by Joe Ducie
I hurled the sword across the forge, about twenty feet, and it struck Axis behind his thigh, a glancing blow that cut a neat slice in his muscle. He roared and fell to one knee, the sword clattering away.
“Enough!” he shouted. “You both die. Now.”
He gathered dark energy in his palms, fuelled from tendrils of starlight from the pools of his forge, which rose to meet him, a dozen tentacles of power. I felt the strength in his attack, the purgative fire. We were about to be obliterated, Tal and I both, after barely any fight. This had been a dumb idea, really.
A column of white fire struck Axis in the chest and severed his connection to the starlight pools. The Everlasting staggered, eyes bulged, pain etched across his face.
Emily Grace stepped out from around the other side of the furnace, the beam of white light flowing down her arm, from her palm, striking the Forge Master.
Axis’s face fell. “Sister, what are you doing?”
Emily smiled sadly. “Safeguarding the Story Thread, brother. Safeguarding the future.”
“You throw your lot in with this human? What is he? A gnat, a mosquito soon swatted. His lifespan is the smallest sliver of a second compared to yours.”
Emily looked at me, then back to Axis. She clenched a fist and sent another stream of power at the fallen god. Axis slammed back into the stone of his forge, cracked the paving beneath him. Blood dribbled from his nostrils.
With some clever gestures, twisted finger movements, Emily tied a knot in her power, securing Axis to the ground. “I think,” she said softly, a look of utter sorrow on her face, “that I do not want to be here for this. Declan, I shall meet you at the shuttle.”
Emily swept away from the forge, not a mark on her flawless white gown. The stars shone in her spill of auburn hair. I thought on all the history we shared, all the history we would share, before she died in my arms on Voraskel, our new-born son hidden in the nearby glade so his uncle, Lord Oblivion, wouldn’t devour him. Oblivion slaughtering Astoria, Emily, made a whole lot more sense to me now.
I approached Axis and knelt on my haunches, blade resting just on my knee. Axis glared pure hate at me, an anger so deep and unfathomable it was hard to meet his gaze. But meet it I did. I’d been glared at that way before, after all.
“When I’m loosed from these bonds,” he said, “your head will sit smoking on a spear forged from your bones.”
“Do you know where you’ll spend the next ten thousand years?” I asked quietly. I felt Tal appear at my side, glimpsed the tips of her boots on the edge of my vision. Her hand fell lightly on my shoulder. “Do you know what they call you in the future?”
Axis smirked. “I gave your paltry race access to the light that fuels the universe,” he said. “I forged the great gears that turn the very essence of creation into magic. And I will take it from you, if I choose. You think I fear your future?”
I sighed with a shrug. “You said that the first time we spoke, as I measure time. Ten thousand years from now, bound to the same stone you’re bound to now, in a prison hidden in the storm clouds of Jupiter. You don’t get loose, Axis. Not for an age.”
His smirk became more of a sneer, more of a frown.
“I need the seed of celestial illusion,” I said, and patted the pockets of his leather apron. “Wouldn’t have that on you, would you?”
“Declan Hale, you will burn—”
I drove the tip of my sword into Axis’s left eye. The wide, blue orb popped like a grape, spilling white-grey jelly down his cheek. He screamed, of course, and I worried at the part of me that enjoyed hearing him wail.
Tal’s hand left my shoulder and she turned away.
“The seed?” I asked, whispered, withdrawing the sword. The blade shone, eager for more.
“Never! Never, never, never, nev—!”
So I blinded the Everlasting Scarred Axis, cutting scarecrow eyes into his face, scars I would see as ragged scabs in his temple prison within the storm clouds of Jupiter, so very far away from now. What followed after that, five minutes of blade graft, drawing intricate patterns in his skin, peeling flesh away, was some of the grisliest work I’d ever done.
At the end of it, and the elder god had lasted far longer than anyone I’d… interrogated, he revealed to me the location of the celestial illusion orb.
