by Edward Cox
Observing the exchange, the Genii expressed mixed reactions. The hulking brute seemed on the brink of religious fervour. The woman, however, remained studiously neutral. Tal noted that concern flittered across Fabian Moor’s face.
‘You are a fool to think that resisting me is an option,’ Spiral said. ‘Come, Tal the Ghoul. Kneel before me as you said you never would. Be my witness as I show you how the future of the Aelfir begins at the Sisterhood of Bells.’
Tal felt as though his soul had been ripped from him as Spiral drove him down onto his knees with the slightest flicker of the magic at his command. Such power!
‘Your Mother abandoned you!’ Spiral shouted. He appeared to expand as he addressed the Panopticon, his aura causing the walls of the Hall to groan. ‘Now welcome your Father!’
The Genii Lord threw back his head and spread his wings behind him like sharp silver fans. The doors to the Commons Hall disintegrated; the wall around them collapsed. The debris was sucked away into the damned land which suddenly appeared, filled with poisonous clouds, and a wind of fire raged like a furnace as it poured into the Hall.
Wild demons followed the wind.
A host of nightmare monsters rushed into the auditorium, screeching, baying for blood. There were no screams of fear and pain from the Panopticon as the fire crisped their flesh. Held silent and still, they could do nothing but endure the torture, waiting for the demons to charge into their midst and tear into them with tooth and claw and jagged appendages. Even during the Genii War, Tal had never witnessed such wanton slaughter.
Blood-soaked stone and wood shook and split and shattered. The ceiling exploded into infinite pieces. Rubble and broken bodies were whipped up into the fury of a tornado. The Retrospective ripped Little Sibling apart. The Sisterhood of Bells would come next, and then … no House or living being would be safe from the carnage.
Except Tal. Except Spiral and his Genii. They had been spared from the danger, kept safe within a bubble of higher magic that lessened the tumult of destruction taking place around them.
There was no compassion on Spiral’s terrible face as he folded his wings and glared down at the Aelf on his knees before him.
‘Now then, Tal the Ghoul,’ he said quietly. ‘What am I to do with you?’
Forty Years Earlier
Death Sentence
The scent of death clung to Samuel’s clothes and hair. The lingering odour of rotting vegetables was foul in his nostrils and the stench of charred meat laced the air and coated the inside of his mouth with a bitter, oily film.
In the house in the northern district, Samuel sat on the floor of the cellar, a little singed but largely unhurt – at least physically. His back rested against one of the wooden poles engraved with necromantic symbols. Bryant’s remains, along with those of the denizen who had been infected with Fabian Moor’s virus, lay as ash upon the floor. The leathery tentacles which had exploded into life like a great sea beast rising from the ocean to rip Bryant limb from limb were chunks of useless inanimate grey stone.
The necromantic spells cast in the cellar still trapped Samuel behind magical barriers that stretched between the poles and dampened his prescient awareness. Even without his magic, Samuel felt secure that the danger had passed, though his rifle, lying across his legs and loaded with fire-bullets, brought comfort.
‘Interesting,’ said a voice.
With a start, Samuel peered around to see Hamir standing in the cellar, studying the barrier that separated them. He hadn’t heard the necromancer approach.
‘You took your bloody time,’ Samuel growled.
‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been a little preoccupied of late,’ Hamir replied in that annoyingly amiable way of his.
Samuel got to his feet, slid the rifle into the holster on his back and faced the necromancer through the barrier. ‘Can you get me out?’
‘I think I know what I’m dealing with.’ Hamir ran his hands over one of the poles. ‘But … give me a moment to be sure.’
As Hamir studied the symbols engraved into the wood, Samuel felt a heaviness in his heart. ‘How’s Macy?’
‘Understandably distraught. Now let me concentrate, please.’
Samuel folded his arms across his chest and glared at Hamir.
After Samuel destroyed the tentacular creature with magical fire, Macy had turned wild with grief over the loss of her twin brother. She, like Bryant, had been born with inordinate strength; but the dampening spells in that place ensured she could not break through the magical barriers to save Bryant. She had only been able to watch as Samuel’s bullets incinerated her brother to ashes along with everything else.
