The Crooked Letter: Books of the Cataclysm: One

by Sean Williams

  Reality flexed around him. The cylinder of space within the circle swiveled a degree off true, as if someone had drawn a cosmic apple corer down over him. The Swarm was unable to cross the boundary, the tubular discontinuity at odds with the world around it. Reflected, they screeched and fell back.

  He fought a wave of dizziness. He was safe, but the teeth of the Swarm had been horrifyingly close, snapping just centimetres away from his face.

  “You are only delaying the inevitable,” said Lascowicz, strolling closer and circling hungrily.

  “We all have to die sometime,” he grated, “even you.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “You were an ordinary human when we first met. You're no stronger than I am.”

  The Wolf laughed. “Kybele taught you well, I see. You have no grip on reality at all. I was once only human, but now I am so much more than that. I hunted your ancestors in the forests just as I have hunted you. You are prey and now I have caught you.”

  Hadrian concentrated as Lascowicz's will clutched his corner of the world and tried to twist it back into line. He closed his eyes, visualising the precise dimensions of his hiding place and willing it to remain separate. Claws dug into it, tried to tear it open. He clenched every muscle in his body and forced them back.

  Lascowicz growled and adopted a crouched, wolflike posture. Cold light gleamed off vicious canines.

  “Did you kill her?” he asked to keep the beast at bay.

  “Who? Kybele?” Even in his wolf-form, Lascowicz could still speak. “She ran before I got the chance.”

  “Not Kybele. Ellis.”

  “Ah, your young friend. No. She was dead when I found her. Locyta was using her body as a trophy. I was lucky it was still in one piece.” The energumen's face split into a malevolent grin. “Intact enough to fool you: that was all I needed.”

  “Locyta killed her, then.”

  “Yes, and I killed him. Your quest for revenge is pointless. Give up now and let me have my way.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Hadrian asked, unable to keep the frustration and hurt from his voice. “Why are you fighting me? I'm doing what you want!”

  “Getting rid of Yod?” Lascowicz laughed. “Yes, that is what I want. It is what I've always wanted. But you have about as much chance of doing that as I do—while you live, anyway. When you left Kybele, you signed your death warrant.”

  “And how long until the next set of twins is born and Yod tries again?”

  “Irrelevant. Next time we will be ready. I will not sleep like Baal did. Maybe I will turn the tables on Yod and invade the Second Realm myself, before it can try again. The possibilities are endless.”

  Hadrian pictured Upuaut using the Second Realm as a hunting ground, running down his enemies with jaws no less powerful for lacking physical substance.

  “There has to be another way,” he said.

  “Perhaps there is, but you will never find out.”

  The Swarm attacked again, and Hadrian groaned at the toll it took to resist them. The power he drew from the mountain was enough to maintain the divide between him and them, but bending the mountain to his will took strength he couldn't spare. He felt as though he was being hollowed out from the inside. If he tried too hard he might collapse in on himself and disappear. Metaphorically and actually.

  The Swarm fell back again. The sound of their dreadful claws scratching to get at him ceased. He looked up directly into Lascowicz's face.

  “You think you are so strong,” said the Wolf. The gap in reality between them gave his skin a faint rainbow sheen. “You are the worst kind of weak. You do not deserve what you've got; you have not earned the right to wield it. You are in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you know it.”

  “You're absolutely right,” Hadrian said in reply. “I didn't ask for this. But that doesn't mean I should give in to you. What gives you the right to decide what's best for the world? Who put you in charge?”

  “I did. And that is what gives me the right. That is how I have earned it. If you want to challenge me, feel free. But expect to lose. It is in your nature. And it is only a matter of time before I get in there and tear you limb from limb.”

  He was right about that, too. Hadrian could feel the heat of the Wolf's anger as he pulled at Hadrian's sanctuary, trying to peel it open like a tin can. It fuelled his own anger, stoking it to greater heights. Ordinarily he would back down from such self-righteousness, just as he had backed down many times before Seth and Ellis and Kybele. He didn't have the confidence or inclination to fight. It was in his nature to lose. But there was no avoiding the fight this time. He had to face it or be killed outright.

  Fight or flee. That was the rule in the world Lascowicz inhabited, the world of the Wolf, of predator and prey. Lascowicz was, in the end, no better than Yod: humans were just meat to him. A world under his rule would be unbearable.

  A primitive problem required a primitive solution.

  As the Swarm gathered momentum for a final assault, Hadrian clutched the pencil tight in his hand. It wasn't something he would normally have thought of as a weapon, although its geometry was the same as one of the most ancient weapons of all. He concentrated on that geometry, letting the Change sweep down his arm and into the wood, along the core of graphite to the blunt tip. The molecules were elastic; his will was undeniable. Summoning all the strength he could muster, he turned something everyday and unremarkable into a weapon that could kill.

