by Nazri Noor
“Once, a long time ago, I served the very things that we are now trying to keep away from our reality.” Carver sighed, his body seeming to grow so small and so old as the air left him. “Once, a long time ago – I was a priest of the Eldest.”
Chapter 13
I chuckled, somehow managing to keep the unease out of my voice.
“Aww, come on, Carver,” I said, half-laughing. “You remember how to joke, right? You can’t have been post-human for that long. This is the part where you throw in the punchline.”
He hadn’t moved a muscle. Carver only kept staring at me, his eyes unbearable and searing, cat-like and as flaringly amber as the jewels on his fingers, as those set around his stone desk.
“There’s a reason I’ve selected this name for myself,” he said, his voice flat, and remarkably bereft of humor.
I watched. I waited. He wanted me to ask exactly what lingered on my mind.
“You told me once that you were a lich,” I said, my tongue stinging at the mention of the word. It’s what he was, a sorcerer who had done the unspeakable to extend his life far beyond its natural limits. That, and this new confession about his alias swirled in the back of my mind. I was sure I wasn’t going to like the answer. “What – what did you do?”
Carver pinched the bridge of his nose, as if this was the first that he’d experienced any real discomfort in a long time. The way he was winding up, it also felt like this was the first he’d speak of this in ages.
“I took lives. I placed innocents upon altars, then I carved out their hearts. I keep this name as both a reminder of my crimes, and as penance.”
The dread building in my body was transitioning into horror. My eyes began flitting around his office, searching for shadows I could vanish into. Just – just in case. Just to be safe.
When I opened my mouth to speak, I realized how very dry it was. “Did you do it for the Eldest?” I croaked.
“At first. Ritual magic changes very little even when it is done for things that are not of this earth. But later I did it to extend my life, because I wanted to fight back. I wanted to repent, to make my existence worth something.”
He sat his hand flat in front of him, palm up, then motioned in the air, as if lifting the lid off of a box that only he could see. He motioned again, like he was grasping something from out of the ethers. I gasped when I saw it. A verdigris knife, made of old, tarnished bronze, with dark garnets set into its hilt. Like Vanitas.
Like the dagger that Thea had used to kill me.
I leapt out of my seat, every muscle in my body straining to catapult me towards the one shadow I spotted by the side of Carver’s desk. He gritted his teeth, spat out a single word, then flicked his wrist. Pale amber fire snaked from his fingertips, wreathing around my hands, then my ankles, then tightening, forcing me back in my chair. I opened my mouth to scream just as more of Carver’s pale fire wrapped across my lips, sealing my voice in my throat.
My heart slammed against my chest in a horrible, frantic tattoo. Carver and I sat frozen there together, me out of a lack of choice, him still with one hand around the previously concealed dagger, and the other outstretched, every finger linked to the pulsing flame that restrained me.
“If you promise not to scream,” he said, “I will unbind your mouth.”
I glanced at my feet. There was a shadow right there. I could have melted right into it instead of leaping off the chair, and so I decided to escape through it then. But try as I could the connection to the Dark Room wouldn’t hold. Carver’s restraints weren’t only binding my body. They had blocked my magic too, nullified it.
What choice did I have? I nodded, slowly, the sweat trickling from my brow to the tip of my nose. He waved his hand again. Cool air rushed over my lips as his fire receded.
“I have many questions.”
“Of course. But you must know that shadowstepping away from me was completely unnecessary.”
“The way that you should know that restraining me with your magic was unnecessary.”
Carver cocked a single eyebrow. “But was it? You were planning to run away as soon as you saw the dagger.”
“Touché,” I grumbled.
Carver whispered, then the flames shackling me crept back to his fingers, fading into nothing. I rubbed my wrists, scowling.
“Oh, don’t be such a baby.”
“They were on too tight,” I said.
“I didn’t want you overreacting.”
I held my hands up, my eyes barely staying in my head. “News flash. I did not know any of this about you. And in case you haven’t heard,” I continued, thrusting a finger at the dagger in his hand, “it was one of those things that killed me.”
Carver lowered the dagger, cradling it in both hands, looking, to my surprise, a little sheepish. “I admit, perhaps revealing it in the moment was too flashy.”
I leaned back in my chair, feeling slightly more secure, at least for the moment. “In case you didn’t know, I stayed with you specifically because I thought you weren’t going to cut my heart out.”
“I apologize.” Carver’s desk scraped, metal against stone, as he set the dagger down. Its tip was pointed away from me, as if to signify that he meant me no harm.
I stared at the dagger with macabre wonder, knowing fully well that it was a sibling of the one Thea used against me. So there were more of these things. I tapped my finger next to it.
“How many?”
Carver lowered his gaze. “How many? Do you mean the daggers?”
“Don’t dodge the question. How many have you killed?”
Carver’s shoulders slumped. I’d never, ever seen his confidence flag. So many firsts today. He didn’t lift his head, staring directly at the dagger, but he did wave one hand.
“Show yourselves,” he whispered.
I’ve seen some crazy shit in my time in the arcane underground. I’ve met gods, fought alongside a vampire and a werewolf, and stolen fire from the very sun itself. But none of that – fucking none of that could compare to the sight of the fallen dead.
