want.”
“They worship God, though,” R’lyeh said.
“Been friends with a lot of people who worship God,” the Skeleton said, his hands becoming claws again. “Killed a lot of them, too. Makes no difference to me.”
“Cool,” R’lyeh said, and coughed. “You’re going to get me killed.”
“Most likely be the other way around.”
R’lyeh coughed again, and wanting to test the Skeleton, said, “Sorry I keep coughing.”
Before the Skeleton could say anything, if he was going to say anything, Merna and Arbo rejoined them. A trail of green clouds followed them everywhere they went. The tubes running out of their backpacks and into their helmets trembled. As the seconds passed, the two seemed to move more quickly, more fluidly. They were feeding off the Green Worm, but it was more than that. It was like… it was like they were filtering out the rest of the stuff around them. As if, to them, this world was the contaminant. It was probably the thirteen-year-old inside her talking, but R’lyeh could get behind them on that. She’d slit their neck afterwards, but until then…
“I am sorry for keeping you in the dark,” Merna said, her speech clearer than it had ever been. “Our secret is all that we have. The others needed to be convinced it was worth sharing with you.”
“Let’s see it, then,” the Skeleton said. “My partner here—”
Partner?
“—is of the fleshy variety. It’s cold, and we had a long trip. She’s not… neither of us are feeling too good. You want to be gone? Me too, so let’s get.”
Arbo and Merna led them to and through the entrance, the gap, rather, between the buildings held up by one another. Passing through the skyscraper passage was like moving through a cave system on some distant, alien planet. The facades weren’t natural, and neither were the growths and wiring that covered them, and yet it all came together in such a way that, to R’lyeh, it made sense. A new kind of force. A happy marriage—her father’s favorite phrase—of man and earth. Mother Nature’s bio-mechanical sister.
Scaffolding began to take form in the green dark of the entryway. Virions roamed the upper levels, buzzing back and forth to one another. She didn’t know if they were civilians or soldiers, but that didn’t seem to matter. They were observing them, sizing them up, breaking them down. No different than the citizens of Geharra, or the soldiers of Penance, R’lyeh found herself fighting back image after image of that day she’d been paraded through the city-state’s streets.
Go away, she screamed at the memories. I don’t need you anymore. She gulped down the Green Worm’s vapors, to spite the flashbacks, to show herself she was stronger than her mind gave her credit for. She coughed, of course, and there was blood, of course, but that was like someone mentioning the sky was blue. For her, these things went without saying. And it was working—her immunity. She was here, with the Skeleton, about to finally, hopefully, do something that mattered. No more fuck-ups like in Bedlam or Rime. She’d had more failures than successes; if she kept it up, she’d be no better than those teenagers whose diaries she’d read back in Gallows. Thirteen, sure, in human years.
“You would’ve liked my wife and son,” the Skeleton said to her, out of the blue.
R’lyeh looked at him like he was insane. “Would’ve?”
He ground his teeth, stared at her as if she wasn’t there, and then kept going.
“Before the Vermillion God woke in the Old World,” Merna said, “the humans had finished construction on a space vessel called the Vigilant.”
“Turn here,” Arbo said, leading them through the busted wall of one of the skyscrapers. They passed through a stock trading exchange, and came out the other side. Once they broke through the green clouds ahead, they’d be at the center, directly underneath the pyramid.
“When the Vermillion God took Its place upon the Earth, the humans scrambled to be rid of It. While they assaulted It endlessly, the rich and the affluent scrambled to have the Vigilant launched into space.”
The Skeleton, with his gloved hand, took R’lyeh’s.
The hell is wrong with you? she wondered.
And then, with his other hand, he touched his chest, where the Black Hour’s heart was lodged.
Together, Arbo and Merna behind them, they stepped into the green cloud. Visibility dropped to zero. R’lyeh felt him squeezing her fingers, as if he, the Skeleton, Bone Daddy, Bag of Bones, their Undead Lord and Savior, were scared.
Merna’s voice, taking on once more its watery tone, closed in around them. “The Vigilant left the Earth’s atmosphere successfully, unfinished and unfurnished, and without proper stock. They did not make it far before malfunctions grounded the Vigilant at the rim of the system. The Trauma made communications impossible with Earth, so they resorted to stasis to maintain their lifespans.”
What is she getting at? R’lyeh squinted. The green clouds, the Green Worm’s true body, were beginning to disperse. Again, she heard that metallic screaming, that wretched whirring. It pierced her ears deeper than any blade ever could. They’re nuts. He can’t send them into fucking space.
Arbo passed in front of them, and disappeared into the field of color. “About thirty years ago, we began receiving transmissions from the Vigilant. The Dead City had been the launch site, and amidst the wreckage, we found portions of the facility. Communications devices.”
“Atticus,” R’lyeh said. She coughed, and tried to wriggle her hand free of his grasp. “You’re hurting me.”
She was able to see the Skeleton at her side; despite her pleas, he didn’t seem to give a damn.
“There are people who are still alive aboard the Vigilant,” Merna said. R’lyeh could see her, too. “They are the ones who told us where we could find it.”