  Lascowicz saw it coming. The Wolf reared away as the world turned back into alignment and Hadrian's hand came up with the pencil clutched tight within it. Hadrian watched events unfold as though in slow motion. The pencil's point glinted, now wickedly sharp by snow and starlight. He felt the wood swell and lengthen in his hand. It stabbed forwards and upwards like a snake, shaking in his grip. He let it go at the last moment and it didn't slow one iota. The tip caught Lascowicz's jaw just above the shaggy throat and buried itself deep in his brain.

  Time sped up again. Lascowicz fell backwards, wolf legs flailing. Seth, too, fell off his feet, tossed away by the momentum of the spear. He hadn't thrown it, just aimed it, but it had stolen what it needed from him. An equal and opposite reaction: Newton's third law of motion. His vision greyed as he fell. The transformation had taken more out of him than just inertia.

  A terrible howl went up. Upuaut the wolf-spirit loomed over him, long head splitting to reveal rows of ghastly, translucent teeth. The Swarm dragged it back before it could strike, the slender black forms of the vampires claiming Hadrian for their own. Their shrieks reached fever pitch. They could smell his fear.

  One more time, he thought, willing himself to get up and fight. The Swarm wasn't invulnerable. They had to have weaknesses. If he could just find the strength to move, he would start up the circle again and at least give himself a chance to recover.

  But he was spent. He had barely enough energy to raise his head as the two leaders of the Swarm swooped warily over him, blocking out the stars. He had killed their ally. They were nervous of rushing in too quickly, but they wouldn't stay that way for long. Once they realised just how helpless he was, they would finish him off once and for all.

  Vampire fodder: after everything he had been through, that was no way to go.

  Fight, damn you!

  Hadrian sat up and reached deep inside himself—for something, anything. A word surfaced: egrigor. It had the ring of something from the Second Realm, from his brother. He clutched at it, assuming in his desperation that Seth was trying to help him. The word came with an approximate glimpse of what an egrigor was and how it could be used. He didn't have time to go into the details. The vampires of the Swarm were leaning over him, jaws wide and eerie arms outstretched.

  Geometry as a weapon. The strength came from somewhere. Tiny jagged shapes poured out of his right palm. Crystalline and deadly, miniature throwing stars made of blue ice, they spun through the air with deadly precision. Obsidian skin parted under their bite. Black bloo
d spurted. The Swarm scattered, shrieking like banshees.

  Pain flared in his hand. He clenched his fist around the flow of egrigor, bringing it to a halt. The agony was sudden and intense, as though his hand had been torn away. The fact that it was still attached did nothing to stop his anguish.

  He cried out.

  One of the Swarm noticed his distress. She peeled away from the confusion of the others to investigate, circular skull-segments swinging like tarnished coins around her neck. Her eyes were bright mirrors, alight with anticipation. Tarry blood leaked from her wounds. Her desire was needle-sharp and insatiable.

  An explosion of golden light brought colour to the black-and-white landscape, blossoming from behind where Hadrian knelt, helpless and in pain. Sun-bright yellow flashed from the vampire's eyes. Steam hissed from her injuries. With a snarl, she fell back again.

  Hadrian collapsed onto his side, too weak even to wonder where the light had come from. The Swarm swept down the shaking mountainside. Angry and hungry though they were, they had obviously decided that the risks were too great. No matter what Lascowicz had promised them in exchange for their cooperation, it would have been more than just a quick feed—and now they weren't even likely to get that.

  The pain ebbed, and so did the golden explosion. The snow went back to being dirty white. The gleams in the rock faded. The stars returned.

  He heard light footsteps behind him and managed to roll over, clutching his hand to his chest. He shivered with the cold.

  “Are you hurt again?” Pukje ran as fast as his tiny feet would carry him over the slippery rock. “You don't look so good.”

  Hadrian realised only then that he had fallen into the growing puddle of blood pouring out of Lascowicz's speared throat. His entire right side was dark and sticky. With a revolted noise, he forced himself to a sitting position.

  “What scared them away?” he asked. “I didn't see.”

  “Well, if you didn't see, you won't have to worry about knowing.”

  “I want to know.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you it was a dragon?”

  Hadrian let the imp examine his hand. Pain still burned in his tendons and bones, but it no longer screamed for attention. There were no marks at all.

  “A real dragon?” he said, not sure if he could accept such a thing.

  “Is there any other sort?”

  “I've no idea.”

  “That's why you're better off not knowing. Stand, if you can.”

  Hadrian got his legs underneath him with an effort. The stars spun around him, but he managed to stay upright. He fought the wind as best he could. The body of the Wolf lay unmoving on its back, as inanimate as a side of beef.

  “What do we do with him?” he asked, wondering if he should feel guilty. Unlike the draci, Lascowicz had once been human. That made Seth a murderer.

