Jack cleared his throat. This was the moment he’d been dreading.
There was a long, long silence.
“Look … take care of yourself … We’ll … we’ll be seeing each other …” He gave up. He was frantically running over all the emotional good-byes he’d seen in films, but the best he could come up with was Rachel Dawes’s final letter to Bruce Wayne in The Dark Knight, and this was an awful source as the character had died within hours of writing it. Not very reassuring.
She looked at him. Her eyes were slightly red and glimmering with the evidence of blinked-back tears. She didn’t try to speak. She just pulled him into a hug and pressed her head into his neck.
Jack put one arm around her and stroked her hair gently with his other hand. He could feel her tears streaming down his tunic. He didn’t care that Ruth was watching, that Sardâr and Adâ had returned to their side, that Hakim and Bál had lapsed into silence. He only cared that Lucy would be okay.
Finally, after what must have been minutes, they broke apart, Lucy dabbing her eyes crudely with her palm.
“Look after yourself, won’t you?” she said eventually, her voice soft but steady.
“Of course I will. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Don’t be stupid. I’m the Karate Kid.” She grinned. “And you’re Gandalf the wizard. But I’m ready to leave this world, I think. I’ve had enough of living inside The Lord of the Rings.”
Jack stopped himself from saying, “What could possibly go wrong?” He knew it would have reassured her, but given where they were going, he didn’t want to tempt fate.
Sardâr, seeing an opportunity, interjected. “I’m sorry, but we really should be going.” He exchanged a few friendly words with Hakim. The latter turned to Jack and wished him well.
Adâ was next, and she pulled Jack into a brief hug as well. “You’ll be fine. Look out for Sardâr. You’re good at that.”
Jack smiled. He, Sardâr, and Bál moved up the gangway.
Ruth was standing by the hatch, looking jokingly exasperated. “You took your time.”
“Shush,” Jack hissed, pushing her lightly into the hatch.
Her laughter echoed around the metallic chamber below.
Bál descended next, sliding in easily despite his stockiness, and Sardâr after that.
Jack was left standing alone on the top of the shell. He took a moment to savour his last experience of the Stórr Mountains, the magnificent grey rock guardians on all sides, the fresh scent of the mountain air, the slight tanginess of volcanic wind that he’d become too accustomed to. The sun burnt in the blue heavens—a different sun, he realized, to his own and to the one he would next be seeing.
And he saw the three figures under the glistening trees—two women, one man; two real elves, one false one. They were all smiling up at him. He raised his arm to wave, and they did so too. Grinning, his arm clinking with the language ring and the goblin bracelet, he descended into The Golden Turtle as the falcon-like bird circled and cawed high above.
Chapter XVII
the offer
The grey energy subsided, and the Emperor stepped out of the doorway.
He strode across the bridge, his boots snapping harshly on the stone. The entire city of Nexus splayed out before him, chaotically regimented into an intricate weave of closely cut alleyways and wide open roads. Out to each side in the distance was the mirror black surface of the endless ocean. The white-crested waves were highlighted in the perpetual moonlight, making each look like individual, wrathful sea beasts.
The exposed walkway between the Cathedral and the Precinct of Despair was completely deserted, save for him. His typical black and silver cloak fluttered eerily in the marine wind. It gave the right impression, he thought, where he was going.
He reached the end of the walkway and stopped, looking down. The Precinct of Despair certainly lived up to its name: a raw, undecorated spike of obsidian stone, shooting upwards into the sky. Each level was a concentric ring, with circular, alchemically protected and barred windows set into it. The spike ran all the way down to the top of the buildings below, where its structure thinned to an impossible diameter. Four elevators operated up and down the very core. Three were used by guards, but one was reserved for the Council of Thirteen.
The Emperor stepped into the Precinct doorway. As he passed under the worn archway, the twin statues on either side reacted. The sinister demonic dragon-like creatures were also carved out of black stone. Their feral eyes lit like will-o’-the-wisps as the Emperor moved between them, and there was the harsh noise of stone on stone as they began to extricate themselves from the walls. A pacifying flick of his hand, and they skulked back into their positions, their eyes dimming.
Four doors were before him, three lit with blue, one with red light. He took the red one. Standing in front of it, he looked straight into the heart of the black rose that was the symbol of the Cult. It scanned his optical profile, then the door slid open. He walked in, and it closed silently behind him. He entered an access code into the keyboard on his right, then the floor. The elevator began to sink into the floor, and then, gathering speed, plunged into the dark abyss.
