by Edward Cox
When no one replied to Glogelder’s question, Clara had looked at Amilee and said, ‘I think we’re all curious about the answer to that one.’
The Skywatcher had considered for a moment, as though thinking of a way to explain a concept far beyond the understanding of most.
‘Time has many forms,’ she said eventually. ‘Its unused substance can be manipulated – abused, some might claim – to create great wonders. Known Things, for example, or the Great Labyrinth itself. But the creatures of higher magic who can use time in this way are few.’
‘The Timewatcher and Spiral,’ Samuel said.
‘And me, to lesser effect.’ Amilee made a gesture that encompassed her tower. ‘Manipulating unused time to create my slipstream stripped me of everything, and perhaps that will help you comprehend how dangerous it is. However, dead time, put simply, is time that has been torn and damaged. It can be harvested from a specific era where many terrible things occurred. In the Retrospective’s case, the Genii War.
‘Every atrocity committed during the war – every crime, every death, every betrayal, all the rage and hatred and heartache – was harvested by the Timewatcher and used as the founding stones of the Retrospective. Dead time is more difficult to master than anyone in this room could possibly imagine.’ Amilee had aimed a hard, accusing glare at Hamir. ‘Am I right?’
All eyes besides Gulduur Bellow’s turned to the necromancer. Hamir faced the group with the same unknowable indifference he used for every situation.
‘Dead time is a volatile and unpredictable substance.’ His tone had been genial, as unreadable as his face. ‘Trust me, the less you know about it, the better. Nothing good can come from its use.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ Glogelder said happily. ‘You’re forgetting our new friend here. He and his people might just save all our skins – even yours, if you’re lucky.’ He grinned unkindly at Hamir.
Hamir had raised an eyebrow, perhaps understanding that while the Toymaker was escorting him to the room, the rest of the group had been discussing him and his relationship to the Nephilim.
Bellow had smirked at Clara as his deft finger drew around her navel. ‘I don’t know about you, Clara, but I think Glogelder makes an excellent point.’
His artwork done, the giant completed his spell by blowing whispered words onto the glyphs and wards on Clara’s skin. She shuddered as the blood dried instantly. Marvelling at the intricate pattern, she confirmed that the spell would remain active if she changed into the wolf before lowering her top.
Bellow had then painted protective spells on the remainder of the group – including Hamir, in what was an awkward moment to say the least, but one that Glogelder relished nonetheless – before standing to his full height and aiming the shining blue orbs of his eyes at Marney. ‘My spells will count for little if we have to travel into the Retrospective without a guide. Come. Tell me about this demon you wish to summon.’
Now, as Marney carved the sigil into her arm, her face a mask of concentration, Bellow waited, feeling the portal’s surface with his bloodied fingertips. The others watched in a silence that pressed down on Clara.
The heated copper wires that had punctured Alexander’s exposed brain sizzled organ tissue and a trail of smoke coiled into the air.
Bellow had connected the portal to the Retrospective outside. He claimed to have opened it just enough for Marney’s summons to enter the House of dead time and find the demon she was looking for, but not enough for the host surrounding the tower to come pouring through. Nevertheless, Samuel was ready with his ice-rifle. Glogelder and Hillem had drawn their pistols. Namji, her trust in the Nephilim’s magic apparently overcoming her apprehension, stood alongside Lady Amilee, her crossbow hanging from her belt. The Toymaker remained by the door, guarding Hamir.
Clara wondered if she should turn into the wolf as a precaution, but Van Bam told her, It is important that the Resident exhibit confidence even if she does not feel it. I would advise remaining human. For the time being.
Marney gasped and dropped the dagger. ‘That’s it,’ she hissed. ‘It’s here.’
As quick as a striking snake, Bellow’s hand dived into the portal. The blackness encompassed his arm to the elbow. The stench and screeches of wild demons filled the room and the group tensed as one. Bellow grabbed hold of something, grimacing as he struggled with it. A moment later, he dragged a small, wriggling form through the portal and threw it onto the floor.
