The Labyrinth of the Dead

by Sara M. Harvey

  Portia felt the ground rushing up to meet her from several yards away and brought her legs up, knees bent and hips loose in preparation. She landed, reaching out with her feet and making brief and careful contact before pulling her chin to her chest and dropping her right shoulder, keeping the weapon’s business end clear of her torso. She rolled easily, her body responding to years of hard training. Even as the momentum carried her over again, leaving her disoriented, she came up onto her feet out of instinct, steady and crouched, swinging her weapon into a defensive position. Without its wrapping, she could see it clearly: a fat-handled battle axe, the length of her arm and about half as broad with a thick, curved blade on the leading edge, a broad hammer head opposite, and a wicked piercing point jutting from the top. The etchings along the edge of the blade seemed to undulate in the low light. A shadow-gold coin threaded on a thick braid of sinew hung from the end of the shaft like some kind of good luck charm. It swayed a moment, then fell unnaturally still. She studied the axe, marveling at how light and balanced it felt in her hand, how right. It was unsettling.

  Straightening, Portia gazed ahead across a vista of low, livid clouds of purple, grey, and green with tall stone spires piercing them. Behind her, a tangle of roots reached up into the milky sky. Somewhere above was the Penemue of the shadow-side. And beyond her, this was the under-side. Strangely, she could see the sky, or at least a sky. It was as hazy and fog-cloaked as the shadow-side had been, seemingly both endless and confining at once. Imogen was here. A thrilling flutter of magic rippled outward from Portia’s breastbone, cascading through her body. Her eyes drifted closed, and for an instant she could picture Imogen. What she saw was not the rosy, familiar face of her beloved, but the image of a spectral lady, drawn and pale and insubstantial, a figure out of a ghost story.

  Imogen, I’m here!

  Imogen seemed lured by the familiar voice, turning fathomless, shadow-cloaked eyes toward Portia. Portia reached for her, but the vision evaporated into nothing but whorls of silver mist. The sigil that had been burned into her bones throbbed in time with her heartbeat, pulling Portia with such force that she swayed on her feet. The coin hanging from the axe began to swing wildly as well, urging her in the same direction as the thrum inside her chest. Toward the distant peaks.

  They started out small: tiny dark grey shoots pushing through the ashen ground, quickly becoming tall, jagged stalagmites flecked with glittering veins of black crystal-like spatters of dried blood. The path they formed looked an awful lot like a set of teeth. Around her, the plains rolled on and on in an unbroken and lifeless tundra. The tug toward the stones was unmistakable, and Portia followed.

  The trail was soon enclosed by the peaks, creating an alley. Nestled tightly one beside the other, the spires formed a passageway that curved into an arc, widdershins. Above, the sky still churned. As Portia entered, she found that she could no longer see out from between the stones save for the occasional gap, no more than a finger’s breadth, that afforded her nothing more than the view of a flat, grey expanse of land that seemed to stretch on forever in all directions.

  She walked onward in an ever-tightening spiral. The path had no branches, no crossings, and no other way to possibly go, only forward and always widdershins. Finally, Portia came around a series of tight turns to find herself in a circular clearing a couple of yards in diameter. Fuming and frustrated, she turned to go back, but could find no way out. The stone spires formed a tight circle, with no gaps or breaks to even peek through to what might lie beyond.

  Incensed, Portia took a swing at the nearest standing stone with the hammer side of her axe. It made a great deal of noise and shook her very bones, but nothing happened, not to the stone nor to the axe.

  The angel-fire roared within her fiercely and suddenly. The light radiated from her and she could only watch it, detached from herself. Portia could not bank the power, so she rode it as the aura surrounded her and lifted her from the pallid dirt. The glow morphed into a pair of streaming wings made of light. She hovered several feet in the air, eyes flashing with temper. The spire before her melted away, as if retreating.

