The Crooked Letter: Books of the Cataclysm: One

by Sean Williams

  “So if something killed the ekhi,” Ellis said, “we'd fall. Sheol would push us away from it.”

  Shathra acknowledged the question with a nod. “It is worth noting that this is the fourth ekhi employed by the king in that capacity. The others were released upon showing signs of weakening. If you are concerned about this ekhi's health, I can assure you that it is ill placed. I vouch for it personally.”

  “Shathra is a sky-herder,” said Horva with pride. “No one knows more about the skies of the various realms than he.”

  Shathra's eyes seemed to see through her, to the vistas hidden by the shell of the skyship. “I yearn to float among the clouds of the First Realm again, unhindered by the laws we normally live by. Perhaps that time has come at last.”

  “The Cataclysm?” asked Seth.

  “Indeed. For too long have we been shackled. Now, thanks to you—”

  “Shathra.” Horva shook her head slightly, not in denial but to warn her Immortal companion not to say too much. “Mulciber is coming.”

  There was a complicated moment as several different timelines merged. A metallic ringing came from behind them. Seth turned and saw one of the handsome king's crew members swinging hand over hand along the path they had followed.

  “You need to come back,” Mulciber said. “You have to see.”

  “See what?” Seth asked.

  “Barbelo has sent a message.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Just come and look. It's easier than explaining.”

  They had no option but to do as he said. Seth hurried back the way he had come, regarding the roof above his head in an entirely new light now he knew that it was actually a rack built for an angel.

  The handsome king and his guests were gathered around a glass porthole set in the floor of one of the rooms Seth had passed on the way to meet Ellis. The mood was grim; he could feel it as soon as he walked through the door.

  “War,” said the king.

  “So what's new?” Seth responded.

  “Against us.” The king pointed at the porthole.

  Seth and Ellis stepped forwards to see. They found themselves looking down at the surface of the Second Realm. The view was magnified and clearly magical, for several layers of skyship stood between the lens and the outside air. The image it displayed was distorted around the edges, but otherwise perfectly clear.

  It showed armies of daktyloi fighting each other. Swarms of devels from the underworld grappled with fomore; shining elohim held back vast numbers of lesser beings, bewildering in their variety; complex war machines towered over armies, cutting swathes through their numbers; cities burned, and the ground itself revolted. Abaddon was a black wound spreading across the surrounding landscape. Seth looked for the distinctive shape of the Transamerica Pyramid but was unable to find it in all the smoke, if it was even still there.

  Most disturbing of all—and clearly the king's main point of concern—were slender structures rising at the centre of some of the battlefields: launch pads for winged creatures that flapped mightily for still greater altitudes. Multitudes of balloons rose like seeds from mountains and other high places. Giant slingshots and catapults hurled wriggling shapes into the sky, while cannon strove to bring them down. There were even rockets of strange, unlikely designs propelled by desperate willpower; all exploded on takeoff or spiralled out of control in the sky, but it was only a matter of time before one succeeded in outracing the others.

  “We've got company,” said Synett. “Or soon will have.”

  “What do they want?” asked Ellis. “Are they running from or to something?”

  “Perhaps a mix of both,” said Agatha, still blurry with fatigue. “Barbelo reports that the underworld is under severe attack by genomoi forces from the First Realm. Refugees have been flooding into the interior world. At the same time, word has got out about us and what we're trying to do. Those for and against Yod can see the value in coming to Sheol, where the decision will ultimately be made that seals the fate of our two realms. The person who influences that decision could make a powerful niche for themselves.”

  “The Sisters care nothing for politics,” said Agatha, glancing at Xol.

  “That doesn't stop people believing that they care, or that they can make them care.”

  “This is just insane,” said Seth.

  “I agree,” said the king, chewing his toothpick as though it was a cigar, “but there it is. It's about to become very crowded up here. I have instructed my pilot to make all speed. We have a significant lead; we should outrun them. But it pays to take no chances.”

