Nightfall

by Den Patrick

  Do not look back. Run! Run!

  Felgenhauer made it through the archway first. She turned and raised her hands, then pressed inwards, as if crushing an unseen object between her palms. Steiner ran through a second later, the corpse spiders trailing him by a dozen feet, mandibles chattering, eyes like shards of jet staring with malevolence.

  Dust drifted down from the archway, which began to shake and rattle. Steiner stared at his aunt in disbelief.

  ‘Don’t just stand there!’ she yelled through gritted teeth. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.

  Silverdust flung another javelin of arcane light through the archway, immolating the lead corpse spider. The hard shell crisped and split open with a popping sound, leaving the creature a blackened ruin. Two of the corpse spider’s kin stopped to pick over the remains, fighting one another for the spoils, but another seven of the pale creatures surged forward.

  Steiner swung his sledgehammer at the archway’s column and was rewarded with a shower of stone dust that almost choked him. Felgenhauer’s hands were shaking with the effort. Her lips moved silently, begging the stone to move, cajoling, threatening. Steiner swung again and the sledgehammer ricocheted from the stone, sending him stumbling backwards just as the first corpse spider made it to the archway.

  Felgenhauer shouted a wordless cry and the passage was filled with falling stone, thundering down in the darkness, the sound of rock and rubble a deafening din. The passage was filled with swirling dust.

  I can sense you, but I cannot see you. I can feel pain.

  ‘I’m still here,’ yelled Steiner, though Silverdust could sense his shock at surviving such a close call. ‘Aunt Nika?’

  Nika? Silverdust could scarcely believe someone was using the former Matriarch-Commissar’s first name.

  ‘I told you never to call me that,’ came a reply somewhere close by in the cloud of dust. ‘It makes me feel like I should be a hundred and two years old and wearing a headscarf like some old kozel at the market.’

  Silverdust summoned a handful of arcane light which helped cut through the miasma, if only slightly. Sprawled on her back was Felgenhauer, holding one hand to her chest protectively. A corpse spider had managed to get through the archway, but not before the falling stone had smashed the life from it.

  ‘It must have collided with me as it came through,’ she said, wincing.

  ‘Tell me it didn’t bite you!’ said Steiner. Silverdust could feel his rising panic.

  ‘I can’t say for sure.’ Felgenhauer showed them her hand. A ragged gash had parted her palm from wrist to smallest finger. ‘It might have been the stone.’

  Silverdust had known Felgenhauer a long time on Vladibogdan. She had done her best during that time to remain a closed book to his arcane senses, and for the most part she had succeeded. Now, deep beneath the Imperial Palace, with no clear way ahead, he felt her fear and her despair, and also her desperation. She was desperate to stay alive for her nephew. Determined.

  Water. Silverdust pointed at Steiner and he complied immediately. They washed the wound and the cinderwraith held up a single finger. Silver light flared brightly.

  I am going to cauterize the wound in the hopes I also burn out any remaining poison. Do you understand?

  Felgenhauer paled and nodded without a word.

  ‘And may Frejna’s eye not find you,’ prayed Steiner.

  Hold her wrist tightly. This will not be pleasant. The bright silver light edged closer to the gashed palm and Felgenhauer looked away before an agonized scream shattered the silence.

  ‘Where is Steiner?’ was the first thing Felgenhauer said when she woke from her faint. The great cloud of stone dust had subsided and any surviving corpse spiders remained silent beyond the scene of the cave-in.

  He decided to scout ahead. You know how he is: impulsive and restless. Much like his mother at that age if my memory serves me correctly.

  Felgenhauer forced a smile but said nothing; she held out the wounded and burned hand as if it might suddenly shatter like glass.

  He is desperate to keep you safe after losing his father, just as you are desperate to protect your nephew.

  ‘Uh, Marek,’ said Felgenhauer with a weariness that had nothing to do with her hand or her tiredness. ‘Now I’ll never really be able to make things right with him.’

  Why would you need to? Silverdust could sense a great bitterness beneath her words.

  ‘I never wanted Akulina to settle down with a soldier. I thought he was beneath her.’

  I understood Vigilants did not take spouses. That was always my experience.

