“I chose to make a Homunculus—and that was, strangely, the easiest part. Look hard enough and you'll find detailed procedures in several old texts. People have made Homunculi for many reasons, seeking everything from immortality to slave labour. Such bodies are stronger than ours and designed to take the shape of the mind within them, so the final results are completely lifelike. Or so the theory goes.
“Obtaining the ingredients required was more complicated, as was getting everything into one place at the right time without anyone noticing. I hired Larson Maiz to help with the grunt-work, but he was supposed to leave once the apparatus was in place. He shouldn't have been there when the Homunculus quickened, as I hoped it would, with the mind of Seirian.”
Marmion made an exasperated noise. “This story grows more outlandish by the second.”
“You don't have to believe it,” said Highson with a flash of anger. “You're the one who wanted me to tell it to you. Remember?”
“You said you went into the Void four times, that night,” Shilly said to forestall an argument.
Highson nodded, and dropped his gaze to his hands. “That's right. The first three times, I came back with nothing. A Homunculus initially has no shape of its own, but possesses the potential for shape. Like clay that hasn't been fired, it needs a mind to press form upon it. So each time I opened my eyes and saw that formless stuff, I knew that I had failed. I didn't need to remember what had happened in the Void: the proof was right there in front of me. I needed to go again, to try harder, to reach deeper.”
“Wasn't it dangerous?” Shilly asked.
“Very, but what happened to me didn't matter. Seirian was the most important thing. Finding her and bringing her back with me.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. Shilly expected Marmion to hurry him along. But the warden was silent for once.
“When I woke up on the cold ground after my last attempt and saw the stars, I was utterly drained by my many voyages to and from the Void Beneath. I stood up in the centre of the charm I had designed for the attempt. The Homunculus, for a second, looked as inanimate as ever, but then the process began. The lifeless flesh stirred; a blue flame danced across its skin; its eyes opened. It became—something.
“At that moment, I knew that my failure ran deeper than simply not finding Seirian. The creature before me was not of our world and its form was not one the Homunculus could easily contain. I stood, stunned, as a war between mind and body ensued. The night around me bent and twisted; flames spread, forcing me back. I wished in vain that I had prepared some means of stopping the Homunculus should something go wrong—but why would I ever have imagined the need for it? The only thing I had anticipated bringing into the world was the woman I loved, not the creature that writhed in hideous birth-throes on the ground before me.
“There was an explosion of chimerical energy. I was flung into the bushes and momentarily stunned. When I came to, the fire had died down. Only an unearthly glow remained in its wake. The earth itself seemed to burn, perhaps in outrage at the thing that stood upon it, a dreadful mess of limbs and features, as agonised by its emergence into our world as I was confused by its presence. What had gone wrong? What had I done?
“Then Maiz appeared. The fool had been lurking in the bushes, perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps awaiting an opportunity to steal some of the more valuable-looking items I had brought with me. The fire flushed him out. He sank to his knees before the newly formed Homunculus and begged for his life.
“The creature didn't seem to hear him. It was disoriented. It tried to talk and failed. Maiz couldn't understand it, and neither could I. Somehow its words were obscured. Maiz shook his head, too frightened to speak, and the creature became frustrated. Its form shifted, threatened to dissolve. That only made Maiz more frightened. He thought it was attacking him. He screamed. With the last of my strength, I ran forward to separate them—too late. Maiz fell to the ground at the Homunculus's feet, dead, and the Homunculus turned on me next.
“I thought I, too, was about to die.”
“Why didn't you?” asked Marmion.
“That's the wrong question, Eisak. The right one is: why did Maiz die?”
“He died of fright,” put in Shilly, remembering all too clearly what Tom had told her, back in Fundelry.
Highson nodded. “I agree. Maiz wasn't young, and his health was far from perfect. You've seen what the Homunculus looks like. It's not implausible.”
“So it didn't mean to kill Maiz,” said Marmion with scepticism written broadly across his face, “and it didn't try to kill you, either.”
“Exactly. I was utterly vulnerable. I barely had the strength to stand. Indeed, as it confronted me, I fell down before it, certain my time had come. I fainted, exhausted. When I came to, I was unharmed and it was gone.”
“Did you set off after it immediately, or did you consider telling someone else what had happened first?” The warden's question had a sharp edge, and Shilly could understand why. If Highson had explained the details of his disappearance earlier, much inconvenience might have been avoided.
“I tried to send a message to Risa Atilde, who would have disapproved but at least understood. I wasn't successful. Assuming that I was still drained by the exertion of the summoning, I decided that I should get moving as quickly as possible, before the Homunculus gained too much of a lead. There was nothing I could do for Maiz, after all, and I had enough supplies to last a day. I didn't think I would need any more than that. Not until much later did I learn that my inability to call for help stemmed not from me, but from the Homunculus itself. Something about it and its wake cancelled out every charm I tried to cast.
“I ran and walked to the limits of my endurance. When my food and water ran out, I kept walking. I didn't stop for any reason, even to sleep. Whatever the Homunculus was, I was responsible for it. I certainly wasn't going to turn back, even if it killed me.”