  She took a definitive step forward and dropped back to the ground. The aura collapsed into a shimmering cape before evaporating into nothing. The road still curved toward the left, forcing her to walk counter-clockwise in a long, slow spiral outward. But rather abruptly, the passage ended in a paved courtyard. The clouds formed a shimmering dome above and a wide stone obelisk in the center read: The Queen of Here-After Welcomes You, Blessed One.

  There were four directions from which to choose: ahead, to either side, or back the way she came. From the inside pocket of her short silk coat, Portia unfolded the vellum map Kanika had given her. It was less than helpful, showing neither the spiral nor the courtyard, only what looked like the floor plan of a castle. The beat of power in her sternum was sporadic, echoing, giving Portia no clear guidance of which path to take.

  The writing on the obelisk vanished and reappeared. We would appreciate the pleasure of meeting you.

  Portia shook her head and addressed the pillar. "No, thank you. Perhaps when my errand here is finished."

  That was not a request.

  Around her, the paths seemed to vanish save for the one that lead outward through a well-formed stone arch.

  Scowling, Portia put the map away and reached into her satchel. Her Saint Christopher’s medallion was there; she had not worn it since handing it to Imogen that day not so long ago. She closed her fingers around it, feeling the tingle of power that remained inside. She had not needed to invoke the saints since her transformation, but the words came to her lips as easily as they always had.

  "Saint Christopher, Forsaken Saint, Aid of Travelers, take my hand, stand beside me, guide me safely to my destination, and deliver me once again home." She reached into the satchel again and removed one of several small velvet bags. From within, she shook out two other silver medallions. She held the first one aloft and prayed, "Saint Jude, Glorious Martyr and Patron Saint of Lost Causes, look down upon me; my life is a life of crosses, and my paths are strewn with thorns. My soul is enveloped in darkness. I implore you to grant me your grace and come to my aid. Especially now at the hour of my need, deign to strengthen me against the power of my enemies." Portia slid the Saint Jude medallion beside the disk devoted to Saint Christopher. Fixing the image of Imogen firmly in her mind, she closed her fingers around the other icon. To Saint Anthony she whispered, "Tony, Tony come around, there’s something lost that can’t be found."

  A subtle blue glow emanated from her fingers. She strung the last pendant onto the chain and clasped it around her neck. When she had done so, she knew which way she must go. Portia turned toward the right and took a small track, so choked with noxious black weeds as to appear nearly impassible. Glancing back into the courtyard, the message on the obelisk had once more changed.

  Now it only said: Very clever. The message faded and was replaced with the words: It will not all be that easy.

  "I am ready for whatever you have to throw at me. Bring it on." She turned away and followed the trail that, to her eyes, was illuminated with a vivid blue light.

  Portia ran through a network of hedges and walls following the azure path, never faltering in her decisions. She never grew tired, but the stony path was rough under her feet and they continued to ache. Turn after turn flew by, and Portia began to feel the thread of Imogen’s presence more strongly. Faster now, she pushed her body to its limits as she barreled through a stand of trees and between two more of the black-swirled stone spires. The blue light abruptly stopped and Portia skidded back on her heels, landing ungracefully on her backside. A rattle of loose stones tumbled over the edge of the steep drop-off, splashing into unseen water below.

  Beyond the swath of darkness, Portia could see a scattering of lights and the shape of buildings on what looked like an island floating above a vast, dark sea. The land hovered quite far above the inky waters, and it hummed and clattered like
the engine of an old but well-tuned train. There were no pillars to support it, and Portia wondered what kept it in the air.

  She also realized it was too far to jump. The remains of a bridge dangled over the cliff’s edge, thick cords tied to the standing stones. The twining rope was not of any material Portia recognized, and it had been recently cut.

  "So, the Queen of the Here-After resorts to cheating? What kind of a queen are you, then? And why are you afraid of me?"

  A subtle shift in the wind brought up the scent of brine, of blood, and of pungent smoke. The smell of the city made it seem so tantalizingly close. The breeze strengthened and eddied around her legs, pushing her off balance. A breath of laughter echoed off of the water below.

  "Nice try. But you don’t know me, Your Majesty."