  ‘The more enterprising individuals never really obeyed that particular doctrine.’ Felgenhauer smiled. ‘And some entered into marriages of sorts with other Vigilants.’

  But Exarch Felgenhauer chose a soldier.

  ‘Exarch.’ Nika Felgenhauer covered her eyes with her good hand to stop Silverdust seeing her tears, but he felt them all the same. ‘I forgot she was the same rank as you.’ She sighed. ‘She loved him so much. And in time she chose Marek over the Empire.’ A tight sob escaped her. ‘And over me.’

  And Marek knew of your disapproval?

  ‘Almost certainly,’ replied Felgenhauer. ‘Akulina had the strength to do what I failed to for years. She had the strength to leave the Synod before I did.’

  But you did leave the Holy Synod.

  ‘I was forced to defect in order to survive; it’s hardly the same thing.’

  And your sister returned.

  ‘She returned so the Empire wouldn’t hunt her down and find her family. Even that revealed a strength I could only wonder at.’

  So your way of making amends to her is to keep Steiner safe.

  ‘Amends.’ Felgenhauer got to her feet. ‘I’ll never really know if she forgives me for how I was back then.’

  Then allow me. I see your efforts to protect Steiner and they are nothing short of miraculous. You have put everything at risk for him. Your sister could ask nothing else of you.

  Felgenhauer brushed away her tears and looked up into the mirror mask for a moment. ‘Thank you, Silverdust.’ She forced a brave smile. ‘We should go and see what the young idiot has got himself into, or all this talk of forgiveness will be for nothing.’

  As you wish.

  They followed the corridor by the light that danced around Silverdust’s feet. The darkness was always close at hand, and only the occasional sound of rippling water disturbed the silence. They had been walking for perhaps half an hour when a shimmering orange light appeared in the gloom ahead. The glow became rectangular, reflecting from the sides of a doorway.

  ‘Steiner?’

  They turned into a room at least fifty feet wide, and the ceiling was just as high overhead. In the centre of the room, standing before a staircase, was Steiner, who looked upon two vast double doors on the far side. The doors were the colour of a dark blue sea.

  Steiner! Cover your eyes!

  Silverdust turned away, though he could feel himself being drawn into the shapes and sigils that rippled and writhed across the surface of the doors. Felgenhauer stared in wonder and began to sag, almost sinking to her knees with a look of agony on her face.

  Cover your eyes! But Felgenhauer was unable to move, unable to even breathe. Silverdust slipped a gloved hand over her face and she gasped in shock.

  ‘I’ve closed them!’ she shouted. ‘What is that?’

  It is the Impassable Gate. This is the vault where the Emperor discarded the artefacts of antiquity.

  ‘I thought that was just a myth!’ replied Felgenhauer. ‘What is it doing to Steiner?’

  I have no idea. We may already be too late.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Kjellrunn

  Not every Vigilant is a born killer, but those who survive the training at Vladibogdan are well acquainted with death. Still, the most successful Vigilants are either accomplished operators in the political field or ruthless agents of the Empire, unafraid of getting their hands
dirty. There is a good reason for the Vigilant’s leather coat to be dyed crimson. It makes the bloodstains harder to spot.

  – From the memoir of Drakina Tveit, Lead Librarian of Midtenjord Province

  A common room full of hungover pirates, complete with a pompous but broken Boyar and his seemingly hapless aide, was not conducive to a restful environment, Kjellrunn decided. She had headed upstairs at the inn and Trine had dutifully followed. The two girls slept for a time, curled up like two cats. Kjellrunn jerked awake, her head full of half-remembered dreams and the profound sense Steiner needed her immediately. Despite the respite she remained exhausted, every limb leaden, her senses dull.

  ‘Kjell?’ Trine blinked a few times and yawned.

  ‘We need to go.’ Her eyes wandered over Trine’s exposed neck and shoulders; her tunic had drifted to one side revealing the soot-coloured marks that crawled across her pale skin. ‘And I need you to stop using your powers.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’ Trine turned away, trying to hide the hurt expression that flitted across her face.

  ‘I’m serious,’ replied Kjellrunn. ‘I know you have a score to settle with the Empire, but it’ll be for nothing if you don’t survive the process.’

