The Crooked Letter: Books of the Cataclysm: One

by Sean Williams

  Agatha kept him back as the first of the kaia approached the mouth, wings a vibrant blur.

  “Follow as best you can,” she shouted in his ear, “and don't worry about getting lost. We'll find you wherever you end up!”

  He nodded, although his attention was entirely focussed on what happened to the kaia. It braced itself in a crouch with its wings oriented towards the mouth. It edged backwards, arms outstretched, then froze as the current took it. Even though Seth was anticipating the moment, the suddenness of its disappearance took him by surprise. One moment the kaia was there in front of him, every muscle poised in a delicate balancing act; the next it was gone, whisked up into the turbulent, thunderous storm; where precisely it went and what happened to it was impossible to tell. Above was only the black ceiling of clouds, rotating ponderously counterclockwise.

  A second kaia moved forwards. Seth didn't know if it was possible to be airsick in the Second Realm, but his stomach was cramping up at the mere thought of following. The wings and harnesses seemed far too fragile to survive the currents raging inside the ’twixter. He could feel the realm warping around it, strained beyond imagining by the forces the ’twixter exerted. He would be like a hummingbird in a hurricane—lucky to survive for an instant before being ripped to pieces.

  The second kaia vanished into the mouth, a parachutist in reverse. A third kaia moved forwards, then abruptly stopped in its tracks and waved for Seth.

  “What? No, you go!” He resisted the small hands pushing at him from behind. “I'm not ready!”

  “We have no choice,” shouted Xol, leaning close. “Fomore!”

  Seth twisted and saw a dozen glowing wraiths converging on their location. They were already so close that he could see their mouths—too full of long, slender teeth to close properly.

  “I'll jump with you,” Xol said, pushing him forwards. “Quickly!”

  Seth forced his nervousness down. Faced with a choice between the emissaries of Yod and an unknown fate inside the storm, he supposed the latter was marginally less horrible. It was with the deepest misgivings that he took Xol's hands and edged crabwise into the uprushing wind pouring through the mouth of the funnel. Xol's flat eyes were shut and his grip was almost painfully tight; it didn't inspire confidence.

  He had barely enough time to steady himself when the ’twixter took him. With an ear-popping jolt, he was yanked off the ground and swept up into the mouth of the storm. He tried to cry out, but the air had already been sucked from his lungs. He was spun like a top, tumbled end over end with his wings screaming like buzzsaws behind him. Xol was wrenched from him. In the darkness, there was no way of finding him again.

  Up and down lost all meaning. He was at the mercy of the storm's funnel. He could only hope that he would soon find clearer skies and gentler winds, where his wings would finally be of some good. Although they strained and stretched, they were as useless as a surfboard in a tsunami.

  Something bumped into him in the darkness. He clutched at it, hoping it was Xol or one of the kaia, but when he pulled it to himself a sickening light came with it. The fomore grinned at him, eyeless but able to see him all too well. Its limbs were like bony twigs under his hands; cold leeched into him from its hideous body; vile gel-like sheets whipped around them both, trying to tangle him in their ectoplasmic folds.

  Seth reacted instinctively, clenching his fists around its limbs and kicking out at the thing. His connection to the First Realm served him well, as it had with the egrigor. The fomore's flesh snapped under his hands like kindling. It screamed and he released it to roll away in darkness.

  The coldness remained, though. His fingers were numb where they had touched the fomore, and nothing he did brought feeling back.

  Seth forced himself to stop looking for Xol and to stop fighting the storm. He relaxed into the wind, letting it whip him around and upwards. Streaks of light appeared in the darkness, long and tapered, shaped by the flows of the storm. They looked like threads of cream being stirred into black coffee and steadily became both more numerous and brighter, until he could see his unfeeling hands held out in front of his face. The notion of up returned, and with it came a violent dizziness: he was spinning end over end several times a second.