As the portal closed and the tumult disappeared, Marney jumped to her feet, rubbing at the bloody sigil on her arm, backing away as Samuel, Hillem and Glogelder aimed their guns at what looked like a mewling child at Bellow’s feet.
Dressed in only a loincloth, the demon manifested as a boy of around five or six years of age. But when it stopped whining and climbed to its feet, its true monstrous form was revealed.
Glogelder swore.
Its fingers were tipped with black talons. Sharp, glass-like teeth gnashed the air. The demon’s blood-red eyes, veined with black, bulged as it hissed at Marney accusingly.
This was not the first time the empath and this demon had met.
On the night Clara joined the Relic Guild, she and Samuel had gone on a mission to save a man called Charlie Hemlock. Hemlock was one of Fabian Moor’s human henchmen, and he had used Clara as bait to trap Marney, which was how this whole sorry situation began. But prior to Marney falling foul of the trap, she had summoned a demon to separate Hemlock from his master, thus buying the Relic Guild some time to rescue and question him. And now Marney had summoned that same demon once more.
The Orphan, Van Bam said.
Glogelder swore again as the demon’s forked and surprisingly long tongue darted from its mouth and lashed the air.
‘What a curious and disgusting little wretch,’ Bellow said. With thumb and forefinger he picked the Orphan up by the skin on the back of its neck, holding it at arm’s length. He chuckled at the talons swinging ineffectually for his face.
Hillem stepped in for a closer look. ‘And you’ve had dealings with this thing before?’
‘It’s a complicated relationship,’ Samuel said, glancing at Marney. ‘Some wild demons are older than the Retrospective.’
‘They inhabited the Nothing of Far and Deep,’ Amilee explained, watching the Orphan thrash and hiss in Bellow’s grasp. ‘A strange phenomenon, the explanation for which is old enough to have been forgotten.’ The others didn’t notice, but Clara – and Van Bam – caught the hard and meaningful glance Amilee gave Hamir. ‘Wild demons were a problem for Labrys Town long before the Retrospective came and gave them a new home.’
‘And this one can lead us to the Nephilim’s prison?’ Hillem asked.
‘With a little luck,’ Marney said. She cleaned away the blood on her arm with a cloth Namji had given her. ‘The Orphan is more intelligent than your average demon. Gulduur, can you bring it to me?’
Marney sat on the floor again, and Clara could tell by her expression that she was summoning her empathic magic. By this time the Orphan had given up struggling, hanging limp and pathetic as Bellow placed it down in front of Marney.
Earlier, the empath had explained that during her previous experiences with the Orphan, she and it had formed a strange kind of emotional bond. The demon didn’t emote with feelings but with shapes and colours that Marney’s magic was able to decipher; and she came to understand what symbols would gain the Orphan’s attention, especially when made with blood – its favourite kind of food. Evidently, the strange connection between magicker and demon had been made again. The Orphan froze, staring at Marney, and they began a silent but empathic conversation.
I never it realised until now, said Van Bam, but Marney must have become a vastly accomplished empath to use her magic for summoning demons, and to make a copy of her mind inside yours. Surpassing even Denton’s powers, perhaps – and that, Clara,
is truly saying something.
Clara shivered, wondering how it must feel to have the emotions of a wild demon in her head.
‘It’s frightened,’ Marney announced. ‘But not of us.’ She was studying the Orphan’s red-and-black-veined eyes. ‘It’s frightened of something that’s happening to the Retrospective. A change …’ Marney looked as though she was struggling to decipher the demonic emotions. ‘It’s Spiral. He has … mixed? No – merged with it. Spiral is the Retrospective?’
‘Just as we feared,’ Amilee muttered bitterly. She clenched her fists. ‘Time is running out. It won’t be long before Spiral devours the Labyrinth and claims the First and Greatest Spell.’
‘I think that’s the polite way of saying hurry up,’ Glogelder said to Marney.
‘What of my people?’ Bellow asked, a demanding edge to his tone. ‘Does this thing know where they are?’
‘All of you, give me a minute,’ Marney snapped.
A long, tense moment passed before Marney leaned back, narrowing her eyes at the Orphan.
