by Edward Cox
‘We have time and we have hope,’ Amilee said. ‘Thanks to Clara, we now know where Spiral hid the Nephilim’s prison.’
‘Yeah … inside the Retrospective.’ Samuel gave a sigh of resignation at the wild images filling the tower’s domed ceiling. Two flying demons clashed mid-air and began to fight. ‘Explain something to me – how did he hide it there? Spiral abducted the Nephilim before the Genii War. The Timewatcher created the Retrospective after the Genii War, by which time Spiral was locked away in Oldest Place.’
‘Divination,’ Clara replied.
‘Creatures of higher magic are good at playing the long game, Samuel,’ said Amilee. ‘We Skywatchers can read signs of the future in the skies, but Spiral …’ She broke off, and Samuel couldn’t decide if her expression was impressed or daunted. Perhaps both. ‘But Spiral achieved the impossible. He divined the Timewatcher Herself. He knew about the Retrospective before She even created it.’
‘So he hid the Nephilim’s prison in a House that he knew the Retrospective would absorb at the end of the war.’ Clara shrugged. ‘The Falls of Dust and Silver.’
Samuel paused. The Falls of Dust and Silver, the House where the Genii War started. Was that ironic?
‘It took a remarkably simple feat of ingenuity on Spiral’s part,’ Amilee explained. ‘Unable to destroy the Nephilim, Spiral cast a protective shield around their prison – much like the barrier the Timewatcher cast during the war to protect the Labyrinth from creatures of higher magic.’
‘Not that the barrier stopped Fabian Moor,’ Samuel growled.
‘The point is,’ said Clara, ‘when the Falls of Dust and Silver was consigned to the Retrospective, the prison was preserved by its shield.’
‘And it’s been there ever since.’ Samuel rubbed his forehead, unable to decide which point to raise next. He settled on the mass-murderer the Relic Guild had been harbouring in its midst since its formation. ‘You say that Hamir has to free the Nephilim, but I don’t understand how or why.’
‘Actually, neither do I,’ Clara said. She stood alongside Samuel and they both faced the Skywatcher. ‘What I found in Known Things barely mentioned Hamir, only that Spiral was curious about him.’
Amilee pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘The why is known only to the Timewatcher, and trying to guess Her reasons is a waste of time. As for how, She bound the fates of the Nephilim and Simowyn Hamir together. It is their curse. To achieve this, the Timewatcher manipulated the thaumaturgy that was used to create the Nephilim in the first place.’
‘Hamir’s higher magic,’ Samuel said, recalling the tale Bellow had told at the Icicle Forest. ‘The magic of the Progenitor. That’s what Spiral used to trap the Nephilim.’
‘Indeed,’ said Amilee. ‘Spiral himself helped to drain Hamir’s power. Unbeknown to the Timewatcher or his fellow Skywatchers, he stole it and used it for his own ends. But if that thaumaturgy can be used to entrap the Nephilim, it can also set them free. To achieve this, the Timewatcher’s curse must be undone. And that can only happen when Hamir is reunited with his magic.’
Samuel absorbed that. Doubt rose in him. ‘Considering Hamir killed a hundred denizens the last time he had that kind of power, are you sure giving it back to him is a good idea?’
‘It’s the only idea we’ve got.’ Frail and tired as she was, Amilee took offence at his criticism and anger came to her tawny eyes. ‘I have spent the last forty years steering us all towards this moment. To find a way to defeat Spiral has cost me everything, but if you have thought of a better way, Samuel, then by all means – do share it.’
‘No, he’s right, my lady,’ Clara said, clearly conversing with Van Bam. ‘The Relic Guild never really knew Hamir at all. How can you be so certain he’ll do the right thing?’
‘Because if we don’t trust him, we fail,’ Amilee stated. ‘To find Hamir’s thaumaturgy, you must find the Nephilim. It is the power of the Progenitor that preserves their prison. And time is running short.’
Samuel, too tired to argue any further, looked up at the menagerie of savage wild monsters fighting to gain entrance to the tower. The Lord of the Genii hadn’t just escaped Oldest Place; he had merged with the Retrospective. He was in the mind of each creature, in the very substance of the land of dead time. He would keep building, keep devouring, until he had killed every denizen, absorbed the First and Greatest Spell and swallowed everything – unless the Relic Guild acted now.