The wind swirled his cloak around him, threatening to blow his hood down. Clutching it with one hand, he tapped another key on the board. A glass visor rose on all sides, blocking out the worst of the dimensional gale. As he descended, the Emperor looked at the dial on the wall in front of him. The needle swung steadily from the left to the right, each number lighting up in red as it passed. The last number was 52. This floor was reserved for the most high-profile criminals: heretics, unauthorized murderers, and enemies of the state.
Finally, the elevator screeched to a halt and sank slowly into its bottom position. The two layers of doors creaked open, and the Emperor stepped out, his robes rippling slightly in the cold breeze from the shaft. The hallway led away on both sides, only a slight curve showing the shape and size of the Precinct. Metal doors lined the walls, each engraved with numbers. The Emperor strode off to the right, following the plasma lighting on the walls. Despite this, the corridor was still dim, and the ceiling was shrouded in darkness. He stopped in front of the door numbered Genesis III. He had come all this way to find the convict. He only hoped it was worthwhile.
Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a rusted key. These doors could not be opened by alchemy, as sorcery-powered blocking stones lined the inside of the walls to prevent the prisoners escaping. Archaic but effective. He waved his hands over the engraved number, and the illusion was replaced by a keyhole. Inserting it into the lock, he turned it three times. The dials clicked into place, and with a cracking sound it split in half. The two halves slid backwards and parted, revealing the cell beyond.
It was very small and entirely occupied by a figure restrained and suspended by the arms, legs, and neck. His head was slumped forward, so only a hedge of unkempt and filthy hair was visible, framed against the little window. His ripped and dirty clothes hung off him like ragged wings, and his shoes had completely gone.
“Mr. Steele. It’s been a while.” The Emperor received no reply, but the boy did glance up. He was in his late teens, very thin and tall for his age. His skin was barely distinguishable from his dirt-encrusted clothes, but his green eyes were alert and fierce. “How are you?”
This time the boy answered, spitting the words out in a hoarse gasp. “What do you want?”
“Merely to talk to you. A cooperative chat could serve us both well.”
“Don’t patronize me. Why are you here?”
“Well,” replied the Emperor with a mirthless chuckle, “we are in my prison cell, in my dungeons, in my fortress, on my planet …”
“But what could you possibly want with me?” Alex’s reply was edged with sarcasm.
“As I said before, a cooperative chat.” The Emperor stared into Alex’s fiery emerald eyes.
Alex stared back into the darkness of the hood. “I don’t trust you.”
“Pe
rhaps a gesture of goodwill. I am not what I appear to be.” The Emperor pulled the hood off his head. A fairly young man, skin midnight blue, stood before him, one side of his bald head etched with a series of archaic symbols. The eyes, however, were the most striking—set like twin globes in hoods of deep space, they blazed molten gold with the heat of a thousand stars.
And he told Alex something that Alex himself had told no one—something that no one but Alex could possibly have known.
Alex was petrified by the knowledge of what was really standing before him and the cataclysmic implications of it. “B-but,” he stuttered, “that’s impossible … How could you know? You can’t possibly be …”
“I know what I am not very well,” snapped the being, glancing down the corridor. For the first time animosity and—was it possible?—panic were clear in his voice. “But that is not the point. You have something you may use against me if you so wish, and I have you imprisoned. We are now on equal footing.”
Alex said nothing. He was trapped in a loop, reeling over what had just been revealed.
“So, what do you say?” The Emperor looked intently at Alex, who avoided his gaze. “You accept the terms? You will, if nothing else, cooperate?”
“Yes,” Alex said finally, uncertainly.
“Excellent,” replied the Emperor, replacing the hood over his face. Reaching to the wall on his right, he turned the key back twice. The chains around Alex instantly loosened, clanking to the stone floor. Shrugging them off, he stood up straight, wincing and massaging his wrists and neck.
“Come up to the Cathedral, and I can get you some new clothes. We can then discuss your fate.” He turned and stalked out of the cell, Alex in tow. He strode down the corridor.
Alex paused. Now was his chance. Checking he was out of the cell so as to not activate the alchemical restraints, he gathered the last of his strength and pointed at the Emperor’s back with his two forefingers. Two bolts of silver lightning sprung from his fingertips towards the black-cloaked figure. They diverged, about to strike …
Alex didn’t know how it happened, but the Emperor turned at the last possible millisecond. Raising his arm in one swift motion, he reached out for the lightning bolts. They deflected off the black orb he had conjured around his fist and were flung back at Alex. They clutched at him like claws, hugging him with their torturous embrace. He gasped and collapsed to his knees, hundreds of volts running through every fiber of his body.
“In the future,” said the Emperor, “I don’t expect to have to defend myself from you.” He marched down the hallway, leaving Alex to stagger to his feet and follow.
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