The Watcher of Dead Time

by Edward Cox

  ‘The Sorrow of Future Reason,’ Marney said.

  Up on the boulder, Gulduur Bellow began weeping again, the sound whispering around the cavern.

  ‘The Nephilim’s tale is an unfortunate one,’ Wolfe said. ‘The Timewatcher forced them to bear the burden of the atrocities that led to their creation. She forbade them a House of their own and ensured they were shunned wherever they went. Abominations, we called them. But I learned in Mirage that they are far, far from that.’

  Wolfe was quiet, contemplative, for a moment. ‘And so the Nephilim crafted their own legend. They believed they travelled towards a future when the Timewatcher would bestow forgiveness and create for them a House they could finally call home. The Sorrow of Future Reason. I trust you know its House symbol?’

  Clara could see it in her mind’s eye: a spiralling pattern with a straight line running from one side to connect to a square. Inside the square, and on its right side, were mirrored triangles. The symbol almost looked like an arrow.

  Gulduur Bellow lowered his head. He wrapped his arms round his huge body and began moaning.

  ‘Before I became Voice of Known Things,’ said Wolfe, ‘I promised Bellow that I would help him find his herd. Perhaps now I can make good on that promise.’

  ‘Then stop wasting time,’ Marney said unkindly, unperturbed that she was talking to a Thaumaturgist, albeit the ghostly memory of one. ‘Tell us what to do.’

  Wolfe’s smile returned, and with it a sparkle of light flashed in his eyes. ‘Do you ever wonder why the secrets just keep piling up and no one has a straight answer?’ he asked Clara.

  ‘It had sort of crossed my mind, yes.’

  ‘I know Lady Amilee of old, and I know her well. If she needed to keep her plans concealed from Spiral’s powers of divination, she would have been very selective about the information she gave you. Remember, while you were connected to Known Things, it could’ve drained any or all of your secrets. At that stage, a lack of knowledge was a weapon.’

  ‘But now she’s not connected to Known Things,’ Marney said. ‘And it wasn’t looking for me.’

  ‘Exactly so,’ said Wolfe. ‘Thus, at this moment, while a copy of Known Things remains in your mind, Clara, you are free to discover your straight answers.’

  Clara frowned at the Skywatcher. ‘I don’t suppose you could just tell us what we need to know?’

  Wolfe looked at Marney and said cryptically, ‘Secrets within secrets, memories within memories. There is a place inside Known Things where Spiral keeps his deepest secrets – secrets he wouldn’t even share with his most trusted Genii. It is one of the places I warned you about. The information there is dangerous, but it is where you must go to discover Van Bam’s ghost. And the fate of the Nephilim herd—’

  Gulduur Bellow screamed a curse. Clara flinched and backed away. The echoes of the Nephilim’s voice bounced around the cavern, carrying the undercurrent of a growl like distant, bestial thunder.

  ‘You must leave,’ Wolfe stated. ‘I will show you the way and meet you later.’

  He gestured towards the ceiling. From among the multitude of glittering jewels, the green diamond shook free and fell into the Skywatcher’s hand, singing with a glassy whine of protest.

  ‘Your guiding light,’ Wolfe said grimly

  ‘No!’ Bellow’s voice was as harsh as the crack of a whip. The giant stood to his full, impressive height on the boulder. He glared across the cavern, his eyes flashing with the power of storm clouds. ‘This must end!’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Clara.

  The Nephilim was changing. He grew to twice his size, his habit ripping and falling away as rags to reveal a body covered with black and silver hair. Claws as long as swords sprouted from his fingertips and his face stretched to a monstrous wolf’s snout. He opened a mouth filled with teeth and howled with the sound of a hurricane.

  ‘Leave,’ Wolfe commanded, and he hurled the green diamond at the cavern wall. It punched a large hole in the rock which led into darkness. ‘I will see you again soon.’

  Clara covered her ears as the Nephilim mutated into a howling darkness that began to break the boulder into chunks, swallowing debris, sucking jewels from the rock. Wolfe extended his wings and vaulted into the air. Marney grabbed Clara’s hand.

  His wings shedding silver light, Wolfe flew at speed into the dark mass that Gulduur Bellow had become, and he blazed with thaumaturgy that screeched like a thousand blades unsheathed at once. The whole cavern shook, preparing to be ripped apart and devoured by Clara’s magic.