  He spread his arms and legs, hoping to slow his tumble even slightly. The wings responded with a furious buzzing—audible even over the deafening roar—and for the first time they had a measurable effect. He felt himself steadied and lifted outwards, away from the centre of the storm. The current became less urgent, and he was soon able to approximate some sort of control over his flight. There was still insufficient light to see beyond the storm itself, but some of its geometry became clearer to him and he was able to navigate.

  A brassy speck appeared in the distance, waving. Seth waved back, recognising Xol's colouring even if he couldn't make out his features. The relief at seeing the dimane was stronger than he had expected.

  Just as he was beginning to feel confident of surviving the experience, the storm changed pitch around him. The winds shifted violently, tipping him upside-down, then onto his side. A knot of turbulence formed around him. He struggled, but the gusts were so powerful they were almost solid, almost—

  His mind baulked at what occurred to him then, but he forced himself to consider the possibility seriously. He had seen far stranger things.

  The gusts felt like fingers, the knot a giant hand. He was being tipped from side to side as though for inspection. His wings snarled at the constriction. He could feel them getting hot where they touched his back.

  A distant shout came to him over the wind. Three bright points were converging on him. More fomore had followed him into the storm's heart. Already capable of flight, they didn't need harnesses and the like to navigate, and they swooped up to him like sharks. Dagger-sharp claws angled to stab him. He struggled to free himself before they arrived. His only hope lay in fending them off before they impaled him.

  But the storm resisted.

  Do you fear them? said a voice in his head. Compared to the sound of the wind, it was almost soft, like the sighing of a breeze. But it was powerful despite that. You can't be a saraph, then—and now that I taste you, I do see that you're different. You have an unusual quality.

  “Let me go!” Seth kicked against apparently solid air, but to no avail. The fomore seemed to sense his difficulty, and grinned wider. Their teeth gleamed like mouthfuls of broken glass. “You have to let me fight them!”

  Now, now, the voice chided him none-too-gently. Let me look at you, first. I am—curious.

  “If you don't let me go, there's going to be nothing here to be curious about.” To his right, Seth could see Xol urging his wings to travel faster, but it was clear he was going to arrive too late. “Please!”

  Ah, yes. Now I know who you are. The voice sounded pleased with itself. You're the cornerstone, the one they're all looking for.

  There was no point in denying it. “Yes, that's me. And they're coming for me now. Will you just let me go so I can stop them?”

  I should hold you for them, so their master—our master—can stop looking.

  A chill went down Seth's spine. The fomore were just metres away. Even if he was freed now, his chances of getting away were vanishing. “No, don't—”

  But I wouldn't do that. The air flexed again, and the fomore slammed into an invisible barrier. Screaming thinly, briefly, they were crumpled up into balls and scattered to the wind, glittering frostily.

  “Please,” pleaded Seth again over the straining of his wings, “let me go.” There was a different fear in him now. Not of capture but of pointless death. He was utterly in the storm's power. If it grew tired of him or irritated with him—

  A roll of thunderous mental laughter interrupted the thought.

  I do not wish to kill you, human. That would truly bring the wrath of our master upon us. But I would not let them have you, either. The voice sneered when it spoke of the fomore. I have no love for their kind. Their stings may
be small, but they prick me willingly enough. I am a citizen of this city, like any other. I have rights.

  Seth accepted as fact, then, his assumption that he was talking to the storm itself, not some air-spirit inhabiting it.

  Do you like what you see? asked the ’twixter, its atmospheric muscle bunching and swirling. Am I not magnificent?

  “Magnificent and amoral,” said Agatha, rising on buzzing wings from beneath the knot of air holding Seth captive. “You and your kind would flatten the city in a day, given the chance.”

  Seth tried to reach out for her, but he was held fast.

  Such biting honesty! Yes, we would raze this town to the ground—and that would be no terrible thing, I feel. Others see differently. I hope their time will pass soon.

  “Perhaps it will,” she said.

  Is that the end you strive towards?

  “If I said it was, would you let him go?”