Scores of them, standing around us, crowded around Carver’s desk, occupying every last inch of his office, of the great stone platform that seemed to be suspended in space. If they breathed, I would have felt the air at my neck.
Men and women, children, creatures stood on two legs that I couldn’t recognize, every last one of them staring off into space, each of them a pale, wavering image of how they looked in life. None were rotting, or emaciated. All were unmarked, apart from the gaping holes in their chests.
I looked around myself, my fingers digging into the armrests of my chair as if clinging for dear life. Even those bodies that stood next to me gazed on into the distance, in the same direction that Carver’s desk faced.
Carver clutched at his hair, wrinkled and mussed, like I’d never seen him before. He looked weary, crumpled, changed. He stared at the dagger, not daring to look up.
“Heaven help you, Carver,” I muttered.
He looked at me, eyes gleaming with a different quality now. In a voice groaning with remorse, Carver spoke. “It’s far too late for that.”
I looked around again, at the grating silence and stillness of the dead. “Are these their souls?”
Carver shook his head. “Only their images. I remember every life I took. Most I killed to honor the Eldest, when once I worshipped them. Many of these shades were ritual sacrifices. Many were children.” His shoulders sagged lower as he said it. “The others I slew to prolong my own life. Criminals. Rapists, among them, and many murderers.” He huffed bitterly, like he would only permit half of a sardonic chuckle to escape his lips. “But I wonder if that justifies any of it.”
Penance. Remorse. And this finally explained why Carver was so intent on only ever disabling or subduing humans. It was how he’d behaved against the cult of the Viridian Dawn, using numerous sleep spells or magically breaking their bones instead of slaying them outright. As much disdain as he showed for the wrong
kind of human, he was still staunchly on mankind’s side after all.
“Do Sterling and Gil know about this?”
“They have no reason to. And I would thank you to keep this between us. They were drawn to me and my protection for other reasons. You came to me for the Eldest. You had to find out some day.”
He rested his forehead in his palm, then waved his free hand. With a great sigh, as of a hundred voices exhaling, the images of the dead stuttered, then vanished into nothingness.
“Then the hideout itself – God, the very name it was given. That’s why you didn’t argue with Asher and Sterling.”
Something that could have been a smile forced itself onto Carver’s lips. “The Boneyard is a more appropriate name than they could have imagined. As for why my domicile is designed the way it is – ”
I looked around us again, and I finally understood. This must have been a memory of his temple, wherever it was he came from. Every waking image of the Boneyard was a reminder. And to be so very literally haunted by the shades of those he killed, hell, even the name he took for himself? Carver’s lichdom was aimed squarely at his own atonement.
“And this dagger was what I used to cut their hearts out. But you already knew that.”
“Why are they so similar? This blade looks just like the one Thea used on me. It also looks like – ”
“Vanitas. Your sword. Yes. And there’s a simple explanation for their appearance. It’s their common origin. All of them are implements of the Eldest, and of their servitors.”
I sat stock-still. I don’t know why I even thought to be surprised by the revelation. I’d always noted the similarities between Thea’s sacrificial blade and Vanitas. I suppose I just never wanted to admit it. But then it hit me.
“There must be a reason that Vanitas attuned with me. When I went out to retrieve him for the Lorica, even Herald said that they had no records of the sword being sentient.”
“That’s because these tools only truly respond to those who are tied to the Eldest. And what Thea did when she stabbed you, that wasn’t a lie. She implanted something within your heart, something that links you to these artifacts.”
“So that’s what I am now? One of their servants?”
Carver shook his head. “No. But it does mean that you are now something other than human. I struggle to explain it. This is unprecedented. I take it that this is no longer news to you, but all that I’ve studied suggests that you are now a hybrid.”
Just like Amaterasu said, when she mentioned that I was tied to the Eldest. Just like how Hecate described me. “An abomination.”
“Well, not in those terms, not quite. Though your spellcasting abilities do leave something to be desired. Quite abominable.”
“Be serious.”
Carver sighed. “An unfortunate joke, I admit. I apologize. The best you can do now is to listen to yourself, to control the urges within you. I sense that things have changed.”
So he knew. When I killed Thea – or when I thought I did – I’d felt nothing but satisfaction. The realization of how much I enjoyed murdering her definitely fazed me. I was developing an appetite for violence. I had to wonder if it had something to do with what she planted in my heart. It only made me angrier.
“I think I need him back, Carver. I know it makes no sense, but having Vanitas around made me less violent. Less likely to kill things.”
It was the objectivity of it, the knowledge that something or someone else was doing the damage instead of me. I wouldn’t have to be the one snuffing out lives. In a dusty corner of my mind, I knew I could hear Hecate laughing.
“You’re above that now, surely.” Carver raised his nose and frowned. “You can rely on your abilities. They offer more than enough firepower for your purposes. And it pains me to admit it, but you aren’t the stupidest person I know. That counts for something.”
“But this isn’t about arming myself. I can hone now. I can make blades out of the Dark Room like you taught me. I can make fire. This isn’t about weapons. This is about bringing my friend back.”