  Trine scowled but said nothing.

  ‘Now help me up, please.’ A dark and fearful feeling descended on her as she slipped her feet over the side of the bed. ‘Something is coming.’

  ‘Right, you old sea dogs.’ Romola gave the crew a hard look. ‘You feed up and then it’s all hands out on the docks looking for salvage. I want some new masts on the Wait by the end of the day or I’ll want to know why, right?’

  ‘The end of the day?’ said Rylska, looking horrified.

  ‘Just find me some new masts,’ said Romola. ‘We’ll worry about fixing the ship come the morning. And no more booze!’

  The crew mumbled their agreement and roused themselves as Kjellrunn and Trine descended the stairs.

  ‘You don’t look a whole lot better than you did when you went up,’ said Romola to Kjellrunn softly.

  ‘She’s fine,’ snapped Trine.

  ‘And you.’ Romola pointed at the black marks on Trine’s neck and shoulders. ‘Are you “fine”?’

  The raven-haired girl stepped forward to reply but Kjellrunn raised her arm to keep them apart.

  ‘Please. Just eat something,’ she said. ‘And bring me something too. I’ll need my strength if we’re to rescue Steiner.’

  Trine skulked towards the kitchen, where Ruslan had prepared some food with limited help from the Boyar. She glared over her shoulder at Romola as she went.

  ‘You’re sure you won’t come with me?’ said Kjellrunn to the captain.

  ‘This is as far as I go.’ Romola looked away. ‘I have a feeling I’ll regret this decision, but at least I’ll be alive to regret it. I’ve already lost half my crew and two masts. No telling what else I might lose if I venture further into Khlystburg, right?’

  ‘I understand.’ Flashes of Kjellrunn’s dream came back to her, ghosts in the darkness. ‘Do you think our parents wait for us in the afterlife?’

  ‘I, uh …’ Romola didn’t have an answer for the abrupt change of subject.

  ‘Or maybe we’re all reborn as cats and crows, sent back to watch over those we love.’

  ‘Kjellrunn.’ Romola took the girl by the shoulders gently. ‘You’re not making much sense.’

  ‘Or maybe we just keep coming back, over and over, born into different bodies, living different lives, dying different deaths.’ Kjellrunn’s gaze drifted across the room, taking in each one of the crew as if it was the last time she might see them.

  ‘Perhaps you should sit down and have some water.’ Romola gestured to Rylska, who fetched a jug and mug and brought it over.

  ‘What body would you like to have next time?’ Kjellrunn asked dreamily.

  ‘Think I’d like to stay attached to this one, right.’ Romola looked around for Trine. ‘And my mind too, for that matter. Kjellrunn, you’ve been pushing yourself so hard. I know your powers come from the goddesses, but perhaps there’s only so much this body can take.’

  Kjellrunn closed her eyes and her head drooped forward though her eyes remained open. Her body was heavy and nothing happened when she tried to stand.

  ‘Stay here,’ said Romola to Rylska. ‘Don’t let anyone near her.’ She stood up and went to the kitchen just as Trine came through the door with a bowl of broth in each hand.

  ‘She was asking me what happens after we die. I’m not sure she really knows what she’s saying.’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ replied Trine. ‘She’s fine. We’re both fine.’

  The Boyar followed close behind the dark-haired girl; he gave the captain a pained look and continued on his way.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked the captain, but Sokolov didn’t stop, heading out into the tide-ravaged street instead.

  ‘May Frejna’s eye not find you, and may Frøya hold you close,’ mumbled Kjellrunn as he passed her. She sensed a huge weight of grief and regret on the old man’s shoulders.

  ‘CAPTAIN!’ Rylska used the same tone and volume she usually reserved for the crow’s nest. ‘We’ve got a Vigilant come calling,’ she said, shrinking back from the doorway. She drew her blade, but they all knew how hard it was to kill a member of the Holy Synod.

  And still Kjellrunn couldn’t move.

  ‘Frøya. If you’re there, please help me.’ Romola winced. ‘I’m not sure the prophet is going to be of any use to anyone.’