‘I might have something,’ she said uncertainly. ‘The Orphan is talking about a secret place. It’s … it’s the wild demons – they’re afraid of it. They steer well clear of the area, but … but it’s a hiding place? Somewhere Spiral hides? Keeps hidden? Can’t see?’ Marney rubbed her forehead. ‘I’m not quite sure how to translate the emotions, but I think the Orphan’s saying the demons are frightened of it because it’s … good?’
The Orphan made a mewling sound.
‘That would make sense,’ Bellow said, his large face expressing pride. ‘The Nephilim would be an abrasive anomaly to something as monstrous as the Retrospective.’
‘It might be the prison,’ Samuel said. ‘What else does the Orphan say, Marney?’
‘This secret place seems to be the only area that dead time can’t recycle.’ Marney leaned closer to the demon. ‘It holds a power that the Retrospective can’t destroy.’
Van Bam said, Considering the curse the Timewatcher placed on Hamir and the Nephilim, it would appear that Marney has discovered our destination.
‘It has to be them,’ Clara said aloud.
Amilee nodded in agreement.
Bellow straightened. ‘Can this wretch lead us to my herd?’
‘Oh yes,’ Marney replied, raising an eyebrow at the Orphan. ‘But we can’t trust the little bastard. It’ll try to escape as soon as we enter the Retrospective.’
Hamir cleared his throat, stepping forward and engaging with the conversation for the first time. ‘Gulduur could bind the demon to us.’
‘Indeed I could,’ Bellow replied.
Hamir placed a hand on his stomach, as though the blood-symbols were irritating his skin.
Clara wasn’t sure that being bound to a wild demon was a good idea but she didn’t air her feelings, watching in silence as Bellow crouched, grabbed the Orphan and held it face down on the floor. With the blood already on his free hand, the giant scribed blood-magic onto the back of the demon’s head. The Orphan thrashed and hissed, powerless in the Nephilim’s grasp; and when Bellow had finished his binding spell, it sat on the floor, shoulders slumped, a murderous scowl on its face.
‘No running away for you,’ Bellow said. He was talking to the Orphan but looking at Hamir. He picked the demon up and sat it on his shoulder, then motioned for Marney to join him before the portal. ‘Now then, little monster, tell my friend how to find this secret place you fear.’
As Marney began questioning the Orphan once again, translating her findings to Bellow in a quiet voice, a ripple of apprehension passed through the rest of the group. The final journey was about to begin and the Relic Guild was looking to its Resident.
Any advice? Clara thought to Van Bam.
Be true to yourself. Be true to your friends.
Clara felt a thrill of fear and excitement. ‘We know where we’re going, and we know what we have to do.’ She was surprised by the confidence in her voice, ‘Any questions?’
‘Only one,’ said Glogelder. ‘Is it too late to go home?’
Hillem chuckled at the big Aelf. Namji cracked a smile, and Samuel shook his head.
Amilee expressed nothing but sadness. ‘My friends, I have done all I can to ensure the future is uncertain. What happens next is up to you.’
Hamir, still standing apart from the group, was staring at the floor.
‘We have our destination,’ Bellow announced.
With Marney beside him and the Orphan sitting unhappily on his shoulder, the giant faced the group. Behind him, the surface of the portal lapped in agitated folds.
‘Lady Amilee,’ Bellow said, ‘you are a trickster and a master manipulator, and I haven’t forgotten the promises you made me. Nevertheless, once my herd is free, I promise that the Nephilim will return to release you from your prison.’
The Skywatcher inclined her head. ‘I have one or two tricks left up my sleeve, Gulduur. But I hope to see you again some day.’
‘Perhaps then you will show my people the road that leads to the Sorrow of Future Reason.’
Amilee smiled, not quite amused. ‘A promise is a promise, Gulduur.’
Bellow looked at Clara. ‘If it pleases the Resident, I think it is time to leave.’
‘I’m not sure pleases is the right word, but … let’s go,’ Clara replied.
‘Come on, sunshine,’ Glogelder called to Hamir. ‘You’re the star of this show.’
Hamir hesitated, his eyes averted, before being encouraged towards the portal by the Toymaker.