He regarded me sternly, sitting so still that I thought it was the end of our conversation. Then he sighed.
“Herald told you himself. Do not keep your hopes up. I do not know what sort of enchantment allowed the blade to keep a personality, but there is no guarantee that it will return when the sword is reforged. If it even can be reforged.”
I gripped my seat harder, my chin somehow lifting even higher, like my body was trying to grow taller than Carver just to make its point.
“I have to try,” I said.
“Very well. I will research a list of entities you may consider approaching for help. Though I remind you that it isn’t often the best thing to owe so many favors to these beings.”
“I know that,” I said, managing not to stammer. “Of course I know that.”
There was the distant recollection of what Arachne would ask of me if I ever beseeched her for more help in the future. And there was, of course, the slight matter of Amaterasu hypothetically being pissed at me for breaking her mirror. Carver stared at me so fixedly that I just knew he could read all that in my mind.
“Very well. As long as you know the consequences. Surely there must be a handful of entities you can consult.” He waved his hand across his desk, the verdigris dagger disappearing where his fingers passed over it, vanishing back into nothingness.
“Last question,” I said, my mind still processing the space where the dagger sat only seconds ago. “Are there more of these tools? These weapons?”
“I would presume,” Carver said. “Though I confess that your sword is unique. I’d never seen one of its kind before. Perhaps there are others. It would do well for us to keep all that we can find.”
I drummed my fingers on his table. “For your collection, I assume?”
Carver looked at me sideways. “Not at all. For our arsenal. When it comes down to it, these objects may be the best weapons we have against the Eldest and their agents.” He stroked his beard, his gaze going distant. “Imagine if they sent their avatars.”
The very mention of the word sent tremors crawling through my skin. Avatars were representatives of earth’s entities and gods, possessing only fractions of their power. Both Hecate and Dionysus had sent their avatars to deliver messages to me in the past. I hadn’t considered it, but I should have realized that the Eldest could possibly send their own avatars to do their insane bidding.
“You mean – the Eldest can bring out their own avatars? What, to herald their coming?”
“It’s not something to worry about, Dustin. If you run into an avatar of the Eldest, it’s already far, far too late. The mere sight of some of them would drive you utterly insane.” Carver adjusted his tie, stood erect, then smiled congenially, as if his last words hadn’t just filled my entire body with freezing dread, as if this entire conversation hadn’t irreparably blown my mind. “Shall we break for lunch?”
Chapter 14
Mama Rosa had prepared one of her signature dishes for lunch – sinigang, a sour Filipino stew filled with vegetables, flavored with tamarind, and starring some kind of meat, anything from fish to chicken or pork. Today’s sinigang featured succulent prawns, which was perfect. Sweet, crisp seafood went well with the tangy soup.
Gil, who I’d learned normally only ate raw meat when he needed to speed up his recovery process, partook of the sinigang, along with a hefty serving of rice. Carver poured boiling cupfuls down his throat, relishing how we weren’t in public, where he would have to pretend to be a little more human by acknowledging mundane concerns such as the temperature of liquids. Asher relished every spoonful, his face screwing up each time he sipped.
“This is incredible. Better than my mom’s.”
I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Mama Rosa was reacting to what he’d said. Parts of her face, I realized, were attempting to rearrange themselves into something resembling a smile. I swear I could hear the stone of her face cracking
in the attempt. It was terrifying. Asher smiled back.
We were having lunch inside of the Boneyard, at the makeshift kitchen that Carver had generously prepared for us humans. Sterling had no need for sustenance, but vampires could eat for enjoyment, and the absence of sunlight in the domicile meant that he could join us for lunch. He was mostly quiet, and honestly, quite friendly by his standards. Lunch was nice, really, even pleasant.
But nobody would deny that there was a sort of tension in the air, the awful knowing that we were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. There had been three doppelganger attacks so close together already, and that was discounting the ones we didn’t know about.
It was possible that the Lorica was receiving reports on them, too, which meant that it was only a matter of time until they came down on my ass. I chewed, fresh prawn turning into rubber in my mouth, and raised my head as I swallowed, resigned to once again being marked as a fugitive by the Lorica. That was when I spotted the glimmer in the corner of the kitchen cabinets.
This had happened once before, and I knew better about what to anticipate. The sparkle came from a little blue gem that was moving, primarily because the spider in which it was embedded was also moving, sliding down a thread of silk that it was forming into a particularly complicated web.
It was one of Arachne’s secret-spiders, probably come to report its findings. If this was going to go as it went the last time, it meant that the spider was going to weave the arcane equivalent of a flatscreen TV. I thought it best to warn the others.
“Guys,” I said, pointing up at the ceiling.
Asher knitted his eyebrows. “The hell is that?”
The telltale amber glow coming from the end of our table told me that Carver was preparing a spell. Even worse was Mama Rosa rushing to one of the cabinets in the kitchen, rummaging quickly, then raising her arm triumphantly when she found what she was looking for: a can of bug spray.
“No no no,” I cried out. Why the hell was everyone in the Boneyard so damn bloodthirsty, even Rosa? “It’s a friend. It’s one of Arachne’s spiders. She must have information for us about the doppelgangers.”
