by Edward Cox
Marney took a moment too long to answer. ‘I don’t know.’
Ahead, the green light turned left again.
Clara pursed her lips. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Clara—’
‘No! Don’t evade the question. Not this time. I saw the way Baran Wolfe looked at you, Marney. I heard the way you spoke to each other. It’s not that you dislike him – you just don’t like that he knows what you’re hiding from me.’
‘There are a lot of things I haven’t told you – or anyone else, for that matter – because … because I’m only just beginning to remember some of it myself.’ Marney’s tone was troubled, her body language edgy. ‘You’ll understand when I do, Clara, but … I think I know where we’re heading.’
The green light led them down a long, straight alleyway. Clara flinched as a voice came from behind, borne on a stiff breeze of hot breath: I have listened to you.
The words were not spoken. They came as a collection of senses that invaded Clara’s being so she felt rather than heard them. Her mind’s eye was filled with deep purple shot through with rays of golden sunshine. Feminine, powerful, beautiful yet terrible. And judging by her reaction, Marney had felt the voice, too.
‘Oh, that’s too much!’ The empath put out a hand to steady herself, but thought better of touching the breathing wall. She stumbled, dropped the dagger and quickly retrieved it.
The voice came again: I have listened to you, and I will listen no more.
Clara groaned. Marney stumbled again. A nauseating weakness drained the strength from Clara’s legs and she could only imagine how the overwhelming emotions in the voice might be augmented for one with empathic magic.
‘I … I can’t block it,’ Marney whispered.
But the voice wasn’t addressing the magickers. And it was answered by a masculine presence.
Think of the example you have set. You weaken our position in the Higher Thaumaturgic Cluster.
So much anger, frustration – centuries of bitterness that had caused a darkness inside a soul millennia old.
The woman replied, I will not adapt the peace and unity I have created simply because you come before me with demands, Iblisha.
I am your favoured son, and I come before you to beg you to see reason.
‘It’s Spiral,’ Marney said from between clenched teeth. ‘He’s talking to … to …’ She broke off, clutching her stomach.
‘The Timewatcher,’ Clara finished, and she was crushed by the weight of a displeasure that drove her to her knees. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Enough!
Please, Spiral said, you will wreck your House. You will bring ruin to the Thaumaturgists.
And the Timewatcher, the host of Mother Earth said, Ruin? No, Iblisha, and you shame yourself to say so. Or do you reveal something of your true nature that I have failed to see?
Rule them. Make them worship how their lives and freedom are preserved only by the grace of your higher magic.
The Aelfir do not need my intervention to express their love for us. Remember that. I will force no one.
No one? A flare of barely contained anger. Can you not see the hypocrisy in your words?
The Timewatcher drew a breath, burning with the promise of a fiery tempest. Never question me again, Iblisha. Be gone from my presence.
Weeping came next, the deep and heavy remorse of Spiral’s tears, burrowing straight into Clara’s core. She understood that she was feeling the sound of Spiral deciding upon a course of action that would shatter a love and devotion he had once held dear.
Through tear-blurred eyes, Clara looked at Marney. She, too, was on her knees, holding her head. Her body jerked with every sob that Spiral gave. With a shout of pain, Marney faced the sky. A dull blue light glowed from her eyes, spilling from her ears and nostrils as luminous vapour, shining from the cave of her open mouth.
Clara managed to get to her feet, stumble to Marney’s side, then grabbed her hand. The blue light receded at the changeling’s touch, though the empath’s eyes retained a twilight hue.
‘We have to keep moving,’ Marney shouted through the crippling torment of Spiral’s anguish.
‘Come on!’ Clara yelled, pulling Marney to her feet.
The green light waited, pulsing urgently, as the magickers ran towards it. Spiral’s heartbreak followed them, but the further they ran, the less like a feeling it became. Clara imagined it slithering from her body to become an audible sound, bouncing off the leathery alley walls. It rose in volume, perhaps coming closer, until the green light led Clara and Marney into a courtyard and disappeared.
The weeping stopped.
Clara swore.
Marney prepared to throw a dagger.