  The presence around her increased, pressing on her from all sides, prodding and teasing. Portia shook it off and called upon her soul.

  The crackling power leapt to her will, eager to burn free once more. Instead of the all-encompassing thrill of the aura, she focused the heat and light between her shoulder blades. Her jacket was loose-fitted and her corset cut low in the back, just in case she would be faced with this particular eventuality.

  Gathering herself up, Portia took a deep breath and leapt from the edge of the cliff. The reins on her inner light easily slipped through her fingers, and in a flash of glittering brilliance, her sickening plummet slowed. Stretching wide silver wings, Portia swooped away from the lurid water and into the tenebrous sky. Her jacket easily pushed up to her shoulders, exposing her back and allowing her wings free movement. The battle axe did not affect her balance as much as she had feared, but the satchel hanging across her body vexed her considerably as she navigated toward a hanging lantern affixed to a dockside post. As she approached, she realized that she had not considered landing from a great height and at full speed. Driven by pure instinct, she flapped the wings forward ponderously, trying desperately to kill her momentum. With her heels jutting forward, Portia clutched the satchel to her chest and braced for impact.

  Her landing was hard and ungainly. Portia could not lose enough speed before she came down onto the rough-hewn planks, and the great wings did not fold down quickly. The right one bent back painfully as she rolled over her shoulder. The satchel flew free of her torso, spilling its contents across the dock. Ignoring the flutter of broken feathers in her wake, Portia scrambled to catch the jars and packets as they skidded dangerously toward the edge. A wax-sealed bottle rolled away from her grasp and tumbled end over end until it disappeared. A long moment later, she heard it splash into the water below.

  "Bollocks!"

  "I didn’t know you could fly, Portia."

  Portia froze, her eyes narrowing in the darkness. A creeping chill crawled across her flesh.

  Slowly, a smallish shape materialized out of the darkness. The single lantern bounced yellow light across Kanika’s features and gilded her curls.

  Portia pushed herself to her knees. "How did you get here, Kanika?"

  "The bridge." She pointed to a pair of those peculiar tall stones several yards away. "But it’s broken now."

  "How did you get here, to the under-side? And ahead of me?"

  "You’re just slow." She laughed.

  "I thought you wouldn’t come here."

  Kanika shrugged. "Changed my mind." She touched Portia’s damaged wing, tugging on the out-of-joint tip.

  "Ouch! Careful!"

  "Curious. You didn’t have these before."

  "No. I didn’t." Portia sat up and tried to smooth the mangled feathers. She flexed them gently and the topmost right joint popped loudly, sending a spark of pain through her body. The wings had become a physical part of her. Portia focused and made to dispel them, but nothing happened.

  "What are you doing?" Kanika leaned in close.

  "Concentrating."

  "On what?"

  "Putting my wings away."

  "Oh. You can do that?"

  "Yes, at least I think so. I did it before, once. Now, if you would just hush a moment and let me think." But it was no use. The wings, as silver-white and gleaming as her hair, remained.

  "I’m waiting."

  "It’s not working."

  "Interesting."

  Portia gazed up at the girl. There was something unsettling about her tone. "Kanika, how did you come through the willow?"

  "I followed you. It wasn’t hard." She held up a charm. It was a small felt oval, neatly stitched into a pouch. "You helped. Just like you told me you would!" She pulled from it a narrow braid of Portia’s hair. "And it was simple to take some of your spit and tears. You get weepy when you sleep. All I needed was some blood and you were so kind to leave that on the willow. Between that and this," she dangled the charm from her dainty fingers, "it was so easy to come here."

  "I thought you wanted to get back to the living realm?"

  "Oh, no. I wanted to get here. The living realm can wait."

  "I see. What is here that you want?" Portia asked, although fearing the answer she might hear.

  "You," Kanika said, simply. "And Imogen."

  "Well, then, I suppose you’ll be helping me find her after all."

  "Sure thing," Kanika answered, but her tone sounded less than convincing.