  The storm roared. You dare to bargain with one such as I? Your impudence astounds me. I should crush you both! And your friends!

  “You're bluffing,” said Agatha, “and so am I. While I'm grateful to you for saving Seth, in truth I can promise you nothing in return. My mission is to save the realm, not to strike deals with entities such as yourself.”

  Peals of laughter echoed around them. Oh, you are a true entertainment! I should keep you here for my pleasure. You are not empty-handed, not by any means. I will let you pass and take my fill at the same time. Go about your mission, small ones. I will remain here in the hope that your efforts will result in my freedom.

  The invisible “fingers” eased, and Seth was able to move again. “Thank you,” he said, with as much grace as he could muster. Agatha echoed the sentiment.

  The storm rumbled again. It was an easy boon to grant. No one saw what happened here, apart from you small things—and what could the fomore do about it, anyway? They can prick me all they want. I'm not going away.

  Agatha dipped close to hover at Seth's side as Xol finally caught up with him. Their diaphanous wings overlapped, but seemed unaffected.

  “Are you unharmed?” the dimane asked him.

  “Yes. Thanks to Agatha.”

  She acknowledged his comment with a bare nod. It occurred to him that Nehelennia and the rest of her kin might not have thanked her for saving him. The longer he was alive, the more danger the realm was in.

  “Have you seen the others?” she asked Xol.

  “Not yet, but we'll find them.” His gold eyes slid away, and he pointed upwards, to where a bright point of light was beginning to shine through the gloom. “Onwards and upwards. We have a long way to go.”

  Seth took a deep breath and indicated that he was ready. With wings blurring and vibrating at their backs, and the feeling slowly returning to his cold-numbed fingers, they ascended out of the heart of the storm.

  “Our world was born at terrible cost. There was a war, some say—a war between gods whose names were strange and battles stranger. The war between the gods destroyed the world that was and made it into the world that is. The wastelands and ruins and empty cities are built on the bones of the dead. Our songs are full of sadness and loss. What has been broken cannot be mended.”

  THE BOOK OF TOWERS, FRAGMENT 166

  Hadrian's memory of Lascowicz's lair—of a square with an X joining each corner—was quite different to the ground-level perspective he presently endured. Previously, from Kybele's supernatural perspective, it had seemed a relatively simple arrangement of buildings and roads with Ellis at the centre; from a street or two away it was a tangle of walls and lanes as confusing as any other city block. Towers loomed on all sides. It was impossible to see further than the nearest building, unless one stood exposed in the middle of a street or intersection. The only navigational clue was the light-shrouded tip of the Transamerica Pyramid itself, when it was visible at all.

  To make matters worse, the invisibility charm had an unexpected side effect. The act of blending them into the background put some of the background into them. He could, as a result, taste the city on his tongue and smell it in his nose more intimately than he had ever desired. Rock, mortar, glass, steel—and dust, grime, mildew, rot. All seeped steadily into him. He wondered what would happen if the charm remained in effect too long. Would he and the city blend permanently into one?

  He had no intention of finding out. Concentrating on his footing to avoid making any sound, he followed Gurzil's broad back as Kybele led them closer to the wolf's lair. The cloud cover was dense overhead. Rain swept over them, at first bitterly cold and needle-thin, then warm and thick, saturating. Gusts of chilled air caught them by surprise, then abated. On one occasion, Hadrian almost slipped on a surface that turned out to be ice. The weather was as screwed up as the city itself.

  Due to the dense cloud cover, there were no stars or moon. The only light came from the ghostly effulgence sweeping up and down the besieged Kerubim. Hadrian still hadn't worked out whether the light was a symptom of the attack or of a defence against it, and at this stage it didn't matter much either way, he supposed. The important thing was getting into the lair undetected and finding Ellis.

