Destroyer of Worlds

by Mark Chadbourn

  ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ Ronnie gasped. ‘If we’d only had those at Flanders, sir, the world would be a happier place.’

  At an unheard summons, the third Riot-Beast turned and drifted back towards the Enemy lines. Their energies spent, Viracocha and Quetzalcóatl swooped down to the gods, amidst the cheers of the Army of Dragons and a tumultuous welcome from their fellows.

  ‘And that is what two of the gods can achieve,’ Decebalus said with a grim smile. ‘At our backs we have more than a hundred. The odds have evened considerably.’

  6

  On a day hotter than any they had experienced so far, the Court of Endless Horizons reflected a brassy light that made eyes ache and turned the streets into furnaces. The sluggish diaspora sought out the shade of alleys and porches, fanning themselves with the fronds of jungle trees, praying for dusk to fall but dreading it just as much. In the inns and markets, there had been talk of several slayings during the course of the night, beyond the usual bloody results of arguments caused by too many people with too little in too hot a place. Some of the bodies looked as if they had been mauled by a jungle beast; others wore expressions of outright terror frozen into their features at the final moment. Most agreed that something had arrived in the city that would only heap more misery on their suffering.

  Aware of the rising tension, the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons moved efficiently from group to clump, beggar to prince, quietly asking about the female Fragile Creature who had last been seen racing through the streets in fear.

  In the marketplace, amidst the smell of dried fish and charcoal-grilled meat and the din of people haggling for supplies from dawn to twilight, Church and Ruth debated leaving a note on the enormous wooden post where refugees separated from their loved ones tacked pleas for information regarding their whereabouts, or notes for clandestine meetings that were rarely attended.

  ‘We could search this city for weeks and never stumble across this woman,’ Ruth said. She was uncomfortable in the heat and wore a white cotton scarf on her head fastened in a Middle Eastern style with a gold band, which served the dual purpose of keeping her cool and obscuring her identity to casual eyes. ‘If you really want to find her, we have to make some waves.’

  ‘If we do that, we’re going to draw the Enemy straight to us.’

  ‘I don’t understand why they haven’t just descended on the city in force, anyway, if they know we’re here.’

  ‘This has the Libertarian’s fingerprints all over it. He has to play a careful game. He can’t risk me getting killed, or badly hurt, but he has to stop us doing anything that might change the established pattern.’

  ‘He’s not going to be so concerned about killing the rest of us.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You know, it’s weird how you talk about the Libertarian as if he’s a completely different person.’

  ‘He is.’ The fleeting disbelief in Ruth’s face stung him. ‘All right,’ he accepted, ‘there’s a continuity. But something’s broken in him, and until I know what it is I can’t do anything to prevent it.’

  ‘But you think it’s something to do with you and me.’

  ‘In that flash of precognition I had in the Forbidden City in Beijing, the Libertarian suggested I threw everything away because of my “pathetic, doomed love”.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘If you died—’

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm tightly. ‘Sometimes you need a shaking. All this is bigger than you and me—’

  ‘I’m not so sure it is.’

  ‘It is. Love is a weakness, Church . . . all right, maybe not a weakness, but a luxury for people like us. We’ve got a terrifying responsibility. Everybody, literally everybody, is depending on us.’ She saw the touch of hurt in his face and softened. ‘You know how much I love you. You and me . . . we were always meant to be together. But we’re expected to make sacrifices.’

  ‘That’s all we do. Sacrifice our lives, our homes, our friends who die. We deserve something.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ she said gently. ‘And that’s the awful thing. We have to do the job we’ve been given without the hope of any reward.’ She kissed him, and that made her words feel even harsher. ‘Everybody says men are tougher than women, but they’re not, certainly not when it comes to emotions. Men spend all their lives putting them on one side and when they rear their ugly heads, men can’t cope with them. They sting you harder than us. We’re used to the pain. We can feel it and put the emotion to one side, get on with the job we’ve got to do. I’m sorry. I know how this must feel to you. But you’ve got to listen to me: if I die, you’ve got to carry on and finish this. If we’re torn apart, like we were before, you mustn’t give in to despair. All right?’

  He gave a convincing nod, but he couldn’t tell her his biggest fear: that the failure of their love was a fait accompli. As Ruth searched for the roots of the Libertarian within him, her fears of what he would become would drive her away from him and towards Veitch, thus pushing Church further down the path towards becoming the Libertarian. How could he break that cycle?

  ‘I’ve seen things inside myself I’m not happy about,’ he admitted. ‘There’s a darkness.’

  ‘There is in all of us.’ A shadow crossed Ruth’s face.

  ‘That’s one of the reasons why I accepted Ryan back so readily. I understand him more now. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.’

  ‘We’re not pure,’ she pressed. ‘We’re not heroes. We’re just trying to do the best we can. It’s because we’re all friends that we can count on each other to get past our flaws.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘If people start going off on their own, we’re lost. We’re Five for a reason - a whole that’s bigger and better than the individual parts.’