Shilly remembered the way she had first seen the creature: striding out of the desert with Highson Sparre slumped lifelessly in its arms. The pursuit had ended in a way Highson couldn't possibly have foreseen.
“If it hadn't brought you to us,” she said, “you probably would have died.”
Highson nodded and rested his head back on his pillows. “I know. Don't think I haven't wondered about that. When I finally caught up with it, I was barely conscious. I had lost sight of why I was there, what the Homunculus was for—who, even, I was supposed to be. I had become a creature that walked, nothing more. I was delirious and dehydrated. I don't remember what happened between us.” A confused frown flickered across his face. “The next thing I knew, you had found me and it was about to kill you. I've been lying here thinking about everything that's happened, but I still don't understand why it would do that.”
Marmion raised a hand to cut off that particular avenue of inquiry. “Shilly says it spoke to her and Sal when it gave you to them.” The warden turned to her. “Tell Highson what it told you. Perhaps that'll jog his memory.”
“It knew Skender's heart-name.” She found Highson's puzzled, hurt-filled gaze hard to meet. “It said that your summoning hadn't been successful, and that you couldn't keep up with it. It asked us to look after you. When you told it not to hurt Marmion, it said that there had been enough death, and it let him live.”
“Ring any bells?” Marmion asked Highson.
“Nothing,” he said. “I don't know Skender's heart-name, so I couldn't have told it to the Homunculus, consciously or otherwise.”
“It said,” Shilly explained, “that Skender had met it before.”
“Could it be a golem? A ghost?” Marmion asked. “They both have affinities for heart-names.”
“It also said something about the two of them not being part of the world, when they met.”
“Where else is there, except the world?”
“Only the Void.” Highson's brows knotted in puzzlement then rose in alarm. “No, it couldn't be. Surely not!”
“What?” asked Marmion
, leaning forward.
“There was another thing Skender spoke of after he and Sal emerged from the Void. He mentioned meeting someone there, someone apart from Seirian.”
“Another Lost Mind?”
“Yes, or something much more than that—perhaps the very first of the Lost. The Oldest One, it called itself. It claimed responsibility for the Cataclysm.”
Marmion glanced at Shilly, checking her reaction, before asking, “And you think this may be the being inside the Homunculus, instead of Seirian?”
“I don't know. Skender had no reason to lie, but there's no record in the Book of Towers supporting the story he told us, and there were so many other things to worry about at the time. There was no way to follow it up.”
Marmion nodded, still looking at Shilly. She wondered if he thought she was hiding information from him. He probably wouldn't believe her if she told him the truth. Sal had never mentioned meeting anything in the Void Beneath, and he had been there with Skender. So had Kemp. Their memories had probably been erased, as Highson's had been, and Skender had kept his to himself. After all, what importance would such information have beyond the circles of historians and scholars of the Book of Towers?
It claimed responsibility for the Cataclysm.
Even if the creature was the Oldest One, they still knew next to nothing about its motives or capabilities.
“Where is it now?” asked Highson, shifting under the covers as though trying to get up. “We need to find it, talk to it—”
“Don't worry about that.” The warden stood and walked around the bed. “It's out of your hands, now. I want you rested and recovered and ready to move.”
Marmion tried to usher Shilly out of the room, but she stayed firmly put. “Have you seen a healer?” she asked Highson, putting a hand on his arm to calm him down.
“Someone was here earlier, when I awoke.”
“He's being looked after,” Marmion reassured her. “Come on, Shilly. Let the man sleep.”
She would have given in out of tiredness but for Highson's hand suddenly gripping hers. “Let her stay a little longer,” he said. “It's good to see a familiar face.”
Marmion reluctantly acquiesced. “I'll be back shortly. We all need rest.”
The door shut behind him, and locked with a solid clunk.
Shilly turned back to Highson to find him staring at her. His intensity was startling and made her feel suddenly uncomfortable. The hand on her arm gripped just a little too tightly.
“Where's Sal?” he asked. “What are he and Skender up to?”
“Didn't Marmion tell you? I assumed you knew.”
Highson shook his head. “The man is a fool. He won't tell me anything.”
“Sal and Skender are chasing the Homunculus and Skender's mother. Tom thinks they're linked somehow. Habryn Kail, a tracker, has gone after them.”
“I know Kail,” said Highson a little too sharply. “Is there more I should know?”
“That's it, really. Marmion thinks the Homunculus is headed here, to Laure, but I think it's actually meeting up with people in the Aad. We haven't heard otherwise from Sal, so that's where I'm going next.”
“All right.” He nodded and lay back on the pillow. “Tell me something else, then: why did the Homunculus try to kill Marmion?”
“Because Marmion tried to kill it first.”
“I thought your answer might be along those lines. Why does Marmion want it dead? What's he so afraid of?”
“I don't know.” Marmion, afraid? She hadn't quite looked at it that way. “The thing inside the Homunculus, I guess. What it could be.”
“Why? It helped me. It means us no harm.”
“We don't know that, Highson—”
“But we do. The last time I tried to find Seirian in the Void, I decided that I didn't want to come back without her. I was committed to finding her or dying. Since I obviously didn't find her, I shouldn't be here now. I should be one of the Lost Minds. I only live now because something brought me out—and what else could that have been but the Homunculus?