A man stood in the courtyard, naked and completely stripped of skin. Pale moonlight shone through the purple clouds and glinted from his raw and wet muscles. He grinned skeletally at the Relic Guild agents, pointing a bloody finger at them.
‘You sneaky little magickers …’
‘… By creating the Retrospective and abandoning the Labyrinth,’ Lady Amilee was saying, ‘the Timewatcher unwittingly handed Spiral everything he needed.’
Hamir was only half-listening to the Skywatcher; his attention had been divided by the Toymaker. The strange automaton had carried Clara to a padded table in a whitewashed room in Amilee’s tower. While Hamir and her ladyship stood talking over the unconscious changeling, the Toymaker had broken apart into a hundred insectoid automatons. They now clung to the walls and ceiling, apparently guarding Clara’s body. The violet light of their thaumaturgic stings glowed at the ends of their tails.
Amilee said, ‘The Timewatcher is utterly unaware that the Genii have returned.’
The room wasn’t particularly big – long but not wide. The table Clara lay upon had been pushed against the wall at one end of the room. A second empty padded table mirrored its position.
‘Hamir, are you listening?’
‘Yes, I can hear you.’ There was something about the glowing silver insectoids that made Hamir suspicious. ‘I’ve never seen an automaton like this before.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Please, my lady, indulge me. What is the Toymaker?’
Looking tired and frail, Amilee sat on the edge of Clara’s table. ‘He was created by the Thaumaturgists, and they gave him to the Aelfir at the end of the Genii War,’ she said. ‘The Toymaker is a guardian of sorts. His duty was to protect the last portal to Labrys Town. To deter anyone who tried to use it for anything other than sending cargo to the denizens.’
‘Ah, an assassin,’ Hamir mused. ‘But now it obeys your commands.’
‘Thankfully, through my avatar, I was able to alter his directives. I suppose you could say he is now Clara’s bodyguard.’
There it was again, the way Amilee referred to the construct – he, him, his …
‘There’s something more to the Toymaker than the average automaton,’ Hamir said. ‘I’m beginning to suspect that it – he – has a soul?’
‘You still have keen perception, I see.’
‘You might have drained the thaumaturgy from my body, my lady, but you did not make me stupid. Who did the Toymaker used to be?’
Amilee’s tawny eyes considered the host of hand-sized automatons dotted around the room. ‘A former Thaumaturgist,’ she said. ‘This is what became of Lord Buyaal.’
‘Buyaal?’ Hamir’s features fell. ‘The Genii from Mirage? The Genii who murdered Angel?’
‘It was decided that his punishment would be to serve the Timewatcher’s final prerogative,’ Amilee explained. ‘He would keep safe the very people he once tried to help Spiral destroy. He can be nothing other than this construct, and he cannot refuse the commands of a Thaumaturgist.’
‘Who else knows the Toymaker is Buyaal?’
‘Apart
from you and me, the Timewatcher and the Thaumaturgists who created him, no one. He doesn’t even know it himself. He has no comprehension that he used to be someone else, or any interest in that idea. The Toymaker can only follow orders and serve. All things considered, Hamir, I think it would be wise if we kept his true identity between us.’
‘Fair enough,’ Hamir replied, though he didn’t know who Amilee expected him to tell seeing as only he, her, a miserable ghost and an unconscious changeling inhabited the tower. Van Bam was dead and the Skywatcher had remained tight-lipped about Samuel’s fate. ‘Then what of your avatar?’ he asked. ‘That annoying blue spectre has a spirit at its foundations, too. Who did it used to belong to?’
Amilee waved the question away. ‘We have more important matters to discuss, Hamir.’
The necromancer looked at Clara, so deathly still and pale on the table. ‘Indeed …’
Earlier, Amilee had explained Known Things to Hamir: a brilliant records device created from unused time. Although gaining access to it had cost Van Bam his life, Clara had survived a connection to it and somehow managed to retain a copy of its contents in her mind. She was now searching Known Things for a cure to the Genii plague.