It? It? R’lyeh opened her mouth to ask just what it was, but then the green fog lifted from the center, and she saw her answer, instead.
Surrounded by skyscrapers and the machines and labs that had been built around, the ‘it’ was a spacecraft. A vessel. A fucking technological marvel. More advanced than anything R’lyeh had seen before, she couldn’t even begin to fathom the components that it was comprised of. It looked like a ship, except it was supported by four pillars, and it was from these pillars the sounds and the harsh light, like bursts of fire, were merging. The body of the craft was sleek, but panel after panel had been torn away or replaced entirely, giving it a checkerboard-like appearance. The nose was covered in concave glass; inside, she spotted more Virions, working at terminals. The massive tubes R’lyeh had seen earlier in the city were here, too, connected to the back of the spacecraft, feeding it energy.
Arbo said, “When the crew of the Vigilant realized they would not be able to make it back to Earth, they sent an emergency vessel to return to the point of origin, this Dead City, for help. The vessel crashed, and those piloting it died. After we made contact with the Vigilant, they gave us the coordi
nates of the crash, and we unburied it.”
“Restoring the vessel has been a long-term project,” Merna said. “The materials we have to work with are limited, and not what was intended. But we are close, so close, to finishing what we and our predecessors set out to accomplish years ago.”
Above, the nebulous body of the Green Worm billowed and churned; growing impatient and restless, it kept reaching through the cracks in the buildings, already eager to begin its conquest for the stars.
“What do you need?” the Skeleton asked, coyly. “Where is it?”
“Not on Earth,” Arbo said.
“Sorry about your luck, then,” the Skeleton said.
“Not on this Earth,” Merna corrected, “but the one we knew from before.”
Oh, shit. No. Shit, shit, shit. R’lyeh drew her sword and stepped in front of the Skeleton; this time, she would be his shield, to stop him from doing something mighty stupid.
“You have the heart of the Black Hour,” Merna said.
And once she said that, every Virion, in their bulky suits, behind their blank helmets, turned their heads towards R’lyeh and the Skeleton.
“We know this, because the Putrid Prince knows this,” Arbo said.
“The Prince said you can use it for anything. We do not want anything. We want only what we need.”
Merna moved towards the Skeleton, but R’lyeh stabbed her sword outward, placing the tip centimeters away from Merna’s chest.
Undeterred, Merna continued. “We only need a few components. We can show you what they look like, what they are called. We have records of the day and time of when they were here, in the City. We do not want the heart… we… it—”
The Green Worm’s clouds formed violent, emerald nimbuses.
“—cannot have it. If you do this, then the Dead City is yours.”
“Haven’t seen the weapons. Haven’t seen why I’d want this place in the first place,” the Skeleton said.
“No, you can’t,” R’lyeh said, looking over her shoulder. “What the hell did we come here for if you’re going to use the heart, anyways?”
The Skeleton’s crazed eyes told her to be quiet.
And so she was.
“We want to rejoin the Vigilant,” Merna said. “We want to go into the infinite dark, and bring those lost there into the light.”
“You all aren’t going to fit,” the Skeleton said.
“We will become as one,” Arbo said. “It has happened before.”
The Skeleton clicked his teeth together. He flexed his hand, the leather glove that covered it stretching, almost ripping. What the hell was this? He was actually considering what they had to say?
R’lyeh lowered her sword, turned around, and pushed the Skeleton back. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You can’t do this.”
“R’lyeh, stop,” the Skeleton said.
“You know what’ll happen if you use that thing for even a minute!”
“I haven’t even made up my mind.”
“Yes, you have.” R’lyeh rolled her eyes. “I can tell. Don’t. You can’t.”
“It’s that, or kill all of them.”
“Fine, let’s kill all of them,” R’lyeh pleaded.
Arbo held up his hands. “Now, wait, just wait. We do have guns—”
“Shut the fuck up.” R’lyeh grabbed the Skeleton’s cloak. “Don’t. Don’t leave me… with them.”
The Skeleton, looking down upon her, like a pale demon not even hell had room for, whispered, “I’m not leaving with you any—”
R’lyeh forced herself to cough. The Skeleton straightened up. Again, she made herself cough, but louder this time. She dug deep inside herself; she constricted her throat. Each cough exploded out of her mouth. She doubled-over. The Skeleton reached for her, and she batted his hand away. She had his attention. She had their attention. She coughed and coughed and spit up a little blood. As long as all eyes were on her, they weren’t on the Black Hour’s heart.
When she couldn’t keep coughing, because it hurt too much, R’lyeh gathered herself, closed her mouth, and locked her watering eyes with the Skeleton’s.
“My partner and I need to discuss your offer,” he said. “If anything happens to her—”
And then R’lyeh was coughing again. Deep, burning coughs that barreled up her throat like fists. Blood exploded from her mouth. She dropped to her knees and tried to hold her breath, but it was impossible. She couldn’t breathe. She wasn’t faking it, not anymore. She couldn’t stop it. She wanted to ask for help, but now she was vomiting all over her hands.