  Portia got to her feet and put the scattered containers back into her satchel. She collected the battle axe and settled her wings down beneath her coat. The feathers rasped against the silk. The hanging coin began once more to sway, urgently swinging toward the center of the island. Portia began to follow its lead; Kanika hung back a moment.

  "Are you sure you want to listen to that? Some things here have their own motives."

  "I’m sure they do," Portia replied dryly.

  "Some things here just want to get home."

  "For the moment this damnable thing is in accord with my own sense of direction, and therefore this is the path we will follow." She absently touched the charmed medallions that hung around her neck, and the blue glow illuminated her path once more. The glow clung to the ground like a fog, guiding her steps toward the ominous shapes in the distance.

  Kanika’s eyes followed Portia’s, but it was apparent from the deep furrow that formed in her elegant high forehead, the girl could not see the trail to follow it.

  Portia took some gratification in that. "You’ll have to trust me, my dear."

  Kanika’s fingers were cool as Portia grasped them, and a current of trepidation ran through her. Beside her, the girl walked unperturbed and nearly lighthearted, but Portia sensed something dark beneath the blithe surface of her companion. Dark, menacing, and terrifyingly familiar.

  —5—

  COILS OF black smoke wound up from the skyline of the city, billowing from tall chimneys. It might have been a city of the living world, but for the hulking buildings that almost seemed to breathe, taking in clean air and belching out wretched fumes. Below their feet, the ground hummed with the cacophony of industry that grew louder as they moved away from the docks.

  "What is this place?" Portia asked.

  "They call it the city of Salus."

  "Salus, as in salvation?"

  Kanika’s lashes swept low over her grey gaze. "One of the many things available here. Do you see why I was so eager to come, now?"

  "You’re looking for salvation? That’s what all this is about?"

  "Yes. What can be more noble than that? Well, perhaps walking into the land of the dead to rescue a loved one." She winked. "Now we must hurry. There are few sanctuaries in this place, and night is coming."

  They reached the city gates and found them standing slightly open. The black iron spires had been clad in worm-eaten wood. Deep gouges marred the front of them, as well as the jagged stone walls.

  "So what’s trying to get in?"

  Kanika smirked. "Nothing compared to what’s trying to get out." She pulled the gate fully open to reveal a patchwork of discolored planks on the inside, each one scraped and scratched twice a
s badly as the front. It was not comforting.

  "I see. Then what is trying to get out?"

  Kanika pointed to the gashes in the wood. "Lost souls."

  "That’s all?"

  Kanika tilted her head to one side. "This doesn’t frighten you?"

  "Not really, no. Kanika, do you know what I do?"

  The girl paused and Portia saw it again: the shift behind her eyes like ripples on a pond. Kanika smiled and it was familiarly coy. The hairs rose on the back of Portia’s neck and a tremor raced through her wings.

  "I know what you do," Kanika purred. "And I should have known that you wouldn’t be afraid." She beamed up into Portia’s eyes with a beatific smile.

  Portia resisted the instinct to step away from the girl. It was becoming apparent that Kanika was not alone; something was riding her. She had seen possession before. This was of a different sort, not a true subjugation of will by the demon, but somehow a commingling of the two souls, not unlike what she experienced with her angel. But, contrary to her situation, her angel’s soul did not battle for dominion and they did not take turns being in control. Portia saw to it that she remained the ascendant force. She would have to tread carefully.

  "Where do we go from here?"

  Kanika glanced up the road. The broad street was ill-kept, with ruts and holes in the paving. "You want to find your beloved, right? Well, I guarantee she is somewhere in there." She pointed toward the center of the city.

  "And what about you—what do you want?"

  "Right now I want to follow you. You told me you’d help me."

  "I told you I’d only help you if I could."

  "Trust me, you’ll be able to."

  Portia paused. There was no use arguing with her, not here in the open next to the city gates that told of dangers lurking in the streets. "Let’s get someplace safe, someplace we can speak more openly."

  "A sanctuary," Kanika suggested. "So, find one."