  The market suddenly felt too crowded and too noisy, and Church longed for the intimacy that had been missing since they had left Earth behind; longer; it felt like an age since he and Ruth had been alone in the hotel room in Norway.

  But the moment had passed, and Ruth was already moving to question a likely stallholder who was gossiping with every person within feet of his pitch. The explosion hit a second later. Deep in the centre of the sprawling marketplace, a column of black flame sent stalls, produce and bodies hurtling upwards with a boom that would have been heard across the entire city.

  Thrown wildly by the blast wave, his head ringing and his hearing momentarily gone, Church was buried beneath a rain of vegetables, jewellery, votive ornaments and the heavy tarpaulin stall covers. His first thoughts were for Ruth and he quickly clawed his way out, only to find her helping badly injured survivors; some had lost limbs, others were so severely burned it was clear they would not last long. But Ruth moved quickly amongst them, helping to staunch the blood, bowing her head and muttering words of her Craft where they would help, offering a simple prayer where nothing would.

  Church joined in, but the trickle of victims from the centre of the market had become a torrent, and the latest arrivals were consumed by a more immediate panic, glancing over their shoulders in fear as they staggered away from the blast zone.

  Behind them lurched survivors who had been transformed by whatever magic lay within the explosion. The flesh had been ripped from their heads to leave bloodstained skulls, the eyes still intact and roving crazily as they attacked anyone who came near them, snapping and snarling with the ferocity of cornered wolves. One badly wounded man moved too slowly, his throat torn open by the bite of one of the skull-faced pursuers.

  As others fell and the panic spiralled out of control, Church rushed to help. Blue Fire sizzled from Caledfwlch as he attacked. He could see there was no hope of the skull-faced victims recovering; indeed, there appeared to be nothing left of their personalities in their insane eyes. They had been turned into weapons and Church had no choice but to meet them head on to save the lives of others.

  The primal savagery of the skull-faces slowed him a little, but his athleticism and skill with the sword serv
ed him in cutting them down before they could harm anyone else. When the last one had fallen, he ran back to Ruth and pulled her away from the survivors. She resisted, insisting on helping the wounded until Church said forcefully, ‘The Enemy did this to draw us out. They’ll be here soon, and if we hang around more innocent people are going to get hurt.’

  Reluctantly, Ruth allowed him to lead her into the maze of alleys that led away from the market. When they were sure they had put enough space behind them, they rested and allowed themselves to contemplate the horror of the blast.

  ‘They killed and injured all those people to get at us?’ Ruth said.

  ‘Come on - are you surprised? They know we’re not going to sit back while innocents get hurt, so they’ll keep attacking them until we act. And then they’ve got us.’

  ‘Terror, pure and simple. And if we try to resist, the people will give us up sooner or later. This is the Libertarian, isn’t it?’

  Church nodded uncomfortably. Ruth wouldn’t meet his eye.

  ‘And you’re convinced we need to find this woman?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So we can run away?’

  ‘Do you really think I want to run away?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, unconvincingly. ‘It’s just hard to see where this is going.’

  Another blast punctured the silence that followed her comment, somewhere on the far side of the city. Screams followed, distant but not diminished, followed by the shrill, dismal cries of the Morvren as they took flight, the portents of death they carried with them now inescapable.

  7

  On the eastern side of the city, in the shade of the great brass wall, Veitch and Shavi kept their heads down to avoid recognition as they pushed through the crowd. In the stifling heat, the smell was choking: excrement baked in the gutters and the bitter reek of urine mingled with the vinegary sweat that rose from every too-hot body jostling for space in the slow-moving flow. Occasionally, from some darkened space drifted the sour-apples stink of decomposition.

  The only breathing space came where people had fallen, overcome by the heat, hunger, thirst or illness, sprawled on the burning cobbles, their chests rising and falling too slow, and slowing. Shavi attempted to help the first three they encountered, but without water or food or medical supplies, there was little he could do; and the simple act of stopping to offer comfort halted other passers-by who wondered if there was a chance of aid. The desperation in their eyes was almost too much to bear. Now Shavi and Veitch stepped over the prone forms like all the other people, but Veitch could see the tears glistening in Shavi’s eyes.

  As they edged into a narrow street filled with the shops of silversmiths and jewellery-makers, a gang of dirty children in torn clothes and blankets scrambled forwards and began to beg. Some were human in form, though their faces contained the familiar, sly touch of the Far Lands, but others were covered with thick hair, or had golden triple-lidded eyes or facial contusions that could have been natural or caused by malnutrition and the constant filth. Swarming around Shavi and Veitch’s legs, they tugged at their clothes, some surreptitiously trying to slip their hands into pockets until Veitch slapped them away.

  ‘Food, please,’ one of them said. ‘Just a crumb. My mother is dying. A crumb will keep her spark alight for another hour.’ It sounded like a line to elicit sympathy, but the savage emotion in his face offered an unbearable proof.

  ‘We haven’t got any food,’ Veitch said too harshly. ‘Clear off and bother someone else.’