  They followed a series of alleyways that were so cramped Gurzil had to turn side-on to squeeze through, yet were so tall in places that the tops disappeared into darkness. Kybele led them under a tangle of exposed pipes that might once have pumped steam from one building to another but were now cool to the touch, and brought them to a studded steel door, streaked and stained by age. There she stopped, and they stopped with her. Their breath fogged in the cold air—except the Galloi, who didn't seem to be breathing at all.

  “We wait here,” she whispered, “for the sign.”

  “How will it come?” Gurzil asked.

  “We'll know it when we see it.” She sat down beside the door with her back to the wall. The strange brass instrument she had produced before summoning Mimir came out of her pocket again. The filthy bricks behind her were clearly visible through her head. “It won't be long, I think.”

  Hadrian controlled his impatience. He wanted to keep moving. They knew where Ellis was, were on the verge of rescuing her, and it seemed counterintuitive to stop right on the brink. His palms itched. Utu vibrated softly in his right hand.

  You smell blood, whispered the staff. I smell it through you.

  He sniffed the air but noticed nothing unusual. If the staff was telling the truth, then the scent was too faint for him to consciously detect.

  Apart from pale ghostlight reflected off the clouds and the occasional roll of thunder, the city was silent and dead around them. Hadrian was beginning to forget what it used to be like: he tried to remember the sound of traffic, but it wouldn't come; he tried to picture the sidewalks full of passersby, but the image seemed ridiculous. The city was a monolithic structure best suited to creatures of similar stature. Humans may have built it, and even thought they owned it for a time, but the gods had returned to claim it for their home. And they had brought exterminators with them.

  He became aware of a faint sound that wasn't thunder. It was a rapid panting, much like a dog would make after running hard. The sound was so unexpected in the dead city that it stood out. Even after the tree and the raven, the thought that some natural creature apart from himself might have survived the city's apocalypse still filled him with hope—until he looked up the alley and saw red eyes reflected back at him.

  The panting came closer, and so did the eyes. Gurzil had noticed them too. He stiffened at Hadrian's side and cracked his strange fingers. The shape of a large Great Dane padded out of the shadows, its ears up in points. The long face, all angles, stared expressionlessly at them as it approached. Its hide was chocolate brown fading to black at its jowls and paws.

  It stopped several metres away and stared coldly at them. Its flanks rose and fell in time with the panting. Something was wrong with its shape: its sides bulged and its stance was slightly splay-legged. Only after a good minute did Hadrian realise that the dog was p
regnant.

  That it could see them—or smell them—perfectly well was obvious. It growled, and Gurzil stepped forwards.

  “Don't touch it,” warned Kybele. She was still seated behind them, unconcerned. “Let it be.”

  “What is it?” Hadrian whispered.

  “A ghul. It's come to let us know that it and its kind are here.”

  The growl ceased, and the dog went back to breathing heavily. Spittle dripped from its overhanging jowls.

  “Is it real?”

  “The ghul are hosts, not ghosts,” she said. “The dr'h, their riders, have managed the leap across Bardo to take new homes. It won't harm us if we don't harm it. They might even help us.”

  The dog completed its blank appraisal of them then turned away. Hadrian noticed, as it padded back up the alley into shadow, that its rump was covered in matted blood. Its belly and teats were hideously swollen.

  He shuddered. Was this what life would be like, he wondered, if the Cataclysm wasn't reversed? An endless series of perversions and possessions? Or was life meant to be this way, and only the recent separation of the realms had led humans to think otherwise?

  Something screeched loudly across the sky. Hadrian looked up, recognising that awful sound from his first day alone in the city. He saw nothing above but black sky.

  Then, out of the blackness, something descended. It was small, the size of a knife blade, and fell as gently as a feather.

  It was a feather. Black and glossy, perhaps from the belly of a big bird like a crow or a raven, it zigzagged softly into their midst and settled onto the ground at Kybele's feet.

  “It's time,” she said. She rose and turned to confront the door. The handle turned easily under her hand. She swung it open to reveal a dark, echoing interior. “Let's get this done.”