‘Look,’ Fulcrom replied, ‘I’m sure in your world you’re rather important. But there are a few thousand people on the open road, many of whom are likely to die tonight. If we go east, then they’re coming too. We can’t leave them here, not at the mercy of that thing in the sky. I’m sure that tens of thousands of lives might not mean a lot to you, but they’ve nothing else.’
Frater Mercury looked repeatedly, and rapidly, from Lan to Fulcrom, Fulcrom to Lan.
If I must . . .
*
They lined up under a darkening sky on the porch to the hut. Fulcrom’s gaze fixed on Frater Mercury’s weird movements as he zigzagged through the crowd in desperate lurches, until he found the centre.
‘What’s he going to do?’ Lan asked, holding Fulcrom’s arm tightly.
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Fulcrom replied.
Frater Mercury began wailing in some bizarre tones, until the ground began to shake. Fulcrom gripped the railing of the porch with one hand, and Tane stepped down to get a little closer.
There were terrified screams from the people huddled in the village centre as the muddied road on which they had travelled started to rise. A few jumped off hysterically, while others held on to each other. A segment of the very earth began to rise in the centre. Then came the sound of snapping planks: two of the wooden houses began to unbuckle themselves and collapse inwardly in a swirl of purple light, their structures disassembling, tumbling haphazardly, and then reassembling as circular constructs placed beneath the raised wedge of earth.
‘Wheels,’ Fulcrom gasped. ‘He’s making wheels to move that segment of earth.’
They watched in awe as an immense, basic carriage was formed from the elements: it was at least fifty feet wide, this mountain of mud and grass, and carried the better part of a hundred people – though it could easily carry more.
Fulcrom could see the obviousness of this construct: huge numbers of people could be transported from the city’s limits, away from the – What did he call it? – the Policharos. Well, they could if this ungainly chariot could be moved.
Another bank of earth rose ten feet up. Wooden wheels were formed once again beneath, and then another, until four of them – the entire length of the street through this village – lined up, one behind the other.
‘How are they going to move?’ Lan asked.
A few moments later, her answer came. In the brouhaha, Fulcrom had lost sight of Frater Mercury, but his vision was drawn to a group of horses – whose riders were pulled off and into the mud with a thud. The animals – four in all – were guided nearer the carriages, and stood alongside a wheel, their heights being roughly equal.
Then a hideous miracle: the beasts, in a haze of purple light, began to shudder and contort, growing in size – monstrously so. Bulbous and with abnormal musculature, the four horses – one black and three greys – loomed above what was left of the village.
It didn’t take a genius to work out what would happen next.
Fulcrom leaned down to Tane: ‘Get those people out of the way.’
Tane nodded and ran into action, bundling men, women and children away from the huge hooves, which kicked and stomped aggressively. Screams followed, as a handful of the unfortunate were pressed deep into the mud. People wanted to both leave and stay – they saw the sense of these earthly carriages, but were in fear of their lives. There was a magic at work now that they didn’t comprehend – and neither did Fulcrom. He seldom thought of the word magic, especially after having worked with cultists, but what he had witnessed here was so . . . inexplicable, so unnatural, that there was no other term suitable.
Frater Mercury lunged into view and spoke into Fulcrom’s head. Here is our transportation. I estimate we can take two thousand.
‘It’s not enough,’ Fulcrom said. Lan looked at him. ‘We need to take everyone,’ he continued, ‘or there’s no point.’
It seemed no effort to Frater Mercury, who tromped off into the masses once again, and then a boy came and stood before Fulcrom, a scruffy kid who wasn’t young, but not quite a man either.
‘Can I help you?’ Fulcrom asked.
The boy looked wearily to Lan. ‘Is she gonna arrest me if I say I’m an anarchist?’
Fulcrom shrugged. ‘Why don’t you ask her?’
‘Are you?’ the kid said.
‘I’m busy,’ Lan smiled. ‘What do you want?’
‘Name’s Caley,’ the boy replied. ‘You both look like you’re the authority here.’
Fulcrom contemplated the words, but didn’t disagree with the sentiment. No one else had come up with any solutions.
‘I came from Balmacara tonight,’ the boy said. ‘I was with Shalev. I was with her when she stabbed the Emperor, too. I just needed to tell someone important.’
A crowd had gathered behind him, curious as to his words. The boy turned and repeated the statements, describing the evening’s actions of the anarchists, and a murmur rippled through the crowd.