The central crucible housed several secret compartments, hidden functions, a network of vents, pipes, and chimneys for creating wonders—the forge was a piece of master craftsmanship. If nothing else, Axis had been a skilled engineer. Shame I’d taken a few of his fingers. He was of the Everlasting though. Given enough time, I’m sure he’d heal enough to get back to work. Not that he’d have such time, trapped away at the far reaches of the solar system.
“One down,” I said to Tal, cradling the sphere of celestial illusion in my blood-soaked hands as we left the forge behind.
Tal eyed the precious alloy with a look of hunger in her eyes. She knew its value, its potential, perhaps even better than I did myself. Tal had always been the dreamer, back when we loved each other honestly.
“What next?” she asked.
“Gardening,” I muttered.
Behind us, Axis screamed my name into the night—“HAALLEEE!”—screamed pain and anger and regret.
“What about him?”
I shrugged.
I didn’t know the specifics, didn’t really care—I imagined Emily may have a part to play—but Axis, Scarred Axis now, would be taken from here and imprisoned for a very long time. He would be loosed one day, the shadowless part of me, my Void-twin, responsible for that, and no doubt would have thought of some creative punishments for my defiance in ten thousand years. So be it. At a certain point, when your enemies numbered so many, fear of the future lost all meaning.
“Future Declan’s problem,” I said. “Come on, we’ve got at least one more god to put down tonight.”
*~*~*~*
“Declan, you let your work get in the way of your happiness. You do it on purpose, I think. You keep busy. Busy is numb.” Tal shrugged, as we jogged across the grounds of the Vale Celestia and back toward Atlantis. “You’ve been lying so long you’ve made the unhappiness true. Never mind. Seven years between us, many of those spent dead or dying, and you’ve made loving me an obligation.”
“My work? You understand, more than any, what would happen if I gave the bastards an inch, Tal.” I scoffed. “You speak to me as if I were a banker, or a plumber, or if I worked a nine-to-five in some office on True Earth. As if my work didn’t carry the fate of the Story Thread.”
Tal sighed. “That’s just it. You put the weight of this conflict on your shoulders. You, and no one else. What would happen if you dropped dead of a heart attack tomorrow? Or an aneurysm? If you were hit by a bus? Something tragic, yes, but normal? The Story Thread would go on without you. It existed for aeons before you were born.” She cupped my cheek. My rough, stubbly cheek. “Sometimes you force the conflict, the confrontation with gods or demons or evil men, and people get hurt. Those closest to you, more often than not. Me, most of all.”
“The Story Thread is as much a nightmare as it is a dream,” I said. “Hellish wastelands of time forgotten and horror to come. Creatures born for the sole purpose of conquering True Earth. They must be fought. That is our duty as Knights Infernal.”
She smiled in the sad way that meant goodbye. “I love you so much, Declan Hale.”
“Then stand with me.”
We stepped through the portal doorway, the inter-dimensional connection between this world and the heart of Atlantis on True Earth. We went from eternal night to the first taste of dawn, spilling across the Lost City in shades of orange. From our vantage point, high up above the rest of Atlantis, a slow fog wound through the streets.
This early, few were out and about, which was all to the good. I looked like I’d been in a fight. Having been here just under a year, ingrained into the society, learning a bit of the language, I was more or less trusted—but I didn�
��t doubt we were still under some sort of observation. Our warnings of the dire future alone would be enough to ensure that.
Never mind that I’m fairly certain the lords of this city are Everlasting. At least one of them, for certain. That High Lord wouldn’t like that I’d just gutted his brother, the blood still wet on my hands. I had ten thousand years of time but not a moment to spare.
We made it out of the Vale Atlantia unmolested. I kept one hand on the hilt of my sword, sheathed now, and the other on the golf ball of celestial illusion warm and certain in my pocket. If I lost that, the game was over… the Everlasting would win. All would fall to ruin. Tal carried her sword, twin of my own, wrapped in a fold of tanned leather. Despite her objections, her admonishments, she was still at my side.
