Obsidian

by Alan Baxter

  ‘Nevertheless, he knows more of the original history of Obsidian, whether we like it or not.’

  The Autarch scanned the table, his gaze resting for a moment on each of them. None had anything to say. He turned back to Katherine as she rose. ‘Fetch him then. Gods help us if we must turn to a madman for help.’

  11

  Alex sat cross-legged on the floor with Silhouette, Rowan, Claude and Jarrod making a circle with him. In the centre Duncan sat, looking both excited and terrified. ‘Study him,’ Alex said. ‘Feel his presence, see and understand his shades. We’re all used to masking our magical selves on a daily basis to stay hidden. This is no different.’

  ‘It is different,’ Claude said. ‘You and your fucking ideas. It’s one thing to mask our magic. Quite another to construct false shades and auras.’

  Alex understood his concern, but didn’t care for the tone. ‘I know I see far better than most, I see greater detail. It’s clear to me how this man’s shades are woven together. It’s very similar to a normal human. Imagine a person who’s never seen the sun, never been properly fed or nurtured. Think on those things as you study his colours.’

  Claude sneered for a moment. ‘I tell you, Caine, when we get out of here … If we get out of here, I’m going to make you fucking pay for all this.’

  The two men stared hard at each other for a moment. Alex left any retort unsaid, reluctant to act on the frustration that boiled inside. He held Claude’s gaze.

  ‘You don’t have to like each other,’ Silhouette said gently. ‘But you have to work together. Leave the hard man bullshit for later.’

  Alex raised an eyebrow at Claude, who snorted and looked away.

  ‘Try the shielding,’ Alex said. ‘Take your time.’

  He watched and felt the magic of his companions as they tried to create shields around their true selves, with varying levels of success.

  ‘It’s too difficult,’ Jarrod said. ‘Too complicated a spell to weave.’

  ‘It’s not,’ Silhouette said quietly. ‘It’s hard, but not impossible.’

  The others turned to her as she drew in her presence, locked down her own aura under a cloak of mundanity and switched off, her will creating a bubble of normality that clung tight to the contours of her body. Alex smiled. It wasn’t perfect, more human, like her usual shield, than lowen, as she needed, but not bad.

  ‘Watch me,’ Alex said. He looked between Duncan’s shades, dissected the man’s aura. He carefully copied each colour, each delicate tone of life and essence, and reconstructed it around himself like a mantle. As he drew it together, hiding within his own shades, he presented just like the lowen.

  ‘How do you fucking do that?’ Claude asked. His eyes were narrow, admiration and annoyance battling each other.

  ‘Watch again.’ Alex released the mask and painstakingly put it back together again, let them see each layer of will, like colours in a palette mixing to form a new tone. ‘Open your vision as wide as you can. Look at the magic and nothing else. This is just a natural extension of the most simple shields you use every day.’

  After a few more demonstrations his friends began to copy him, more accurately with every attempt.

  ‘Once you’ve got it,’ Alex said quietly, so as not to distract them too much, ‘it’s easy to lock in. Just like any other mask you might wear. Remember how it goes together and leave it there. Forget about it.’

  Silhouette looked around the group, her mind probing more deeply than her eyes. ‘I think we’ve got it.’

  Alex smiled, nodded. ‘It may not stand up against determined scrutiny, but none of you stand out more than any other lowen now.’

  ‘At least, not by our shades,’ Jarrod said. He lifted his palms, indicating his physical presence.

  ‘So, Duncan,’ Alex said. ‘What’s this idea you have? Where have you brought us?’

  Duncan looked around the group, eyebrows arched. ‘What have ye been doing all this time? Struggling away and nothing’s happening.’

  ‘Nothing you can see, but the Priesthood or any other power here most certainly could,’ Alex assured him. ‘But it’s useless if we’re walking around looking healthy and tanned. No offence.’

  Duncan shrugged, laughed sardonically. ‘None taken. What’s tanned?’

  ‘Golden skinned.’

  ‘Ah. Well, that’s where I can help. They should be here any minute.’