  Trine stood up and her hands flickered with arcane fire. ‘I think I can handle a lone Vigilant,’ she sneered, heading towards the door just as a wagon was thrown across the street and crashed into the front of the inn. Too large to fit through door, the wagon fractured and split. Wood and splinters exploded across the common room, and part of the axle slammed into Trine, felling her immediately.

  ‘We’re doomed,’ whispered Rylska, staring at the fallen initiate of Frejna in the silence that followed.

  ‘Be quiet!’ replied Romola. She glanced out into the street, where the Vigilant approached, step following patient step. His mask was battered and chipped, styled like a snarling wolverine.

  ‘I thought they worked in threes?’ whispered Rylska.

  ‘One is more than enough, thank you,’ replied Romola, drawing her sword. ‘Gods damn it,’ she breathed. The chances of escaping Khlystburg were growing slimmer with every moment. The crew cowered behind benches and overturned tables, readying crossbows with worried expressions.

  ‘Where is your prophet now?’ shouted a voice from outside.

  Kjellrunn trembled as she tried to force her body to do something, anything, but still she sat, helpless. The front of the inn rattled as something heavy impacted against it. The wooden walls cracked and split and the building groaned softly. Dust fluttered from the ceiling above.

  ‘We’re sailors!’ shouted Romola. ‘No prophets here. Just good and loyal citizens of the Empire.’

  There was no reply until a large wooden crate shattered against the ruined door jamb. More broken wood showered the common room, settling on Trine’s supine form.

  ‘I am Exarch Zima and I have the sight! I know when witchsign is close by, and I know what power feels like.’

  ‘Kjell!’ Romola shook Kjellrunn’s shoulders just as a shadow fell across the room and the pirates gasped. Standing in the ruined doorway was the Vigilant, terrible in dirty cream and bloody crimson.

  ‘The Emperor will award me an entire province for this,’ said Exarch Zima, barely able to keep the gloating out of his voice.

  ‘Frøya save me,’ prayed Rylska. She sprang to her feet and lunged, but her strike missed as Exarch Zima jerked backwards. Rylska retreated as Zima stumbled forward, trying to press a hand to his back. Boyar Sokolov stood behind the Exarch, clutching a short yet bloody knife.

  ‘I always hated you,’ rasped the old man, pressing his advantage with the knife held high. Zima turned and grabbed the B
oyar by the throat, wounded though he was. Sokolov flailed and stabbed Zima in the chest once or twice, but the Exarch did not release his grip. Rylska and Romola lunged forward, hoping to run the Exarch through, but a well-time swipe of his arm deflected both the blades from a metal vambrace. Rylska’s blade was knocked from her grip and clattered to the floorboards. The Exarch grabbed Romola’s sword arm and pulled her close, slamming his masked face into hers. She fell back, blinded for a second, off balance. When she opened her eyes again she discovered Ruslan had leapt from his hiding place in the kitchen with a cleaver. The Boyar and his former servant tried their best to defeat Zima, but the Exarch was possessed of an unnatural energy. First he caught the Boyar’s wrist and forced the blade back towards the man wielding it, slashing Sokolov’s throat. Romola staggered to her feet but was too late to stop Ruslan from being punched across the room.

  A terrible calm settled on the inn as the Boyar bled out, clutching his neck with a look of shock. Exarch Zima turned to Trine, still supine at the centre of the room.

  ‘Now to gut this pathetic little witch’ – Zima brandished Sokolov’s blade – ‘and put an end to this.’

  ‘She’s not the Stormtide Prophet,’ said Kjellrunn. ‘I am.’ Romola gasped in surprise. Kjellrunn was levitating above the floor, her hair fluttering about her head as if caught in a spectral wind. Her eyes were fixed on Trine, unmoving on the floor.

  ‘Everybody out!’ yelled Romola, she snatched up Trine’s limp body and fled. The pirates dived and stumbled through every doorway and window available. Exarch Zima ignored them all, closing in on the Stormtide Prophet, knife in hand. A terrible grinding sound grew louder and louder, and the building shook until it seemed it must surely collapse. Inside, the furniture was whipped up into the air, caught in a whirlwind of force. Flashes of red and cream could be seen: shreds of the Vigilant’s uniform. Zima was being torn apart in the carnage. Romola looked at Rylska and began to speak, when the very thing she was afraid of came to pass.