Macy had lost her mind in that moment, shouting at Samuel, blaming him for Bryant’s fate. ‘I’ll kill you!’ she screamed. ‘Murderer!’ Van Bam had his work cut out convincing Macy to leave the cellar so they could fetch Hamir. He had succeeded, eventually, but as they left she had made a dark promise to Samuel that she was coming back for him.
‘This is a primitive sort of necromancy,’ Hamir said as he walked from pole to pole, studying symbols. ‘Almost amateurish, in fact. Certainly not crafted by Fabian Moor.’
‘Magic-users were hired to create this place,’ Samuel said. ‘I don’t know why.’
‘Hmm.’ Hamir considered for a moment. ‘Van Bam tells me there was a creature made of tentacles. Is that right?’
‘It came from some kind of egg. When it was dropped into a hole filled with rancid meat it … hatched.’
‘And there were also infected denizens held to the ceiling.’
Samuel wondered if the information was important, or if Hamir was simply sating his own morbid curiosity. The necromancer was such a strange man, full of mystery and secrets, and Samuel had long ago learned that it was quicker to just allow Hamir to take his own sweet time.
‘I believe what you faced was a golem of sorts,’ Hamir explained. ‘I’ve seen them used before and they are not particularly graceful.’ He looked up at the shadows of people burned into the ceiling. ‘The blood of the denizens, infected with a virus or not, would have fed the creature – and this is clear evidence confirming that what you have found in this cellar was not made by Moor’s own hand. A creature of higher magic could create such a golem simply and quickly, and thaumaturgy alone would sustain it.’
Samuel huffed impatiently. ‘That’s all very interesting, Hamir, but what was it for?’
‘Harvesting memories,’ Hamir stated. He paused, perhaps following his own line of thought, recalling past experiences. ‘Specifically, in this case, memories belonging to people who are a little more resilient to interrogation than the average person. Magickers, for example.’
It made sense. Moor believed that agents of the Relic Guild held unconscious information in their psyches that would allow him to infiltrate the Nightshade and thus gain control of the Labyrinth. Hamir had decided that he was wrong, but obviously the Genii hadn’t given up trying.
A thought came to Samuel. ‘Why would a Genii need to hire magic-users to do his work for him?’
‘I don’t know.’ Hamir stared at Samuel, through him, and his soft green eyes began to swirl with darkness as though ink had been dripped into them. ‘Stand back, please.’
Hamir laid his hands upon the poles either side of him, whispering words of necromancy. The symbols engraved on every pole in the cellar began glowing and the wood smoked. The light died and the sickly grey magic of the barrier sputtered, crackling with energy before disappearing.
‘There,’ said Hamir, his eyes returning to normal. ‘Primitive and simple.’
‘Good.’ Freed from his confinement, Samuel looked around the cellar, wondering how many more agents of the Relic Guild would die because of Fabian Moor. ‘I’m going to get drunk,’ he announced.
Hamir sucked air over his teeth. ‘I understand your need to grieve – and per
haps to avoid Macy – but Gideon has summoned you to the Nightshade.’ He blinked at Samuel. ‘Denton and Marney have returned.’
Gene was dead, Angel was dead … and now Bryant.
The Relic Guild sat in silence around a long conference table in the Nightshade. Gideon was at the head, as brooding and menacing as ever. Macy sat next to Marney, staring into the table as though her glare could burn holes in the wood. Her face was pale and her eyes were red. On the other side of the table, Samuel was keeping as much distance between himself and Gideon as he could create. Taciturn as always, he stank of smoke and blood, and his eyes avoided Macy. Hamir was absent, as was Denton. Van Bam was opposite Marney, his eyes, red from tears, seeing only her.
The one spark of emotion left in Marney was a vague desire to be alone with her lover. Other than that, she was struggling with a curious sense of detachment that allowed her to feel nothing about the situation and the deaths of her colleagues; but her state had not been induced by her magic.
Upon returning to the Labyrinth, Denton had immediately been summoned to a private meeting with Lady Amilee at the Tower of the Skywatcher. No one else knew the nature of his and Marney’s mission, and Amilee had given strict instructions to Gideon that no one, not even the Resident, was to ask questions of the empaths. That was just as well, Marney had reasoned, for there was very little she could tell them.