  Wolfe’s voice came from the storm as a gentle sigh. ‘Go …’

  Once again, the magickers fled deeper into Known Things.

  Chapter Nine

  The Head of the Snake

  Transcendence.

  Moor and Asajad were right. Lord Spiral’s reanimation was no simple rebirth, as it had been for his Genii. Certainly, Spiral’s pent-up power had called for a bigger sacrifice, which Moor had anticipated; but upon release from the terracotta jar, Spiral’s essence had claimed much more than flesh and blood to achieve form.

  ‘It is just as I foresaw,’ Spiral had said earlier. ‘My armies will be self-replenishing. My domain will grow and grow …’

  The Lord of the Genii had merged with the Retrospective. The magic which had created it was now as much a part of him as he was a part of it. The House of dead time was irrevocably fused to his soul. Iblisha Spiral’s desires were carried by every wild demon; his heart beat in each change of the land and weather; the fiery wind whispered his name. And yet he could manifest at will outside the Retrospective.

  Moor and Gadreel stood with their lord in a huge warehouse located in Sunflower, a sub-House of the Aelfheim Archipelago. Lady Asajad was absent, having been sent on an errand by Spiral. Moor didn’t know the details of this errand and his disquiet was growing.

  Two long rows of pallets flanked the Genii and their lord, each thirty feet long and fifteen wide, holding huge quantities of cargo. Sixty pallets, Moor counted, upon which wooden crates or sacks or metal storage containers were stacked high. Food stocks, materials, medical supplies – everything the denizens of Labrys Town needed to survive.

  ‘It astounds me after all that occurred,’ Spiral said, ‘that the Timewatcher still retains compassion for humans.’ His violet eyes regarded a large stone archway at the back of the warehouse. The last portal to the Labyrinth, via which the Aelfir had kept the denizens alive since the end of the war. ‘Would it not have been kinder to simply put them out of their misery and destroy the Great Labyrinth?’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Gadreel replied, far too eagerly for Moor’s liking.

  ‘Yet we must be grateful that She did not.’ Spiral summoned his higher magic. The symbols on his body darkened to a void-like black and his presence became somehow insubstantial. ‘I, however, do not share Her compassion. The humans have had time enough.’ His voice carried the distant tumult of many demons shrieking. ‘And I want them to suffer.’

  Spiral released his magic. It stole Moor’s breath as it rushed by him. There was a crack of energy as the stone archway crumbled to a heap of powder and the last portal to the Labyrinth was destroyed.

  Moor stole a glance at Viktor Gadreel. The hulking Genii was pleased with his master’s actions, his one eye glinting darkly.

  Spiral’s eyes weren’t quite focused, he appeared to be looking into some unknown distance beyond his Genii. He turned and faced the entrance to the warehouse, where ten Aelfirian police officers stood frozen. They had come to accost the Genii who had suddenly appeared and frightened away the warehouse workers, and Spiral’s thaumaturgy had rendered them immobile.

  ‘Soon,’ said Spiral, ‘when the humans are gone, I will absorb the Labyrinth into the Retrospective. I will crack open the Nightshade like an egg and consume the power it holds. Imagine what I will achieve with that magic!’
/>   ‘You will be unstoppable,’ Gadreel rumbled.

  Spiral was talking about the First and Greatest Spell, the highest of all magic; that which had been used to bring the Labyrinth into existence. Imbued into the Nightshade, it was the power of creation, of travel, of boundless possibility – it was the power of the Timewatcher.

  ‘The Retrospective and I cannot be complete without the First and Greatest Spell,’ said Spiral. ‘With it, we will become limitless.’

  For the first time in forty years, Moor’s faith was blemished by doubt, and he wonder if we included the Genii.

  ‘My lord,’ Moor said with a frown. ‘What of Hagi Tabet?’

  ‘Ah.’ Spiral’s face was contemplative. ‘Lady Tabet has served me without question and I feel blessed by her devotion. But her symbiosis with the Nightshade is complete. It cannot be undone. Her sacrifice is, regrettably, unavoidable.’

  Moor surprised himself by wondering if Spiral was telling the truth.