“Wait,” he said when she tried to interrupt. “You already know there's more. When I was following it in the desert, what hope had I left? I knew it wasn't Seirian ahead of me. I wasn't trying to kill myself, this time. In a sense, I was already dead. I had surrendered everything the last time I dived into the Void, and emerged empty-handed. I was nothing. Nothing.”
The despair in Highson's voice was awful to hear. Tears came to Shilly's eyes again, and she gripped his hand even tighter.
“It brought me back, Shilly. Twice. It wouldn't let me die. What sort of monster would go to such lengths?”
The lock clicked and the door opened. Shilly pulled away from Highson as Marmion opened the door. She stood, hoping the turmoil of her thoughts didn't show.
“Are you done here?” the warden asked.
“Yes. I should really hit the sack. We've got a lot to do in the morning.”
“It does sound that way,” Highson said, his own distress carefully hidden. “Thank you. Come again soon.”
“I will.” She bent over to kiss his cheek, and didn't quite manage to avoid the cloying despair in his eyes. “It's good to see you.”
He nodded as she left the room.
Instead of trading places with her, Marmion closed the door behind both of them and took her arm before she could move away.
“Keep this to yourself,” he whispered into her ear. “Until we know exactly what we're dealing with, I don't want any unhelpful or unnecessary speculation.”
Unnecessary speculation? She almost laughed out loud. Minds surviving in the Void Beneath, Sal's mother one of them; an ancient being claiming responsibility for the Cataclysm, possibly abroad in the body that should have been Seirian's; the Homunculus's mysterious journey, stopping to save Highson Sparre twice along the way.
A wry waspishness nearly overwhelmed her. “I think it's a little late for that, don't you?”
She pulled free and walked back to her room, feeling Marmion's stare between her shoulder blades all the way. Only when she heard Highson's door open then close did she breathe normally again.
The mysteries were multiplying, not shrinking. She lay in bed, thinking about everything she'd learned, as the early hours of the morning lay heavy as mortuary slabs. She came no closer to an explanation.
“and in the ruin a wondrous relic bone-thing broken ancient old-thing dug up deep from times forgotten hungry mindless Change-dead lost”
THE BOOK OF TOWERS, FRAGMENT 49
Sal watched as the last of the men and women vanished into the old house. “Do we follow them now?” he asked Kail in a soft voice.
The tracker shook his head. They had been peering through a chink in an upper-storey wall two streets along for almost an hour. Sal was getting bored, but he saw the need to be cautious. The search party was returning empty-handed from their combing of the ruins. People were going into the house and not coming out.
But they weren't inside the house itself. That he could tell. The windows were dark and the stone walls silent. The house was obviously an entrance to somewhere else. The tunnels under the ruins, he assumed.
“We need to find another way in,” Kail breathed back. “There will be lookouts or traps this way, for certain. We'd never make it, not without the Change on our side.”
“How else are we going to get in, then?”
“These people are obviously concerned about security. They wouldn't let themselves be cornered if someone found them. There has to be another entrance.”
“It could be anywhere.”
“I know. That's why we're going to ask for directions.” Kail looked sideways at Sal. “I've been counting heads as they come back in. There are only a couple left out here now. We're going to introduce ourselves to one of them.”
Sal shifted uncomfortably, remembering darker, more desperate times. “I'm not fond of violence.”
“Who said anything about violence? I just intend to
apply a little pressure.” Kail looked up at the sky. “It'll be dawn soon. If we're going to do it, we do it now. Coming?”
He moved away from their viewpoint in a crouch. Sal hesitated, then followed, fervently wishing he knew what he was getting himself into.
“Another visitor? How interesting.”
Skender stood at the back of the cage as the man Rattails and Kemp called Pirelius approached the bars between them. He was broad-shouldered and filthy, with a shaved head and dense beard. Thick notches had been cut into his ears, leaving them ragged and scarred. He wore layers of leather and cotton that hadn't been removed for years. They certainly smelled that way to Skender in the still, lifeless air.
“Got a name, boy?
“Of course I have,” he replied.
“And a stick, too. A fancy lad, you are.” Thick fingers of one hand laced themselves around the bars of his cage while the other hand produced an iron key. It worked inside a lock set in the wall above the cage until it clicked. Bolts retracted into deep holes in the ceiling and floor. The door swung open until there was nothing between Skender and Pirelius but air.
“How safe are you feeling now?”
Skender gripped the stick in both hands and tried not to look as worried as he felt. Pirelius's eyes were empty and cold. Behind Pirelius were seven equally hideous men and one woman. Rattails watched with gloating from the dungeon's doorway. Pirelius grinned hungrily, revealing gaps where two lower teeth should have been.
Skender hadn't been afraid until Rattails poked him with the stick. He was terrified now, more so than he had been when stuck in the caves under Laure. If he had any doubts about what Pirelius was capable of, all he had to do was look at his mother, battered and bruised on the other side of the room.
“It wasn't him,” said Kemp from the cage next door. “It's not his fault. It was me.”
The Blood Debt: Books of the Cataclysm Two Page 26