Something was missing in Marney. She remembered all too well the journey to the Library of Glass and Mirrors, she had a slight recollection of reaching her destination, but of the Library itself she could recall nothing. Not one memory of what they had discovered there remained to Marney. It was as though information had been stolen from her mind. And she meditated upon this mystery while the group waited in silence for Denton’s return.
Gideon shifted in his chair. Restless, his hands balled into fists on the table, he ground his teeth, and Marney could feel every nuance of the angry frustration he emoted. But worse than that, she could also sense his boredom, and a bored Gideon always led to confrontation. Marney steeled herself. She knew what was coming next.
A sneer twisted Gideon’s face as his dark eyes glared at Samuel. ‘Tell me,’ he purred, ‘how many of my agents have you put out of their misery now, Samuel?’
Van Bam closed his eyes and groaned. Macy tensed. Samuel returned the Resident’s glare.
‘I make it two,’ Gideon added spitefully. ‘Is that right? Or are there more than just Gene and Bryant?’
‘Shut up,’ Macy hissed. She bristled, practically radiating the power of her magical strength.
Van Bam added, ‘Please, Gideon.’ His voice was soft, reassuring, concerned. ‘Now is not the time.’
Gideon shrugged and his tone became one of mock-contemplation. ‘We have lost agents before and we will lose them again, I suppose. But I imagine there must be other magickers out there right now, hiding among the denizens, simply itching to replace our fallen friends. For a thousand years the magic of the Labyrinth has catered to the Relic Guild in this way, so it’s not all doom and gloom.’
Macy looked ready to punch someone, anyone. Marney sank back in her seat, wondering if there had ever been a time when Gideon was able to respect other people’s feelings. She doubted it.
‘Your lack of compassion doesn’t mean that we can’t grieve,’ Samuel said from between gritted teeth.
‘I’m not so sure I agree, Samuel.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong.’
With an easy smile, Gideon sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head – a deliberate show of calm indifference, designed only to antagonise Samuel further. ‘I think you’ll find that my position as Resident means I can tell you exactly what to feel, and when to feel it.’
‘And I think you will find that the Resident is a spiteful bastard who should learn when to keep his mouth shut.’
Before Van Bam could offer calming advice, Gideon barked a harsh laugh at Samuel. ‘Listen to me, you mawkish idiot. Outside the Labyrinth a war is being fought between creatures of higher magic. In case you’ve forgotten, the Genii want nothing more than to crush each and every one of us, and one of their number is still in our midst.’ Gideon’s expression became dangerous. ‘So push your grief aside and remember your damned duty to the denizens.’
Macy banged a fist on the table, cracking wood. ‘I’ll beat you both to pulp if you don’t shut up,’ she growled.
‘Is that right?’ Gideon snapped.
‘Stop it, all of you,’ Marney said softly, tiredly.
Her colleagues’ eyes turned to her.
How many times had Marney witnessed this dance? A great hate had always existed between Gideon and Samuel, a hate which the rest of the group was forced to endure, calming things when they got too heated. For Samuel’s part, Marney thought he was content to be left alone and to have as little to do with Gideon as possible. As for Gideon, he did nothing to hide his disdain for Samuel, almost relishing those moments when he could poke him with a stick, which he invariably did every chance he got.
But Macy … she was hurting, more than the rest of them. Gideon and Samuel had no right to drag her into their petty squabbles.
‘Oh my,’ the Resident said with mock surprise. ‘The pupil speaks!’
‘Samuel’s right, Gideon,’ Marney continued, unfazed. ‘We should grieve. We should take the time to remember Gene and Angel.’ She reached out and laid her hand on top of Macy’s fist. ‘And Bryant.’
Macy unclenched her fingers and gripped Marney’s hand, closing her eyes against fresh tears. Samuel looked away. Gideon’s expression turned sour, but before he could offer some choice retort his eyes began darting from side to side and his shoulders slumped. Obviously he was receiving some kind of mental admonishment from Sophia, his spirit guide and former Resident.