‘The Retrospective is a big place,’ Samuel said. He ran a hand through his short grey hair, feeling dwarfed by the task ahead. ‘Do we know how to find the Nephilim without Spiral and an untold number of demons noticing us?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Amilee.
‘We need to do better than perhaps. Just the atmosphere of the Retrospective alone will probably kill us the moment we breathe it in.’
Amilee looked at Clara.
‘We should talk to Marney,’ Clara said. ‘Before I woke up from Known Things, she hinted that she knew of a way to search the Retrospective.’
‘Then let’s go and ask her.’
Samuel strode off across the glass floor, heading for the elevator. No one followed him.
‘Samuel,’ Clara called. He stopped but didn’t look back. ‘Van Bam says to be kind to Marney. She’s been through a lot.’
An order from the new Resident.
Samuel ground his teeth and entered the elevator.
Hamir had been wandering aimlessly through the levels of Amilee’s tower ever since the Relic Guild arrived, hiding, thinking of the time when he had been known as Lord Simowyn Hamir.
A thousand years he had spent exiled to the Labyrinth, and it had not been an easy adjustment at first. Hamir struggled to pinpoint when precisely it had happened, but over the centuries he had come to accept his position as aide to the Residents. He had learned to let go of memories of Mother Earth and a life of higher magic. But those memories resurfaced now. He shuddered to recall his punishment at the hands of the Trinity of Skywatchers, the moment when they left him with only the dregs of his former magic.
Simowyn … that name felt as if it belonged to someone else entirely now.
There was something about Amilee’s home that comforted the necromancer. A kind of serenity permeated the many halls and rooms and corridors, familiar yet detached from any danger. Hard to believe that outside legions of wild demons laid siege to the tower. Hamir felt as secure as he had wandering the Nightshade, but he knew the security couldn’t last. He supposed his past was always going to catch up with him eventually, but he wasn’t quite ready to face it yet. And so Hamir wandered.
Why had the Timewatcher bound the fate of the Nephilim to their creator? Amilee claimed it was so they carried the shame of Hamir’s crimes for as long as he did, but it was so difficult to judge when the Skywatcher was hiding the whole truth. Perhaps she didn’t really know. All Hamir had to go on were his suspicions and guesses. He found it difficult to see any rhyme or reason in the Timewatcher’s actions. The Nephilim lived or died according to whether Hamir did. There seemed little point to such a curse. Unless …
Unless Hamir’s sentence was never meant to last for ever. Had the Timewatcher foreseen an end to his exile? What if She had protected the Nephilim until a time when She decided that the Progenitor was ready to somehow take responsibility for what he had created? If the Genii War hadn’t occurred, if She and the Thaumaturgists hadn’t abandoned the Houses, would the Timewatcher have one day returned Hamir to Mother Earth? Given him back his thaumaturgy?
In the distant past, Hamir had known a few Thaumaturgists like himself who had been drained of their power and sent into exile. It was the biggest insult, the greatest punishment a creature of higher magic could suffer. But on no occasion Hamir was aware of had any Thaumaturgist been given back the power which had been stripped from them; he hadn’t even considered it a possibility. Apparently there were many
secrets the Timewatcher had never shared with Her children.
The denizens of Labrys Town were another example of this. One million humans … had there ever been a generation which gave its fealty to the Timewatcher of its own volition? The answer was no, according to Lady Amilee. Every human was conditioned by a splinter of the Timewatcher’s magic, unknowingly subjugated into obedience. And when they died, those splinters returned to the First and Greatest Spell, ready to recycle fresh loyalty into the next generation. But did the First and Greatest Spell also claim the souls into which its splinters were embedded?
Hamir entered the elevator and began descending to a random floor of the tower, his mind fixed on another of the Timewatcher’s secrets.