  At that moment, a rent appeared in the air. It brought the tumult of violence along with the stench of corruption and hopelessness. The rent widened and Mo Asajad emerged from the Retrospective into the warehouse. The portal sealed behind her.

  ‘It is done?’ Spiral asked, appraising her carefully.

  Asajad gave a small nod. Her trademark cold smile didn’t touch her thin, colourless lips. ‘It is, my lord.’

  ‘Good,’ Spiral purred. ‘Your virus will spread like wildfire among the denizens. There will be no safe quarter in Labrys Town.’

  Moor’s anxiety resurfaced. ‘My Lord, forgive me, but why waste time toying with the humans?’ His tone was guarded, careful to show respect. ‘Why not take the Labyrinth and the power of the Nightshade now?’

  Spiral regarded Moor. ‘You have doubts, Fabian?’ he said quietly.

  ‘He does, my lord,’ Gadreel answered, clearly exasperated. ‘Lord Moor is a little frightened of humans. They have … tricked him, and on more than one occasion.’

  ‘Is this true, Fabian? You, whose diligence ensured we are all standing here now, on the brink of great things – you are troubled by the humans?’

  As Moor struggled for an answer, Gadreel said, ‘Unfortunately so.’

  ‘My concerns are justified,’ Moor stated, noting that Asajad was uncharacteristically forgoing the chance to mock him. ‘The Relic Guild had help, both during the war and now. My lord, not all the Thaumaturgists departed with the Timewatcher. Yansas Amilee remained.’

  Spiral’s displeasure was made apparent by the symbols on his body taking on a dull purple hue. He glared at Gadreel, as though unwilling to take Moor’s word for it. ‘Is this true?’

  ‘Apparently so,’ Gadreel answered, head bowed. ‘Hagi discovered Amilee’s involvement from Known Things before … before you destroyed it.’

  ‘Did she now?’ Spiral said quietly. ‘And what else did Lady Tabet discover?’

  ‘Nothing, my lord. We were in agreement that the Skywatcher was seeking to prevent your return and she has clearly failed.’

  ‘Clearly.’ Spiral pursed his lips. ‘Strange that I should not have predicted this.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ Moor said, ‘but we do not know where Amilee is now.’

  ‘Oh, but can’t you guess, Fabian?’ A stark lack of concern returned to Spiral’s beautiful and terrible face. ‘Our Treasured Lady is a slippery snake, but there is only one place where she would hide.’

  Once again staring across the warehouse at the frozen police officers, Spiral’s thaumaturgy swelled. ‘Amilee alone cannot stand in my way, and it is time to formally announce my return.’

  The Lord of the Genii unleashed his power, gripping one of the officers and dragging her to him. The restraining magic disappeared and the policewoman struggled in Spiral’s arms, shouting with incoherent panic as he forced her head back, exposing her throat, and sank long teeth into her flesh. She began to spasm in his embrace, jerking with every draught he took from her veins. Finally, Spiral let her body fall to the floor and wiped blood from his lips.

  ‘A curious thing, this virus we carry,’ Spiral said, looking down at his victim. Her teeth were clenched and her whole body shook violently. ‘So empowering, so … contagious. It is fitting that the Retrospective and I both need blood to remain strong, so we can grow and spread together.’

  Moor had seen the virus change creatures of lower magic many times before, but never with the speed induced by Spiral’s bite. The policewoman began to issue a series of shrieks, caught somewhere between coughs and barks. The ragged wound on her neck had stopped bleeding and black veins began snaking from it, spreading over her skin like a dark web. The woman’s large Aelfirian eyes became jaundiced and her gums receded, making her teeth look long. With a bestial cry, she jumped to her feet, her posture stooped like an animal on the prowl. She glared at Spiral and the Genii with eyes filled with hate and the need to destroy and rend and taste blood. But even in such a bloodthirsty state, she dared not attack her infector.

  Spiral motioned with his hand towards the remaining police officers, dispelling the magic that kept them frozen. They didn’t bother priming the power stones on their weapons; instead, as one they fled from the warehouse, shouting warnings as they ran. With more cough-barks, the infected policewoman pursued them on all fours and quickly disappeared through the door after them.

  She would spread the virus to every Aelf in Sunflower. Moor wondered how long it would take for Spiral’s empowered virus to reach its conclusion, turning the organic matter of all the infected to stone, leaving behind docile, servile golems.