  ‘A coin, then. It does not matter what kind. One coin will buy us a day more in the Far Lands.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Shavi said. ‘We do not carry money.’

  ‘Don’t bleedin’ engage them in conversation. We’ll never get rid of them,’ Veitch said with frustration.

  His feelings already rubbed raw by the misery he had witnessed, Shavi was touched by the children’s plight. Bending down, he tried to offer words of advice and support, but it only encouraged more children to cluster around, hands grasping the air for any sustenance he might be offering, and that brought the attention of passing adults who kicked at the children and rolled them into the gutters to get first chance at any offerings, the crowd pressing harder and harder so that Veitch and Shavi were trapped at its core.

  ‘From now on, you do nothing until I say so,’ Veitch grumbled. ‘You’re a bloody liability.’

  A man who towered a good two feet above everyone else, his barrel chest bare, thrust his way through the cluster with arms so muscular they appeared to be made of wood. He loomed over Veitch and Shavi, peering at them with blinking, piggy eyes.

  ‘It is!’ he exclaimed. ‘Two Brothers of Dragons!’

  ‘Bleedin’ great,’ Veitch said, trying to push through the tight knot without much luck.

  ‘Here, here!’ the ox-like man announced to the entire street, beckoning wildly. ‘We are saved! The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons are here, in the Court of Endless Horizons!’

  Veitch’s protests only drew more attention. The crowd around them swelled from one side of the street to the other, and the words Brothers of Dragons could be heard rising from awed whispers to jubilant shouts.

  A woman in a black headdress with a third eye in the centre of her forehead clutched Shavi passionately. ‘Brother of Dragons. You will free us from the yoke of the Enemy. You will deliver us to salvation.’

  ‘You will ensure that the prophecy of these Last Days does not come to pass,’ another woman cried.

  Veitch was stunned into silence by the sudden ignition of hope he saw in the faces gathered around him. Fingers brushed his clothes with the awe one would reserve for a great leader or a religious figure. Struggling to comprehend, he stared blankly at one outstretched hand wavering before him, and then gently took it. Someone else took his other hand, and within a moment he was forced to reach out and touch hand after hand, shocked by the relief he saw rise up in everyone he graced with a fleeting contact.

  ‘We will do what we can,’ Shavi began, to try to curb expectations, but the cries only rose up louder: ‘They will help.’ ‘The Enemy is doomed.’ ‘We are saved!’

  ‘How do they know about us?’ Veitch asked Shavi.

  A bearded man in white robes answered. ‘We have always known of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, in the oldest stories of the Far Lands, in the tales of all peoples from all places. The champions of Existence who will rise up to become the greatest heroes of all-time, all-place. In the earliest days, they were whispered by mystics, and then told to children for the entertainment of young minds, but few truly believed. And then . . . oh, wonder of wonders! . . . Jack, Giant-Killer, stepped into the Far Lands and began his exploits, and the truth became known, and the legend of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons spread from mouth to mouth.’ His voice grew shriller as his passion grew. ‘And the tales of other Brothers and Sisters of Dragons in the Fixed Lands reached our ears, and we realised there was hope for us . . . the great prophecy of the Devourer of All Things could be averted.’

  Caught up in his passion, the three-eyed woman continued, ‘And so when the shadow of the Enemy began to spread across the Far Lands, we offered up our prayers, and our incantations, and we wished . . . oh, how we wished . . . for the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons to be sent to us to help us in our darkest hour. And our calls have been answered. You are here! We are saved!’

  Veitch was dragged from the adoration by a glimpse of Shavi’s shattered expression. ‘All right, we’re trying to keep a low profile here!’ he shouted. ‘This isn’t helping.’

  But his words were drowned out by the cries, which were growing louder by the moment as more people herded into the street. Soon the commotion would attract more unwanted attention.

  Finally, Veitch put his head down and rammed a path through the crowd, no longer caring if he bowled people over. Shavi followed in his wake, the wave closing behind them, attempting to turn in their direction. For a moment, it appeared they would be dragged down, but th
en Veitch broke through the ranks of those who had recognised them and they were running and dodging back through the flow, not slowing until they were two streets away.

  In the shade of a warehouse that smelled of beer, Veitch gripped Shavi’s shoulders tightly, desperately wanting to drive away the upset expression on his friend’s face.

  ‘Look, mate, so they trust us to do the job, so what?’ he said.

  ‘How can we meet those expectations?’ Shavi replied. ‘Destroy the Devourer of All Things? Change a prophecy of final destruction that has been around since the beginning of time? They are treating us like some kind of messiahs, but we are only human.’ He shook his head. ‘So much hope invested in us. They offer up their lives to us, to save, because they know they cannot save themselves.’

  ‘Of all of us, I never expected you to give in to despair.’

  ‘I am not giving in to despair,’ Shavi said adamantly. ‘But I am pragmatic, Ryan. All our plans have failed. The chances of progressing are slim, and even then . . .’ His voice trailed off.