  Before Alex could ask who, Lily returned trailing a group of four people covered head to toe in grey, rough-spun robes with deep hoods. Their hands disappeared in the voluminous sleeves. Duncan pointed, grinning like a child. ‘What do you think?’

  Alex stood. ‘Who are these people?’

  ‘These are members of the Austere,’ Lily said. ‘They’re a religious order among the lowen.’

  Alex reached out a hand to greet them. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘They won’t speak to you. They live a life of silence and denial. They eat only enough to survive and simply await Ascension. They believe there is nothing in this life but suffering and therefore they try not to be any part of it. They are entirely enthralled by the words of the Autarch and just barely obey catechism, so they are tolerated.’

  Alex looked from one to the next, all standing perfectly still, heads bowed, their faces in deep shadow from their hoods. ‘Perhaps they shouldn’t have been brought to see us, then?’ he suggested.

  Lily laughed and the four men threw back their hoods, revealing smiling lowen faces. They looked around at Alex and his friends, and shook their heads in wonder. ‘I told ye,’ Lily said. ‘But this secret stays with us.’ She turned back to Alex. ‘These men are members of our resistance. This is Peter’s house we’re hiding in.’

  One man stepped forward, bowed slightly. He stared unabashedly at Alex, before casting his gaze around at the others again. ‘Ye’re really from somewhere else?’

  Alex nodded, unsure what to say.

  ‘And ye have descended from Ascension, like the hierarchy?’

  ‘Ascension is a lie!’ Duncan said. ‘Everything is a lie.’

  ‘So where are ye from?’ Peter asked.

  Again Alex felt distinct discomfort at revealing too much. ‘Somewhere else is all I can really explain,’ he said. ‘And we need to get back there.’

  ‘Will ye take us?’

  Silhouette stood, stretched up to whisper into Alex’s ear. ‘I’ve been afraid of this. Their resistance will look to us for salvation.’

  Alex knew she was right. ‘First we have to figure out what we can do, how things here work and how we might get back to our own place. Once we know more we can try to help you all.’ It was the best he could offer, but even that little felt like a lie.

  The four men stripped off the heavy, grey robes and handed them to Alex and his friends. Lily carried one more, which she gave to Silhouette. ‘The Austere roam the streets everywhere. They sleep wherever they are, they beg sustenance from the people. If one arrives at your house, it’s considered very bad luck to turn them away. They’ll accept only the tiniest amount of food and water before moving on the next day. It’s their way.’

  ‘Are they organised?’ Alex asked. ‘Is anyone in charge?’

  ‘No. They make their own robes and simply become what they are.’ She sneered. ‘To be honest, they pretty much give up on everything. Most lowen refer to them as the Wandering Dead, but rarely in their presence. A lot of superstition has grown up around the Austere. But they make the perfect disguise for ye. They often travel alone or in small groups, though rarely in groups of as many as five. And the groups don’t stay together for very long as far as anyone knows. They just drift around, existing, until they die. It’s not unusual to find a dead Austere just lying in the street, or in your house if ye’re truly unlucky. That’s where these robes have come from. We’ve collected several in the hope we might find a use for them some day.’

  Silhouette turned the robe over in her hands. ‘That’s incredibly sad.’

 
Lily nodded. ‘I’d rather go out, personally, if I felt that bad about things. My grandfather, the one who taught me to think for myself, always said the Austere were simply people too scared to step out.’

  ‘Out?’ Alex asked.

  Lily gestured towards the outskirts of Obsidian. ‘Beyond the walls. People step into the Void. When that happens they just … well, they just disappear.’

  ‘We saw that when we first arrived. A pregnant woman stepped off the edge and vanished.’

  Lily looked surprised. ‘She’s a fool. Going out is one of the most illegal acts there is. Lowen are to live and breed, it is catechism. To live and to breed are the primary laws of the Autarch. The only way to appease the gods and reach Ascension is through family, children and obeisance. If a person goes out, their entire family is killed and denied Ascension as punishment.’

  Claude looked up from the robe he had been studying. ‘Killed?’

  ‘Given to the Void Lord, we’re told. But the hierarchy kill them. Whether you believe in the Hollow Lord or not is fairly irrelevant.’