  A cry came from outside. A fresh victim. A new carrier for the virus.

  ‘You, my Genii, deserve to taste sweeter blood than that of humans,’ said Spiral. ‘Go. Feed. Run amok among the Aelfir and gather your strength. For afterwards we shall bite the head off the snake.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ said Marney.

  Clara agreed.

  The magickers had arrived at a run-down and gloomy theatre. They stood at the back, looking out over row after row of seats occupied by the silhouettes of audience members. There were perhaps five hundred of them – a full house – and they faced a stage where moving scenery depicted a strange scenario.

  A collection of frameless paintings spun and rocked, representing an angry, rolling ocean. The backdrop was a slate-grey sky backlit by flashes of lightning. Stage right, a huge purple sheet flapped in the wind, embroidered with a bright golden sun sending out spears of light. Stage left, sheets of deepest black coiled and twisted like a column of smoke. Downstage, a small, narrow tent had been erected. It reminded Clara of the fortune teller’s tent she had once visited at a fair in Labrys Town, except for the fact that it was clearly made from skin.

  Somewhere offstage, boards wobbled to create rumbles of thunder. As lightning flashes illuminated the audience, Clara caught sight of demonic deformities, and she realised that not one individual present was human or Aelf. Tasting blood in the air, she stared at the stage.

  ‘What’s it supposed to be?’ she asked.

  ‘I think it’s a representation of the Genii War,’ Marney replied. ‘The sun is the Timewatcher. The darkness is Spiral.’

  ‘What about the ocean?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Clara had the impression that the empath wasn’t being entirely truthful. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if Marney was being as selective with information as Lady Amilee had been.

  Casting a wary eye over the theatre, Clara said, ‘There’s something I don’t understand about Van Bam. Why is he trapped in here with us at all?’ Marney frowned at her. ‘Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad he is. I sort of feel like we saved him.’

  ‘Saved him?’

  ‘The Nightshade,’ Clara explained. ‘Its magic has always selected who becomes Resident, right? But the Genii disrupted that p
rocess, and I’m pretty sure Hagi Tabet wouldn’t be a welcoming host for Van Bam’s spirit. Ordinarily he would have become her guide, but his ghost wound up in here with us instead – which I’m grateful for. But why? How?’

  Marney took a little too long to reply for Clara’s liking. ‘One mystery at a time, Clara. Let’s find the Nephilim first, then maybe we can ask Van Bam himself for an answer.’

  Evasion? Clara wondered as the empath pointed at the stage.

  ‘Right now,’ Marney continued, ‘I want to know what that tent is for.’

  ‘So much confusion,’ said Baran Wolfe.

  The magickers wheeled around. The old Skywatcher had materialised, as bedraggled and peaceful a presence as always and showing no ill signs from his battle with Clara’s magic. He gestured to the stage.

  ‘I wouldn’t even begin to guess how many memories are mixed up in this little show.’ He looked pointedly at Marney. ‘Would you?’

  ‘Just tell us what to do next,’ Marney said evenly.

  The painted ocean rolled and the demonic audience watched, still and silent.

  ‘Listen to me carefully,’ Wolfe said. ‘Known Things does not function in a predictable way. You are inside unused time. Known Things is an amalgam.’

  ‘All right,’ said Clara. ‘So it absorbs everything into … one mashed-up brain of information?’

  ‘Eloquently put.’ Wolfe chuckled. ‘And that mashed-up brain currently resides in your mind. Memories and information don’t necessarily have to belong to any one person.’

  ‘It could come from me, you, Marney, Van Bam, Spiral – or all of us at the same time.’

  ‘Very good.’ Again, Wolfe looked pointedly at Marney. ‘When I became Voice of Known Things, it was near impossible to resist Iblisha Spiral’s power and he crushed everything I ever was from me. Almost.’

  The Skywatcher switched his gaze to Clara. ‘Mercifully, I retained a seed of who I was and what I had done before Known Things, including the guarding of a secret that I knew would change much if Lady Amilee could keep it from Spiral.’ Wolfe’s expression became coldly satisfied. ‘The Lord of the Genii does not know that a single Nephilim escaped his trickery.’