Hamir wondered how the changeling was coping with Spiral’s dark machinations in her mind, but he was more troubled by the cure she was searching for: the Nephilim. Hamir’s greatest shame, his greatest crime, the one act that had haunted him for a thousand years – could it really come back to save them all? Were the Nephilim truly their last hope?
‘My lady,’ said Hamir. ‘Why haven’t you contacted Mother Earth? Surely if the Timewatcher knew that the Genii had returned and freed Spiral, then She wouldn’t hesitate to come back and deal with them. And I very much doubt She would place Spiral in prison a second time.’
‘Do you think I didn’t try to warn Her?’ Amilee rubbed a hand over her bald head. She blinked once, slowly, as though desperate to sleep. ‘The truth is, the Genii War damaged the Thaumaturgists more than anyone realised. They didn’t return to Mother Earth merely because the Timewatcher had lost Her mercy. They did so to heal their wounds. The Thaumaturgists are weak, Hamir.’
‘So they do what?’ Hamir said. ‘Consolidate their position? Protect themselves against the other Houses in the Higher Thaumaturgic Cluster – those who might take advantage of this weakness? It makes no difference, my lady. However powerful Spiral became, he could never match the Timewatcher’s strength. Contact Her!’
‘You don’t understand,’ Amilee replied sadly. ‘She does not want to be contacted. I have but the dregs of my former thaumaturgy left to me and am no longer able to cast the simplest of spells. But even if it were otherwise, I still could not undo the Timewatcher’s bidding. The skies are closed to me, Hamir. The Higher Thaumaturgic Cluster is lost to us.’ Amilee scoffed. ‘She has blinded me to Mother Earth.’
Yansas Amilee, once among the Timewatcher’s most favoured children, now cast aside by her Mother. So many centuries had passed since Hamir had last been a member of the Pantheon of Thaumaturgists that he struggled now to remember Mother Earth, or the sound of the Timewatcher’s voice. Perhaps he had dulled the memories over the years, forced himself to forget all the terrible and dark things that had occurred before his punishment.
‘And so the Nephilim really are our only hope,’ he muttered. ‘How ironic.’ He gazed at the many parts of the Toymaker. ‘Considering how they have been treated over the centuries, I cannot imagine the Nephilim will be very keen to help us.’ He glanced at Clara. ‘Assuming we can find them, of course.’
‘We will find them because we have to,’ Amilee said distantly. ‘And they will help us because they will have no other choice.’ Her eyes bored into the necromancer’s. ‘Hamir, you were right to say that Spiral was never as strong as the Timewatcher. But he knows a way to match Her power – surpass it, in fact. All he needs to do is steal the Timewatcher’s magic.’ She inhaled a shuddery breath. ‘If only I was strong enough to claim a sliver of that power for myself. But it is bound to the Nightshade.’
Hamir leaned against the empty table opposite the Skywatcher. ‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘The Retrospective,’ Amilee began. ‘If Spiral merged his essence with it, fused his very soul to its foundations, he would claim mastery over it and its legions of wild demons. He could open the Retrospective’s door on any Aelfirian realm. The Aelfir would have no defence, Hamir – their lands and people would be devoured, absorbed as raw material and added to a House of dead time. But Spiral’s power is currently limited. Certain Houses would remain hidden and beyond his reach.’
‘Houses in the Higher Thaumaturgic Cluster,’ Hamir said. ‘Like Mother Earth.’
‘Indeed. However, should Spiral devour the First and Greatest Spell, the Retrospective will far exceed the already extraordinary limits of its initial design.’
‘The First and Greatest Spell?’ Hamir struggled to find words for a moment. ‘Could the Retrospective absorb that kind of energy?’
‘With Spiral’s help, most definitely.’ Amilee’s ashen face became fearful. ‘Imagine the size to which the Retrospective could grow with that magic, Hamir. How powerful Spiral would become. By hiding themselves away, the Timewatcher and the Thaumaturgists have ensured they will not see Spiral coming until he has brought destruction upon them. Nor will any other House in the Higher Thaumaturgic Cluster – after all, who else besides Mother Earth ever cared for the welfare of the creatures of lower magic? There is no one watching over the Houses of the Aelfir any more.