Death was an unknowable journey, and even the Thaumaturgists didn’t know the truth of it. They too believed the legends that the Timewatcher had created a paradise on Mother Earth for the souls of the dead. But faith was a powerful ally, regardless of whether or not it was based on a lie. Hamir felt a cold whisper fuelling his doubts, telling him that death’s journey – now, always – had never led to Mother Earth; and when he thought of how many magickers he had known who lived and died in service to the Relic Guild, he felt he understood why the Timewatcher – and Amilee – might keep secrets. How could he tell Samuel and Marney and Clara that they had no choice but to serve? That perhaps no paradise waited as reward for their faith and devotion?
As if to underline Hamir’s point, the ghost of Alexander materialised in the elevator. The Aelf’s gaunt face was amused.
‘What do you want?’ Hamir muttered.
‘Her ladyship sent me with a message.’
‘And?’
‘She wants you to stop skulking and face your demons.’ Alexander smirked. ‘Good luck, Hamir.’
The ghost disappeared. The elevator stopped then began ascending. Reaching its destination, the glass door swished open. Hamir raised an eyebrow as he gazed into the hall of satin pillars where Alexander’s corpse was displayed.
The big and ugly Aelf Glogelder was watching Gulduur Bellow work his magic. Both had their backs to the elevator and neither noticed Hamir’s arrival.
Bellow was crouched before the box of thaumaturgic metal connected to Alexander’s remains by a host of thin copper wires. In one hand, the giant held a stone bowl filled with blood which had undoubtedly come from his own veins. Using his large finger as a scriber, he drew spells of blood-magic onto the box. Hamir could see that each symbol caused the thaumaturgic metal to change its state and absorb the blood. Alexander’s body jerked rhythmically, pumping clear fluid through the glass tubes that sprouted from his remaining organs and limbs. The fluid shimmered with energy as it disappeared down into the metallic hemispheres on the floor.
Glogelder moved a little closer to Alexander’s remains. With grim fascination, he said, ‘I’ve seen some things in my time, but this’ll take some beating.’
‘The day is young, Glogelder,’ Bellow replied. ‘But I take your meaning. This is a dark form of magic indeed. Usually forbidden to Thaumaturgists.’
‘Needs must, eh?’ Glogelder scratched his bald and pitted head. ‘So the corpse is like a power stone, and you’re giving it more power to stop those bloody monsters getting inside?’
‘Close enough,’ Bellow said. ‘I have already bolstered the tower’s defences, and now I am feeding energy into the portal.’
On the other side of Alexander’s body, the space within the oval frame through which Clara and the Toymaker had emerged was already criss-crossed by jagged lines of magic.
‘And when you’ve got the portal working, it’ll take us into the Retrospective to look for your herd?’
‘Once I’ve been given precise coordinates, yes. We can’t exactly go searching the Retrospective blindly now, can we?’
With a shiver, Glogelder looked up at the ceiling as though he could see the hordes of wild demons outside.
‘I only wish I knew how to activate those automatons down in the reception hall,’ Bellow continued. ‘They would make a handy addition to our party, don’t you agree?’
‘No arguments there,’ Glogelder said. ‘Are you sure you can’t do something?’
Hamir cleared his throat and stepped inside the white satin pillars that ringed the operation. Glogelder looked at him, but Bellow continued his work.
Hamir said, ‘The only way this tower and its sentries can return to full power is when Lady Amilee regains her higher magic – which won’t be any time soon, or so she claims. She and her House are in … symbiosis, I suppose. Amilee has been a prisoner in her own home since she walked away from the Thaumaturgists.’
‘And she’ll die if she tries to leave,’ said Glogelder.
‘Leave, stay – it makes no odds in the end. Not for her.’ Hamir shrugged. ‘The Retrospective will find a way to enter this tower eventually. All we can do is buy ourselves some precious time, and let the Skywatcher worry about her fate.’
Still Bellow didn’t turn from his work.
Glogelder frowned, looking Hamir up and down with a suspicious eye. ‘I really don’t like you very much. And I like even less that our fates are in the hands of a murderer.’
Hamir blinked, surprised by his own surprise. ‘Have I done something to offend you?’
Glogelder hissed out a long breath and shook his boulder-like head. ‘Do you even care about what’s happening to the people around you? Or do you think you’re an innocent victim of this situation?’