  ‘Not really,’ Peter said. ‘I mean, there’s a huge difference between Ascension, from a good life, and the death of the Void.’

  Lily turned to him with a sneer, one hand resting on her swollen stomach. ‘But that’s all lies, and ye know it.’ She pointed at Alex and his friends. ‘More than ever now, ye know that!’

  Peter nodded, though his eyes betrayed his uncertainty as he looked at the ground rather than hold Lily’s eye. Alex could see that Lily was a strong leader, charismatic and driven. Everyone else he had met with her gladly bent to her will, and she seemed to wear that responsibility reluctantly, which made her the best kind of leader in his opinion.

  ‘You mentioned the Lord of Void before,’ he said.

  Lily turned to him, eyes sad. ‘The Void Lord, Hollow Lord, Lord of Void, whatever ye choose to call him. The bastard and his demons exist out there. The Void is all around, clear to see. If ye walk out of Obsidian, ye will simply fall into the Void where there is nothing but eternal suffering at the hands of the Hollow Lord. Only through good work, breeding and obeisance will people be able to move beyond the Void into Ascension.

  ‘Should anyone break catechism, they are cast by the hierarchy into the Void, denied Ascension. Should anyone go out, their entire family are thrown out too, to die without Ascension.’ At Alex’s horrified expression, Lily shrugged. ‘It is catechism. We must never kill, ourselves or others. That’s why the Austere don’t simply suicide. They adhere to the law, barely, unwavering. Each male fathers at least one child and each female bears at least one, to fulfil catechism, before they don the robes. The Priesthood tried to outlaw Austerity once, many generations ago so the story goes, and it caused massive repercussions and dissent among the lowen. Now they tolerate what they consider to be the religious quirks of the few. Some among the resistance maintain that we should all become Austere, have no more children, a passive resistance. But there are too many who will obey the law and we would be crushed. It’s not unusual for the Austere to disappear. We think the Priesthood take them away so their numbers will never grow too large.’

  A terrible truth began to form in Alex’s mind, an idea of the true nature of this place. He exchanged a quick, horrified look with Silhouette and Jarrod. ‘We have to go,’ he said. ‘We must find the others, find some way to escape.’ He pulled the robe over his head, slipped the hood low over his face. The hem of the robe pooled about his feet.

  The others followed suit and all five became indistinct immediately, their physical and psychic presence both shielded and hidden. Jarrod’s robe only just reached the ground. ‘You’ll have to be careful how long your strides are, my friend, you still look too big,’ Alex told him. ‘Stoop and shuffle.’

  Lily snorted in derision. ‘That’s how the Austere move anyway.’

  ‘Okay,’ Alex said. ‘We have a way to move around this place now, hopefully without being seen. We need to decide exactly what we’re going to do.’

  ‘Ye said others came through before ye, and they can get out again?’ Lily said.

  Alex shrugged, the heavy robe swishing with the movement. ‘Others came through before us, yes. We have to hope they can get us out.’

  ‘If they’re still alive, they’ll have been taken before the Autarch. That means they’re probably being held in the Tower. Of course, it’s suicide to attempt to get in there, however well hidden ye are.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think we have any choice. Can you tell us where this tower is?’

  Lily led him to the window, pointed out. ‘Right there in the middle of Obsidian. Ye can’t miss it.’

  Across the city, rising above everything else, a spire of jet-black obsidian speared up towards the shimmering dome. Alex realised he had seen it several times already, probably visible from pretty much anywhere in this bizarre place.

  When the Autarch came for them again, Haydon and Armand reacted very differently. As Haydon sobbed and Armand stood defiant but trembling, the Autarch probed them with eyes and mind. Nicholas Haydon wished he had the strength he saw in Salay, but images of Darius’s ravaged corpse were burned into his forebrain, a mental tattoo of horror that simply reduced him to tears and useless, jelly-limbed inertia. He watched the Autarch’s gaze move from himself to Salay and back again, felt the big man’s mind stroking over him, a psychic scrape of intrusion.

  ‘Which of you is in charge?’ the Autarch demanded.

  Haydon felt a thrill of extra panic wash through his already all-encompassing terror and the Autarch’s scrutiny snapped to him.

  ‘You, is it?’