And then there was the Skeleton, picking her up like she weighed nothing at all.
And then there were the Virions swarming him, tearing into his cloak, reaching over her, clawing at his ribcage, tearing at the Black Hour’s heart.
And then nothing.
CHAPTER XXIV
Vrana’s appearance was a puzzle Aeson’s mind couldn’t wrap itself around. Every time he began to recognize something, it immediately became unrecognizable. He was so desperate to find something to cling onto that he found himself scrambling between her features, like a panicked climber scrabbling carelessly between holds, searching for anything that might give him the slightest reprieve. He was making it about him, he knew, as his eyes darted from her eyes to her beak, from her talons to her wings, but he didn’t mean to. He’d told himself he wouldn’t do this. Pain and Joy had treated her like their own personal pet. The last thing she needed was another person gawking at her as if she were still stuck in the Witches’ grotesque zoo.
Kneading her forearms, Vrana caught Aeson’s gaze. “It’s not glamour,” she said. “It’s not going away.”
Her hands and feet were still bloody, open wounds from where the witches had crucified her. She didn’t seem to mind, though. They had scavenged the area for what curatives they could find, but Vrana wasn’t worried one way or another. She had told him she’d been through a lot these the last few months; that if she made a list of all the terrible things Pain and Joy had done to her, a few holes in her body would be sitting near the bottom, right under pissing on her.
“I’ll be able to fly again soon,” Vrana said. She smiled, or at least it seemed as if she were smiling. With the raven mask now fused to her face and threaded into her muscles and bones, it was hard to tell. If she was putting on a show, Aeson couldn’t say. But he knew how quickly agony could bring out the actor in everyone.
“Take your time,” he said, touching his seething cheek, where Pain had taken a chunk out of it. “We’re in no rush.” He stared at her some more. “This is all I wanted. To be here with you. If you need forever—” Had every feather been jammed into her skin? “—then forever is fine with me.”
Here. Where was here, exactly? Vrana had flown them east of Angheuawl for about twenty minutes before her strength gave out. She landed them high in Kistvaen’s range, where the peaks were white from the constant snowfall. Aeson was freezing; sitting there, he was so tightly balled up that he looked like an egg. And with the giant raven across from him, that kind of imagery hit a little closer to home than he would’ve liked.
There was so much blood in Vrana’s feathers the snow under her had turned red. It spread across the ground in veiny patterns, and like fingers, they reached out to touch him. Violence wasn’t something they’d had in common before, but not anymore. It was the bond between them that kept them from snapping. They were two gore-encrusted mirrors reflecting one another, simultaneously embodying every atrocity, as well as every strength. Her calmness became his calmness. His humanity became her humanity. For in all the ways they had changed, for all the pieces into which they had shattered, even sitting here, in the bloodied snow, raw and violated, trading exchanges like rare currencies, it seemed that, somehow, in some way, they could come together again, and fit where they hadn’t fitted before.
Aeson felt closer to Vrana than he ever had before. And yet, why the distance? Just because she looked like a wounded animal did
n’t mean he had to treat her like one. So he scooted forward, the cold snow stinging his nerves, until his feet touched the talons where her toes should’ve been.
“I missed you,” Aeson said.
Vrana wiped her eyes. “I missed you, too.”
He reached backwards for Bjørn’s bear mask and set it on his lap. He hadn’t worn it since he’d saved Vrana.
“He still didn’t let it go to bone?” she asked, her beak barely moving.
Aeson ran his hand through the fur. Patches were missing, but not much. For everything the man had done, he still wore a mask whose “rank,” so to speak, was no better than an initiate’s. But that was how he’d liked things. Understated, without pretention. Being a hard-ass for the sake of being a hard-ass.
“He must’ve been a treat to travel with,” Vrana said, staring at the mask.
He hadn’t told her Bjørn had died. Apparently, he didn’t need to.
Vrana leaned forward, outstretching her wings. Aeson got the hint and moved closer, until his body was against hers, and her wings were wrapped around him. She wasn’t warm, but she wasn’t cold, either. She was somewhere in between; a tepid state. Having stayed inside the Void for so long, Vrana’s body was probably still working out the concept of temperature and what it meant to it.
Closer to Vrana, Aeson could see the human features that had otherwise been obscured by her feathers. Tenderly, he traced the outline of her face and the remainder of her jaw. He touched her neck, pressed carefully down on her clavicle. There were holes in her beak; through them, he could see her lips, sensual and inviting, and then… and then, when she breathed, her stretched-out tongue and toothless mouth.
Vrana’s wings slid over him as she moved to touch him, too. Her hand was tough and taut, and the skin that covered it the color of ash. It was all bones and tendons; he could tell by her touch her hands had taken many lives. Whereas he had been tender, she was anxious, unsure. The talons were a part of it—one extra ounce of strength, and his flesh would be flayed from his face, but it was something else, too. She was touching him—his face, his ears, his lips, his chin and chest—as if she hadn’t done this before, or in a very long time. Like she’d forgotten she could do this, without resorting to mutilation.