  Seth became aware that the floor had tilted beneath his feet. The skyship was rising at a marked incline, and a new vibration thrilled through the structure. He wondered if the captured ekhi knew anything about the situation below, or if it cared only about the bare essentials of its twisted life: food, Sheol, pain.

  “In order to ensure your safety,” said Horva, “we will accompany you to Sheol.”

  “They are already under our protection,” said the kaia.

  “I know of your offer.” The Immortal acknowledged the group mind with barely a glance. “Regardless.”

  “Thank you, Horva,” said Agatha. “We will be honoured by your presence.”

  “What about me?” asked Ellis. “What if I don't want to go?”

  “You don't have to. You are free to do as you please.”

  “That's a big help. The Ogdoad won't let me pass, so what else am I supposed to do?”

  “My humble abode is at your disposal,” said the king with a broad smile. “We have much to teach you here.”

  “And watch everyone else go off to save the world? I don't think so.” Ellis's posture was stiff. “I just wanted to make the point that some of us are unwilling participants in all this. I never asked to be involved.”

  “Neither did I,” said Seth.

  “But at least you're in a position to do something about it. I'm just along for the ride.”

  Seth wished he could lift the veil to see her face. What would her eyes reveal? Fear? Self-doubt? Anger? How had her visage altered in the Second Realm that she felt the need to hide it so completely?

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “If there was something I could do to change it, I would.”

  She sighed. “I know, and I'm sorry too. It's not your fault either.” Her head inclined to face the king. “Is there any way to make this old tub go faster? The sooner we get there, the better.”

  The king wasn't affronted by her attitude. If anything, he seemed more amused than ever. His hairless simian features creased in a wide grin. “We fly on little more than a prayer, dear friend. We are as heavy only as our doubt.”

  “‘Though war arise against me,’” quoted Synett, “‘yet I will be confident.’”

  “That's the spirit!” The king clapped the bald man on the shoulder. “I go now to assist my crew. There is much to prepare for. Please excuse me.”

  The Immortals bowed as the king left the room. Seth wondered if he called upon their knowledge of the future to plan ahead, or simply made it up as he went along like everyone else. Seth took a measure of comfort from the knowledge that he would make it to the Sisters, regardless of what happened below. But then…the Cataclysm could not be turned back and a betrayer would become known to him. He might not be afraid of what lay behind him, but there was plenty ahead to be nervous of.

  “How many legs to go,” Seth asked the Immortals, “on the Path of Life?”

  “Just two,” said Shathra, “but they are the most difficult in the realm.”

  He wasn't worried about that; not for himself, anyway. “Will we all make it?”

  “No.”

  And there it was. Seth looked around the room at those who had been his companions on the way to the skyship and wondered who would fall.

  “Don't say anything else,” said Ellis. “Unless you can tell me how to get rich by knowing, I don't want to hear another word about the future.”


  “I understand,” said the Immortal with a chastened nod. “I would not want to know either, were it something I would only dread.”

  “Once we accept the absence of destiny, we have no need for gods. They are as helpless as us in the face of change.”

  THE BOOK OF TOWERS, EXEGESIS 10:16

  There were no dreams this time. No hums, no visions of Seth. No memories of bodies stacked in piles like chopped firewood or stone limbs sliced in two.

  Hadrian woke feeling as though he'd been flattened by the Transamerica Pyramid.

  “Open your eyes. I know you're awake.”

  His eyelids fluttered. All he saw was a blur.

  “Before, when we first met, you said—” He swallowed, tried a third time to complete the thought that had occurred to him while Pukje laboured to save his life. “You said you weren't charitable by nature.”

  “I'm not. Sit up. I need to dress you.”

  The room swam into focus. Pukje was standing over him, holding out a green sweatshirt. He was clad in the same matted thatch as the first time they had met. Now it was spattered with something dark.