  Haydon gaped, tried to speak, sobbed again.

  The Autarch turned to Armand. ‘He seems to be unable to answer me. Do you answer to him?’

  Armand cleared his throat. ‘Not exactly, but he always acted the leader. We were happy to follow while we thought he had some idea of what he was doing.’

  Haydon baulked at Salay’s words, the damning admission surely giving the Autarch all he needed to tear out another throat with that hideous half-bear face. Whispered sounds drifted through Nicholas’s mind, cajoling, consoling. More and more those whispers felt like the presence of someone, something else. No longer able to write them off as an aspect of his own internal dialogue, Haydon didn’t know which to fear more, the man-bear before him or the strange presence within. Stay strong, the whispers hissed. You have more, for when the time is right. The voice and presence vanished like it had never been, spiralling down into his spine and away. There was a chance, perhaps. ‘I … I … it’s my fault we’re here,’ Haydon managed.

  ‘Is it? And why are you here? None of that nexus bullshit.’

  ‘We told you. We discovered ancient magic and it led us here, with promises of revelation.’

  The Autarch snarled, his features briefly phasing with a shadow of bear. ‘What the fuck is revelation in this context?’

  Haydon winced as his bladder let go, wetness instantly cooling as it spread across the front of his trousers. ‘I don’t know.’ His voice hitched in sobs. ‘We were following the magic to find out.’

  The Autarch surged forward. ‘How did you get here?’ he bellowed.

  Haydon collapsed to the floor, his vision darkening with a faint he couldn’t resist. ‘I don’t know,’ he slurred, his tongue numb, lips slack with fear. ‘The words.’

  Through his haze of panic he heard the Autarch say to Armand, ‘You followed this weak, useless fool?’

  ‘There was power in the magic he uncovered,’ Salay replied and Haydon hated him for the strength he heard in the Hungarian’s voice. ‘He managed to get it working with our help. It certainly seemed as though there was something worth following. At the time.’

  The Autarch rumbled deep laughter. ‘Not so worth it now, hmm?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘So tell me the words this slug mentioned. Tell me this “magic”.’

  Salay cleared his throat again. Through occluded vi
sion Haydon saw him dragging long fingers through his huge beard, his habit of nerves, as he explained their rituals.

  Curled in the corner of the cold cell, trying to hide in plain sight, Haydon watched the Autarch’s face. His eyes widened as Armand spoke and then he tipped back his head and laughed, long and loud. ‘You fools! What made you think any of that was yours?’

  ‘We’re mages, our magic is not new to us.’

  The Autarch’s hand shot out, grabbed Armand’s throat. Haydon whimpered, though Armand was strangely still and calm. ‘You are barely adepts with little knowledge of anything. Vessels for gnosis? You are sacks of shit, being used by the fucking Fey for their own ends. There can be no other explanation. But none of this is any indication of how you got here. This is just parlour tricks and Fey games. Describe to me exactly what happened when you travelled from there to here.’

  Armand began to gasp, eyes bulging, face red. He twitched spasmodically in the Autarch’s massive grip. The Autarch’s gaze fell to Haydon. ‘Tell me, or I keep squeezing.’

  Haydon choked back sobs, wondering if he should just let Salay be killed. But then he would surely be next. ‘We were led to the Callanish Stones,’ he stammered, forcing the words past the rock of terror in his throat. ‘We sat and joined, opened ourselves to the ritual as we had been told to do all along.’ Once started, the words poured out, verbal vomit. ‘We join, we open, we say the words and the magic comes through us. Only this time nothing happened for … for ages, I don’t know how long. Then there was a surge of something so powerful it burned my mind. And then the portal opened and sucked us through. We landed here. It must have taken a long time for the spell to charge up or something.’

  ‘Or for someone else to arrive. Someone with the real power the Fey needed.’ The Autarch dropped Armand, gasping, to the floor.

  ‘You keep saying Fey,’ Haydon ventured, desperate to know where his escape could possibly lie. ‘Why?’

  The Autarch sneered down at him. He drew back one leg and Haydon saw a heavy leather boot fly forward for half a second before pain blossomed bright white in his face and everything went black.