‘Aren’t we all?’
Glogelder loomed, his anger growing. ‘There’s no reason why Gulduur’s people should help us, you know – not after the way they’ve been treated for centuries. Have you considered that?’
‘What I’ve considered,’ Hamir said dangerously, ‘is that I do not have to stand here and answer to an Aelfirian … whatever you are.’
‘Thief!’ Glogelder snapped. ‘Con man! Yeah, that’s right – me and Hillem made a living by taking what didn’t belong to us, and we’ve never done an honest day’s work our lives. Until now. But we always knew what was right and wrong, and never once did we prey on those weaker than us – not like you and your kind.’
‘Insightful.’ Hamir denied an impulse to summon his necromantic magic. ‘But how little you comprehend.’
‘Oh, I don’t claim to be clever,’ Glogelder said, his meaty hands balling into fists, ‘but I know that you’re a lucky man. You’re lucky that the rest of us made a friend of this one’ – he jabbed a thumb at Bellow – ‘and learned the truth about his people. You’re lucky we’re still standing beside you. And if we are lucky, the Nephilim will help us, and something good can come from your … murder spree.’
Hamir, in uncustomary fashion, was disarmed by this final rant. ‘Perhaps you’d like to go and see Lady Amilee,’ he said evenly. ‘I’m sure you need to make plans for entering the Retrospective.’
Glogelder’s cheek twitched but he didn’t move.
‘Going to see the Skywatcher isn’t a bad idea, Glogelder,’ said Bellow, finally turning from his work. ‘Though I have to say, you know how to make a good point.’ The giant’s blue eyes flitted briefly to Hamir. ‘I will call for you if I need help.’
Glogelder sniffed and nodded at the giant. Without a word, he marched past Hamir, shoulder-checking him on his way to the elevator. He had a final glare for the necromancer as the door slid shut and the elevator descended.
Hamir stared after him, rubbing his shoulder. ‘You’ve made a friend, I see,’ he said to Bellow.
‘Glogelder is a little rough around the edges but I find him good company.’ Bellow resumed drawing blood symbols onto the box of thaumaturgic metal. ‘It’s quite refreshing, don’t you think, to hear someone talk with such open honesty?’
‘Clearly you haven’t spent enough time around Samuel,’ Hamir muttered.
‘I try to imagine how it mus
t feel to be a creature of lower magic at this time. Candles in a gale. I try to imagine their fear. Is that empathy?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘They are so small and powerless in the face of what is to come, yet they find the will to marshal their fear and stand strong nonetheless. That is courage.’
‘Perhaps.’
Bellow clucked his tongue ‘A thousand years you’ve spent among humans, and yet you don’t consider yourself one of them.’
The Nephilim sounded like a teacher talking down to a student. Hamir didn’t care for how it made him feel.
‘I wonder,’ Bellow said, studying the necromancer, ‘what should I call you? Simowyn, perhaps? Lord? Father?’
‘Most people call me Hamir.’
‘No, no, no – I don’t think that name is sufficient. You are and always will be a monster of legend. I shall call you Progenitor.’
‘As you wish.’ Hamir resigned himself. This confrontation had been waiting happen from the moment Bellow first entered the tower. ‘Tell me – do you believe that I received no punishment for my actions?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you received a fitting sentence in the eyes of the Thaumaturgists. But who gave justice to the humans you killed?’ Bellow dipped his finger into the blood and drew another symbol. ‘We remember them, you know – our mothers. The Nephilim herd grew to almost a thousand over the centuries, but it is we elders – your original one hundred children – who carry the pain and torment and death that our mothers suffered to birth us. We hear their screams in our sleep.’
Hamir had no words, only cold memories.
‘And now,’ Bellow continued, ‘Amilee tells me that your life and death are bound to me and my people.’
Hamir sighed. ‘You expect answers from me.’
‘Do you suppose that you owe the Nephilim no explanation?’ Bellow paused in his work to look back disappointedly. ‘We believed you were already dead. Can you imagine how disquieting it is to discover your creator lives, but to find him so much weaker than you? There were so many tales told about the Progenitor, of his greatness, of his power – all of them lies, it would appear.’