As if reading my thoughts, she said, “I’m with you because anything that puts a burr in their plans is the right move. I just wish it didn’t have to be you, Declan.”
“Who else?” I asked. The roads were quiet, a few vehicles, hovercraft, early morning cafes and restaurants opening for the day—scant few folk on the streets—we moved as quickly, as silently, as we dared through the fog. “Honestly, Tal, who else is there?”
“I don’t remember you being this arrogant when we were young.”
“That’s not an answer. You used to love my arrogance.”
“I mistook it for confidence.”
That stung, but then I had roped her into a torture-murder plot against at least two gods, all with about five minutes’ notice, so I let the excuses, the ugly truth, die on my tongue.
The city’s eastern shuttle station was busier than the CBD had been, but not by much. Neat rows of sleek, silver shuttlecraft stood in bays, some on idle, cold blue fusion engines alight. The sweet scent of ozone clung to the air, as the sun rose to blast away more of the low hanging cloud.
Hustle and bustle, I thought. Enough to get lost in. Engineers, pilots, shouted instructions at one another. People lined up, reminiscent of every airport in history, waiting to board their flights.
We were travellin’ in a bit more style. Emily had secured us the Atlantean equivalent of a private jet.
It took a moment to find her, standing in the doorway to the craft like a pale, beautiful marble statue—save for that auburn hair, burnished by the sun. She raised a hand to get our attention and we hurried over.
“Come along now, Declan Hale,” she said, pointedly staring at the blood on my hands, my shirt. “You retrieved the sphere?”
“I did.”
“May I see it?”
I considered, then nodded. As if it were nothing more than a golf ball, I tossed Emily the orb of celestial illusion from the bottom of the steps below the shuttle craft. Her eyes widened slightly, but she plucked it from the air with grace.
Emily stared at the gemstone, the precious alloy, for a long ten seconds, during which time I carefully climbed the first few steps of the shuttle, Tal just behind me. When she showed no sign of letting it go, I climbed the last two steps between us and placed a careful hand on her shoulder.
Emily startled, blinked beautiful eyes at me, and then found a sheepish smile. It looked funny on her face, out of place. I realised that was because it made her seem young—younger. She gained a lot more… Emily-ness… over the next ten millenniums. My hand left a red smear on the white cloth covering her shoulder.
She sighed and carefully handed me back the seed. “We don’t have much time. Ashaya already hunts you. Word of what you did to Axis has spread quickly between my siblings.”
Tal gasped. “Ashaya? We’re going up against Dread Ash?”
“We’re not being hunted,” I said harshly. “Not even close. All aboard.”
The interior of the craft was small, enough room for about six comfortably, but elegant. The seats were white leather, the walls adorned with screens, interfaces. A small kitchen fully stocked with drink and food. There was even a tiny bathroom toward the rear of the craft.
Emily approached the control console and began pushing buttons. I’d been trained as a pilot on all manner of ship and craft in the Knight Infernal arsenal, and recognised some of the controls here, but only some. Navigational console… primary thrust… what the hell is that? Emily placed a hand either side of a large, glowing-white sphere about the size of basketball. Once the door hissed closed behind us and sealed seamlessly against the wall, Emily pushed on the sphere and we rose into the sky.
There we hovered about twenty feet off the ground, as Emily communicated with ground control to allow us passage into the sky proper. Airports, always the same. She even had to log a flight plan, which was part of the main plan. Anyone, god or human, man or woman, would be able to follow…
After a tense ten minutes, during which I expected something to go wrong, our shuttle to be grounded, the Atlantis army to attack, or the Everlasting—those not flayed and blind—to descend from the sky in chariots of vengeful bone, we were given clearance to ascend.
Emily ascended.
And kept on ascending. The shuttle was fast, the engines barely making a hum, and the inertial dampeners making the ride no bumpier than travelling down the highway on a motorcycle. We punched through the stratosphere, the upper atmosphere, and beheld a commanding view of the glittering blue marble several hundred miles below.