What was the priority? Fulcrom wondered. Getting these people to safety.
‘You want to make yourself useful, Caley, or are you enjoying the power of a little fame?’
Caley turned and spat on the floor. ‘I don’t enjoy power.’
‘Good. Then if you know of any of your cronies in the anarchists, round them up. Any military personnel, point them to me. You’ve good networks: get them doing something beneficial, and spread word that we are all refugees now. Villjamur is no more and we are to evacuate the area. What’s more, that object in the sky is going to eradicate us if we do not flee. We can’t return.’
‘You expect us all to walk across the fucking ice?’ the kid asked.
‘No,’ Fulcrom replied, regarding the crowds. ‘No, that would be suicide. Here’s what’s going to happen.’
*
Ten horses, as tall as city spires, hauled gargantuan platforms across the tundra and through the night. When each hoof connected to the ground, it created a bass groan that shook everyone on board, which meant they weren’t going to get much in the way of sleep tonight, but that was a small price to pay to utilize this most absurd form of transportation.
Fulcrom and Lan huddled together at the front of one such contraption, a wax blanket draped across them both. They shivered, and were holding each other for warmth as much as comfort. The wind pummelled their faces, but at least there was no snow tonight. Open skies and starlight brought a deadly chill. Frater Mercury was perched with arms folded atop of their immense horse, which led the others through the wilderness. Tane lingered nearby, turning back to stare at the city with sharp eyes.
Many miles behind, Villjamur was burning.
They travelled for hours, until a dim-lit haze indicated a new day. Forests stood dark and majestic across the hillside, while large tracts of agricultural land, divided by stone walls, boxed up the landscape.
Lan woke up, and he kissed her forehead.
‘I was hoping to leave the city in milder circumstances,’ he whispered to her.
‘We’re together,’ she replied, groggily. ‘We’re both safe. That’s enough.’
‘But for how long?’ Fulcrom wondered. ‘How did we find ourselves in the centre of all this?’
‘Because we cared,’ Lan offered. ‘Anyone who gives a shit about people will find themselves in the thick of it. People who don’t just sit back and complain while the world messes with them.’
‘You’re a harsh girl tonight,’ he joked.
Lan didn’t reply, merely curled up a little more. He put his arm around her and, as he contemplated their future, his mind desired facts to analyse once again. He wanted to ask about Vuldon, too, about what she had seen at the end. He wondered what happened to Ulryk on the Astronomer’s Glass Tower. There were so many questions that needed answering.
THIRTY-NINE
The Book of Transformations
If you read between the lines you will find me. I am here, forming words – I have been transformed, by the wonders of
powers I can only begin to fathom, and imprisoned within my own book.
Frater Mercury and I have exchanged places and I can communicate only in script, though I know of no one who will open me up to heed these words.
I can see it all now – every answer I sought is here before me, in the realm into which Frater Mercury was exiled. Though it has broken into ours.
Worlds will collide violently. Already they pour into the other realm, both sides of this apparently eternal war. They bring this conflict to the Boreal Archipelago. I can glean only that it is going to be an immense conflict. There are armies of creatures which I have never before seen, not even in any old texts. They are abhorrent. I can see them now, pouring into the Boreal Archipelago, and their numbers are staggering.
I wish I could do something to help. I will continue my reports here, nonetheless. If these words can act as a warning, I can say only this: prepare yourselves for the battle to come.
Also by Mark Charan Newton
Nights of Villjamur
City of Ruin
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As ever, writing a novel is rarely a solitary effort. I would first and foremost like to thank Cheryl Morgan for her help and advice with research for one character in particular, though any insensitiveness and miscalculations remain very much my own. A shout-out also to James (formerly of Speculative Horizons, now an editor in his own right) for suggestions on an early draft, and to Liviu of Fantasy Book Critic and Stephen Aryan for comments on a later one.
Thanks, of course, to my editor Julie Crisp for slapping this manuscript into shape, and to Chloe and the rest of the team at Tor UK, who work phenomenally hard behind the scenes in allowing me to get away with writing more books.
And again thanks to the many online bloggers and reviewers who send a link my way or argue with me on my website – it really is appreciated, and they make the whole scene a lot more fun than it would be otherwise.
First published 2011 by Tor
This electronic edition published 2011 by Tor
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Copyright © Mark Charan Newton 2011
The right of Mark Charan Newton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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