‘Spiral would be free to devour one world of higher magic after another, growing stronger and stronger, moving on to realms and realities that even we might struggle to comprehend.’
The full weight of the implications hit Hamir. The Timewatcher had sacrificed a part of Her being when She cast the First and Greatest Spell to create the Great Labyrinth and Labrys Town. That magic had once stretched out to connect every Aelfirian House. It represented hope, peace, unity; it protected the denizens and saved the Aelfir from self-destruction. It was fundamentally the most powerful spell ever cast.
If Spiral really could harness the First and Greatest Spell, he would absorb a part of the Timewatcher Herself. If he could pervert Her power of creation and travel, fuse it to the corruption of dead time, then …
‘Ultimately, there would be nothing but the Retrospective,’ Hamir realised. ‘Spiral could consume … everything.’
‘And he will remake existence to his own design,’ Amilee said darkly. ‘He will become the Watcher of Dead Time, Hamir. Not the Nephilim, not even the Timewatcher Herself could stop him then.’
‘Then surely we are already too late,’ Hamir said, gesturing to Clara. ‘Once the Genii discovered the location of Oldest Place, they would have freed Spiral immediately. And Spiral would not have delayed implementing his plans.’
‘We do have time, Hamir,’ Amilee said. ‘To claim the First and Greatest Spell, the Retrospective needs to devour the Nightshade. And Spiral cannot allow that to happen until he has killed the denizens.’ She reached out and took Clara’s limp hand in hers. ‘His hatred and spite will not allow a million humans to die quickly. But die they will, nonetheless, or his plan will fail.’
When she offered no further explanation, Hamir became suspicious.
It had once been accepted that the Skywatchers had always been deeper in the Timewatcher’s counsel than any other Thaumaturgist. It had been common knowledge that Amilee, Spiral and Wolfe knew Her secrets; and the necromancer spied a secret hiding in Amilee’s eyes now.
‘My lady,’ Hamir said evenly. ‘I think we can agree that you no longer have any reason to protect the Timewatcher’s confidence. So tell me, what is it that Spiral knows about the denizens – that you know – that I do not?’
Amilee let go of Clara’s hand and rubbed the diamond tattoo on her forehead. She appeared reluctant to sp
eak at first and Hamir thought he was going to be answered with evasion, but then she said, ‘What I am about to tell you must remain between the two of us.’
Again, Hamir wondered who she expected him to tell. ‘You have my confidence.’
Amilee paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘The love and loyalty the denizens have for the Timewatcher is part of their conditioning. They have no choice but to retain their faith in Her.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You heard right, Hamir.’
‘The Timewatcher conditioned the humans?’ He almost laughed. ‘She who preached equality, unity, went to war with Spiral to preserve them – She forced them to love Her?’
‘She did it to ensure peace,’ Amilee said defensively. ‘The humans were unpredictable, dangerous, but susceptible to subjugation. They never questioned their high position among the Houses, never sought to abuse it because they couldn’t. They are conditioned to serve and protect the equilibrium. They made perfect custodians for the Labyrinth.’
‘But not of their own volition,’ Hamir countered. ‘Tell me, how did She condition them?’
‘The magic of the Labyrinth is the magic of the Timewatcher,’ Amilee said. ‘The First and Greatest Spell saturates each denizen of Labrys Town, leaves a splinter of itself in their souls. It … encourages devotion. They might curse the Timewatcher’s name, but they could never turn against Her.’
‘Ingenious,’ Hamir said, stranded between feeling impressed and sickened. ‘And they never knew it. Cruel, but ingenious.’
‘But here’s the relevance to Spiral’s plan,’ Amilee said testily. ‘When a denizen dies, the splinter in their soul returns to the First and Greatest Spell.’
Again, Hamir read the implications, and they pushed aside the astounding discovery that every denizen had been unwittingly living a lie throughout Labrys Town’s entire history.
‘The First and Greatest Spell cannot be complete again until it has reclaimed its splinters,’ he said. ‘Ergo, Spiral will not devour the Nightshade and the Labyrinth until every denizen is dead.’