Emily flew us into orbit above the Earth and I got a good look at the continents for the first time. Atlantis, for all that mattered once it was swept away in the Voidflood, was built on a landmass roughly the size of Japan. The Lost City was situated in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, around chains of islands that would, in my time, be known as Fiji and French Polynesia. About halfway between Australia and North America, give or take a thumb’s width at this height.
As it stood now, the land was whole and hearty. In the future, all that remained were scatterings, patches, of the continent. The Void would eat Atlantis, flood the surrounding land, and leave only pieces—like an acid thrown against skin, or the tide washing away a sandcastle. The ocean would rush in to hide the scar tissue left behind and all that would survive across the years would be myth and less than myth.
Atlantis was doomed.
The greatest city the world had ever known would be swept from the face of the planet and wash up in ruin further down the Story Thread. A needle in a stack of needles, until some dumb kid named Declan Hale, searching for fortune and glory, came along and uncovered a path to the city.
Almost like I was meant to find it.
“Does it look familiar to you?” Emily asked.
Tal’s hand had found its way in to my own. That was nice, and unexpected. We shared a significant look and I nodded. Over to the west, I could see the coastline of Western Australia and the spot of land that would, in about nine thousand and eight hundred years, become Perth. My little bookshop was a long way away. And Paddy’s, oh Paddy’s.
“Holy hell,” I said with a terrified start. “The Guinness factory. I just realised there’s no Guinness factory.”
Tal squeezed my shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”
“Shall we be about our business?” Fair Astoria of the Everlasting asked, her gaze ancient, unsettling, all too familiar.
Emily steered us north, chasing the curve of True Earth, a flight plan on the console blinking for the Vale tower hidden in what would one day become Switzerland.
Either way, hell or high water, death or dismay, I was committed to seeing this through.
As was Tal.
*~*~*~*
The flight across the face of the world took less than fifteen minutes, as the planet spun lazily beneath us, as ancient and as indifferent as any of the Everlasting I’d had the misfortune to meet. Save Emily, of course, but that was a whole other kettle of wasps.
Our shuttle descended back through the atmosphere, over the ocean at first, before heading inland. The lush, green fields below soon began to rise, became tremendous mountain peaks, chains of snow-capped highlands surrounding hundreds of untouched, pristine
valleys coated in forest, rushing with rivers and blue ice flow.
“Why did the Vale build a tower here?” Tal asked, mostly herself, but Emily had an answer.
“The towers are… antennas, I suppose you could say. Forces for keeping power in balance, in check. Gates against the Void. They’re built on human worlds, on Vale worlds, across creation, as sentinels, guardians. If you were to dig a hole from the base of the tower here, straight down, you’d find another tower on the other side of the planet.”
“I was told there are three towers on this world,” I said. “Only one survives in the future.”
Emily frowned, worried. “Three towers, yes. One just ahead, one in the sea on the other side of the world. And the Vale Atlantia, in Atlantis—that tower is the keystone, the anchor. The three towers together form a net of protection around True Earth.” She paused. “If what you say is true, Declan, and only the Vale Crystalis survives in your time, then the world is in great danger.”
I shrugged. “That’s nothing really new.”
We flew low between the peaks, above thousands of acres of wild forest. No sign of human habitation, no sign of anything. The shuttle rose with the foothills, crested a rise and a craggy peak of grey, snowless stone, and our objective came into sight. Emily flew us in from the south, heading north up the valley to where a monumental silver tower, at least a mile high, rested in the arms of the surrounding mountains.
The Vale Crystalis, what would one day be the heart of the Atlas Lexicon—a city dedicated to saving the poor souls flung across the Story Thread, the children who stumbled back to this world having caught a glimpse of the infinite. The kind of glimpse that could fuck you up irreparably, if you weren’t careful with the fallout.
I intended some dark work for this place. This school, whispered my conscience, which I’d long since thought reduced to rubble. What if some little bastard nine thousand years from now stumbles across your little plan?
Well, it was a worry. A risk I’d have to take. That said, if what I had planned here worked, then I would have heard long since about the details being discovered in the future.