‘Perhaps,’ Van Bam said, ‘we could hold a wake for our friends.’
‘When time allows,’ Gideon asserted. ‘Which might come sooner rather than later.’ His tone had lost much of its spite and the tension in the atmosphere broke a little. ‘I sent a message with Denton for Lady Amilee. I have requested permission to execute Fabian Moor.’
Van Bam stared at the Resident with a surprise that was shared by Samuel. Macy looked grimly please by the news.
‘Execute him?’ Van Bam said. ‘Do we know a way to do it?’
‘Hamir says that Amilee’s little book of secrets holds details of how to kill a creature of higher magic.’ Gideon made a noise of frustration. ‘We must have foiled Moor’s mission, insofar as we know what it is. And we’ve had that cursed Genii in our custody for long enough. He has revealed nothing of Spiral’s plans, no matter how much he is tortured, and I for one would like to be shot of him. I’m confident Amilee will grant permission for his execution.’
‘I want to watch,’ Macy said adamantly, as though daring anyone to refuse her.
‘Me, too,’ Samuel added.
Van Bam remained quiet, and Marney felt his remorse that anyone should find gratification in death, even that of a Genii. She longed to reach out, to lay a hand on his cheek, to feel his skin against hers.
Clearly humoured by Samuel’s and Macy’s reactions, Gideon said, ‘That makes three of us.’
With a soft click, the outline of a door appeared on the conference room wall. The door swung open revealing the large form of Denton.
‘Denton,’ said Gideon. ‘Is vengeance at hand?’
The old empath looking distracted. He was crushing his hat in his hands as he always did when he was troubled. Marney sensed immediately that he had closed off his emotions. He made no attempt to speak or look at anyone.
‘Denton,’ Gideon said sternly. ‘What is the wish of the Skywatcher?’
He stared at the Resident as though suddenly realising he wasn’t alone. ‘Lady Amilee has agreed to Fabian Moor’s execution …
in principle.’
‘In principle?’ Gideon said. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Our Lady has ordered me to speak to the Genii first,’ Denton replied. He looked directly at Marney and she felt the remorse he emoted to her. ‘And she wants me to speak with him alone.’
‘This is a bad idea,’ Samuel said.
Along with Hamir and Gideon, he stood in the Nightshade’s observation room, feeling uneasy. Van Bam and Marney had decided not to attend – and Samuel could guess the reason why – while Macy had simply left the Nightshade after the meeting, saying nothing but probably wishing to be alone to contemplate her brother’s death.
‘I have to agree with Samuel,’ Hamir said. ‘Everything we have discovered about Moor’s mission to Labrys Town is based on supposition. We know nothing for certain.’
The back wall of the room acted like a magical window, projecting a view provided by an eye device in an abandoned ore warehouse in the southern district. Fabian Moor sat cross-legged in the purple light of his thaumaturgic prison, eyes closed and apparently asleep. Against the wall to the Genii’s left, the strange device he had used to harvest shadows sat in its glass containment box upon the elevator platform. Surrounded by wire mesh and small power stones, the glass sphere was filled with murky water and appeared inactive.
‘It makes no difference what we think,’ Gideon said, his voice hard but not spiteful. ‘Lady Amilee has given her orders, and since when did the Relic Guild ever defy the Skywatcher?’ To which he added darkly, ‘No matter how much we might disagree with her.’
Samuel always found Amilee’s decisions hard to fathom, and especially so on this occasion. He had always thought the safest course of action would have been to execute Fabian Moor as soon as the Relic Guild captured him, not to try to interrogate him – and certainly not to waste time with a final conversation when interrogation failed.
The warehouse’s shutter door rose with a series of metallic clacks and Denton came into view. He took off his wide-brimmed hat, which he placed on a table next to a wooden rack filled with phials of blood that had been used to feed the Genii. Denton approached the eye in the warehouse, staring directly into the observation room. His face was unusually grave as he pulled a leather pouch from his jacket pocket and emptied a small pile of dust into his cupped hand. Discarding the pouch, Denton threw the dust at the eye. The image fizzed with static, but returned a moment later to show the old empath approaching Fabian Moor.