Do not forget that Hamir is still your agent, said Van Bam, regardless of his crimes.
Clara looked the necromancer up and down. ‘Are you ready to do the right thing?’
Hamir’s face turned sour. ‘Clara, please tell your bodyguard that I no longer require a chaperone. And, by all means’ – he gestured to the portal, as though to remind her exactly where they were heading – ‘do change into the wolf.’
Forty Years Earlier
The Fire of the Nephilim
In the Nightshade, Samuel and Van Bam watched Hamir, who was sitting at his desk in his laboratory, brushing a clear, sterile liquid onto a power stone. Working under a magnifying glass, the necromancer’s hands were steady as he used a small brush with thin, finely cut hair for the delicate work. Every so often the liquid sparkled with the iridescence of magic.
Fabian Moor had escaped. Macy had been infected with his virus. Nobody spoke of it but they all knew there was no cure for the Genii’s disease, no hope for Macy, wherever she was. But there was hope for Denton if the Relic Guild could get to him in time; if they could find where Moor had taken him. At that moment, as far as anyone knew, the old empath was only a victim of kidnap. How long before that changed?
Samuel could feel his hands shaking with anger and desperation. Beside him, Van Bam was keeping his emotions hidden behind a mask of perfect calm. Marney was in her private chambers preparing for the coming hunt, as was Gideon. And Hamir, maddeningly, was taking the customary slow and methodical approach that he applied to all things. The concept of urgency was wasted on him.
Checking an impulse to shout, Hurry up! at the necromancer, Samuel huffed his impatience and said, ‘How much longer, Hamir?’
‘You are about to go hunting for a Genii,’ Hamir said, without looking up from his work. ‘I rather think that precaution takes precedence over haste in this situation, yes?’
Samuel was about to retort but Van Bam stopped him.
‘I understand how you feel, Samuel, but I have to agree,’ he said softly. ‘And it is not just Hamir we are waiting for.’
The illusionist was right, though Samuel was hardly in the mood to admit it. Earlier, Samuel had gone to Denton’s chamber in the Nightshade and found one of his hairs, which he placed inside the spirit compass. The device was in Samuel’s coat pock
et now, his hand closed around it. He could feel the ticks of the compass needle as it turned around its face, confused, struggling to lock on to Denton’s spirit. Until it did, the Relic Guild had no idea where to begin their search. Samuel refused to acknowledge that the spirit compass might be confused because Denton was already dead and consequently no longer had a spirit to lock on to.
‘Fine,’ Samuel snapped, and he began tapping the heel of his boot, willing everything to happen quicker.
‘So glad we’re on the same page,’ Hamir said as he continued to brush the power stone.
Samuel glared at the back of his head.
He had always been unnerved by Hamir’s laboratory. The glow lamp on the desk was barely bright enough to lift the shadows. Papers were strewn chaotically among contraptions of black, twisted metal and glass tubes passed fluid from one jar to another. Shelves were crammed with books bound in cracked leather and bottles filled with dark substances only Hamir could identify. The room carried the sickly sweet smell of chemicals, along with the underlying scents of dust and age. On the desk, Amilee’s leather-bound book lay open, filled with the secrets of higher magic written in the language of the Thaumaturgists.
For more generations than anyone could remember, Hamir had served the Nightshade. His laboratory held secrets that Samuel didn’t want to know and probably wouldn’t understand if he did. It contained the unknown history of a necromancer.
The spirit compass ticked in Samuel’s hand and his impatience boiled over again.
‘What’s that bloody power stone for, anyway?’ he demanded.
‘You will see.’ The magical liquid shimmered as Hamir dipped the brush. ‘And I’d have thought by now that you would trust me to know what I’m doing, Samuel.’
‘Like you knew what you were doing with Moor’s prison?’
‘Samuel, this does not help,’ Van Bam said.
‘Actually, he raises a valid point.’ Hamir peered more closely through the magnifying glass. The power stone glinted in the dim light. ‘Higher magic is by no means infallible. I can’t say for sure why the prison failed, but I think it likely that Moor simply exploited some flaw I had missed. And that is to my regret.’