  Memories of blood and agony made Seth's head feel light.

  “You can do it,” the imp said. “I may play the fool, but I know my stuff. You'll be right as rain in no time. We have to get out of here before the Swarm arrives. If you're not moving in five minutes, I'm leaving you behind.”

  Hadrian groaned. His chest ached; his head pounded; he was afraid of what he'd see if he looked down. He never wanted to move again.

  But he did manage to raise himself to a sitting position and waver there unsteadily. His right hand explored the wound on his left chest. What was left of it…

  Instead of a scar, he felt an unexpected roughness, more like coral than bone.

  “What did you do?”

  “Saved your life. Now, put this on and you won't have to worry about it.”

  Hadrian raised his arms and Pukje slipped the shirt over his head. It was still dark, but he could see well enough. From his stomach to his knees, his skin was mottled and bruised as though repeatedly kicked. There was a ring of purple stains on his thighs and groin—like birth- or sucker-marks. They were tender to the touch, but the skin didn't seem to be broken.

  “What did she do to me?”

  “You know the answer to that question. She was trying to kill you.”

  “How, though? If she wasn't taking my blood, what was she after?”

  “There's more to a body than blood—or semen or sweat or milk, for that matter. We are the sum of a number of potent fluids, eternally circulating and curdling. Some of your philosophers and alchemists knew of them; they called them the humours.”

  Hadrian had heard the term before. It made him think of bile and pus and spit: not the sort of stuff he normally imagined lay at a person's core. He was in no position to debate the point, however.

  He looked around. Ellis's body was no longer in the room. A trail of blood leading to the door suggested that Pukje had moved it. One hand touched his chest again. The imp had cleaned him while he slept.

  Don't let the imp do you any favours, if you can avoid it, Kybele had told him, a century ago. It'll cost you.

  He was too far gone to worry about that now.

  “What was she?”

  “Not what you expected, obviously.”

  “No.” There was no doubt in his mind that what had attacked him wasn't Ellis. It couldn't have been. His certainty went beyond mere wishful thinking. Ellis had known about his situs invertus, his heart being on the wrong side. They'd had that conversation when they first met. She wouldn't have made a mistake like that.

  “Well, then,” said Pukje, “she was a draci. They live in the borderlands, between sea and land, forest and field, living and dead. In their true form, they have no physical shape at all. They'll take whatever's available and use it to seduce someone to their death. Before the body cools, they'll assume control of it and use it to string more people along, feeding on them for as long as the original host remains viable. They can delay putrefaction for days, even weeks, depending on the weather, but eventually they have to find a new host—and that's when they're most vulnerable.”

  Pukje's eyes didn't move from their examination of Hadrian's face. “I don't think it killed your friend itself,” the imp went on when he didn't receive a response. “That would have been Locyta or possibly Lascowicz, although I doubt the Wolf would have willingly disposed of such an asset. He certainly knew the value of the corpse, and took the opportunity it presented when he found it. It fooled you completely.”

  “She was dead the whole time,” Hadrian said, still not quite believing it. The draci had displayed some aspects of Ellis. Had it tortured her to gain them? Drained her dead body of what personality still clung to it? Maybe it couldn't get facts, just vague outlines. He remembered it avoiding his question about Paris.

  “Dead? Yes. It would seem so.”

  “It must have—” He put a forearm over his eyes, fighting back more tears. “She would have been—”

  “Terrified, yes. And she's in the Second Realm now, either free or devoured by Yod—and there's nothing you can do about it. You should be terrified at the thought of what's hunting you.”

  Hunting. He forced himself to ignore his grief, or at least postpone it for a while. His worst fears were being realised. “Lascowicz.”

  “Yes, and his band of merry vampires. They are coming for you, right now. Following her.” Pukje's finger stabbed at his chest. “Her death will call them.”

  Hadrian took the tracksuit pants offered to him, and the sneakers. He had to rest for a minute after that, fighting a rising dizziness.

  “Utu killed her. Killed it,” he said, thinking, Three times is the charm. “Utu saved my life.”

  “Saved your life it did, but kill the thing it didn't. The draci lingers.”

  Hadrian stiffened. “Where?”

  “Out there.” Pukje pointed through the door. “Don't worry. We're quite safe, for the moment. I've bound it tight.”

  “So why do we have to run? Why are we in danger?”

  “The Swarm is looking for you. Did you ever stop to think about how easy it was to get away from the Wolf, after you found your friend? Well, that's about to change. He didn't kill you at first because he didn't know what was going on. Then he only let you go temporarily, with the draci in tow, in order to find out more about Kybele and her plans. Once the draci is gone, he'll want you dead. The closer full-scale Cataclysm comes, the more vulnerable he's going to feel. No one can stand up to Yod the way the world is at the moment, and he knows it. If he's going to take control of what's left, he has to get rid of you first.

  “We'll kill the draci as we leave. That will put the Swarm nearby, and soon, but at least we'll be ready. They could be anywhere right now. We could walk around a corner, and there they'll be. I don't want that. Do you?”

  Hadrian shook his head.

  “How are you feeling? Up to running yet?”

  He doubted it, but could only nod. If he had to, he would manage it. He gingerly bagged some chocolate bars—staple diet of a city wasteland-dweller, it seemed—and threw in a couple of bottles of water from the stack he and the thing masquerading as Ellis had stolen the previous day. He bent to pick up Utu too, but the imp shook his head.

  “Leave it. It'll only betray you. It's Kybele's tool. Hopefully you won't need it where we're going.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Out of the city. It's too dangerous here, with Mot and Baal running rampant and the Swarm on your scent. It's not as if there's much keeping you here now.”

  The thought threw him. He remembered what Mimir had said about the possibility of survivors beyond the city's borders, and the “many forces” stirring. There could be worse things out there than rampant gods: vigilante groups and posses looking for the cause of the catastrophe, for instance. “What if I don't want to go?”

  “I'm all ears to alte
rnatives. Literally.” Pukje waggled his long lobes.

  Hadrian didn't smile. “You might listen, but I doubt it would make a difference.”

  “I'd listen if you made sense. Believe me,” said the imp, “we're in this together. I'm not Kybele or Lascowicz. I've got better things to do than order you around.”

  Hadrian sighed. “No,” he said, “I don't have any other suggestions.”

  “Well, then.”

  “Just…wait. I want to know why we're in this together. Why are you helping me? What's in it for you? You could leave the city any time you wanted.”

  “Actually,” said the imp, “I couldn't. I don't know the way. But I think you can help me find it. That's why I'm here.”

  “So why did you guide me to Kybele, if that's what you've wanted all along?”

  “Because she was the only person who could help you find your friend; what was left of her, anyway. I knew you'd never leave without trying to get her back.” Pukje nodded. “I've been following you from the beginning: watching you; helping you when I had to; assessing your chances. You're growing dangerous, and the powers that be—or would be, given the chance—know it full well. I can't wait for you to stumble out on your own. You'd never make it. We do it together now, or neither of us does. Does that ring true to you, boy?”

  Hadrian could sense no deception in the imp's words—not that that meant anything, given his previous experience with liars. “True enough.”

  “Good. The only way to find out if I'm lying is to put me to the test.”

  Pukje scurried around behind him and scrambled up onto his shoulder. The imp's weight was less than the bag he carried, but the two together challenged his returning strength. He put a hand on the rough patch on his chest, as though to hold his determination in, and limped out of the room.

  Ellis's body was tied spread-eagled to a bedframe with ropes of glutinous spittle, the origins of which he preferred not to know. Her face was deeply cloven, once above her left eye and twice through her throat. Blood obscured what remained. Her hair was a matted tangle. She was almost unrecognisable.