  “Don't worry about him. Upuaut is your main concern—but I think it's well away for the moment. It'll bide its time and hope to get you later. Wolves know how to wait.”

  That was a cheerless thought.

  At least there was a chance the Swarm was gone for good, although he had only stung them, not seriously hurt them. Had he killed one of them, he wouldn't have been safe in hell itself. They would have hunted him forever.

  “What now?” he asked. He felt disoriented, insulated from the world. So much had happened, so little remained of what he had once known and taken for granted. He didn't know what to do next.

  The imp reached down and picked up the scattered ingredients of his charm: the paper, the nail, the bottle, the shale.

  “You've got somewhere else to be, I think.”

  Hadrian nodded, remembering his latest dream of Seth. Will you join me, later?

  The time had not just come. It was overdue. The shaking of the ground was constant now. He could feel Yod reaching the First Realm, clutching for the sun like an unholy alien flower. A jungle of flowers, all at once.

  He drew the circle again, this time using the Wolf's cooling lifeblood. The bone in his chest sent waves of heat through his body as he concentrated on the connection between him and his brother, tugging on it as one would an anchor chain.

  Above him, the stars were going out, eclipsed by something black and hideous overtaking the world, building over him like a nightmare mushroom cloud. The mountains rose up to meet it, reaching with long fingers of stone to greet the world's new dei. Three long, semitransparent shapes slid out of the stone like swords from giant scabbards and stabbed at the black sky. White fire stuttered from their tips.

  Hadrian closed his eyes and sent himself down along the connection, through the roiling boundary already sundered by Yod.

  “Do the right thing, boy,” he heard Pukje say.

  Then he was thrust headlong into the Second Realm, and the cold, hard light of eons burned him to the core.

  “What is a god? A god is no different from a human, except for one most important respect. They desire, like us; they strive, they triumph, and they fall.

  But where the actions of a single god might destroy a city or lay waste to an entire land, the actions of a single human will rarely make a difference to them.

  We are blades of grass under their feet.”

  THE BOOK OF TOWERS, EXEGESIS 10:2

  It didn't look like much, just a point of dazzling yellow light casting shadows over the interior of the sphere, dimming even the bright glow of the gathered Holy Immortals. They were standing on a circular platform with a consistent illusion of “down.” Seth was glad for that; he didn't think he could have withstood the disorientation of standing head to head with someone on the far side of the sphere. The chamber was less than six metres wide, giving just enough room to gather around the Flame. Shadows moved constantly, swirling as though possessing independent life. The atmosphere was eerily poised between peaceful and restless, as though at any moment anything could happen.

  “There are many realms,” said Ana, moving around the point of light so it hung unsupported between her and the others. Her fine features looked like porcelain. “Each possesses structural weaknesses that profoundly affect its nature. In the First Realm, such weaknesses arise out of physical laws and take the form of singularities—black holes and the like. In this realm, will reigns, so such singularities operate in very different ways.”

  “You can see that with your own eyes,” said Meg. The tall Sister still held Seth's uninjured arm. The other he clutched tightly to his chest. He did his best to concentrate on what they were saying rather than the pain.

  Meg reached out to touch the Flame. Her index finger barely brushed it, dimpling slightly in the bright intensity of its radiation—but a strange sensation rushed through Seth. He shivered and pulled free.

  “What did you feel?” Meg asked, taking her hand away from the Flame.

  “As though…” He didn't finish the sentence. It sounded stupid enough in his mind.

  “As though someone just walked over your grave?” Ana asked.

  He nodded, surprised. His mental block was intact, despite the shocks he had received. She couldn't possibly be reading his mind.

  “You feel the tug of fate, the one fate we can ever be sure of, which is that we will die. Eventually our sojourn in the realms comes to an end, and we dissipate into the void from which we sprang. That is the fate awaiting all—even us—and the Flame reminds us of this, even as it reminds us that the route taken to that end is infinitely variable.”

  “Not ‘infinitely,’” Meg corrected her.

  “No, sister, not ‘infinitely,’ but enough to make the pill taste a little sweeter sometimes.”

  With a faint tearing noise, Agatha climbed into the centre of the sphere from below, her face pale and strained.

  “They're fighting!” she said.

  Hadrian didn't need to ask who she meant. Meg clapped her hands and the floor became translucent. Xol and Quetzalcoatl were slightly around the curve of Sheol's inner surface, trading furious blows. The pike l
ay to one side, knocked out of Quetzalcoatl's hands. They moved like snakes, darting and striking barehanded with sinuous grace. Their spines flattened when lunging forwards, stood up when retreating. They were rippling, muscular alien warriors that were, at times, extremely difficult to tell apart.

  “Those idiots,” Ellis exclaimed. “What is it with twins? Why don't they ever get along?”

  “They say that about sisters, too,” said Ana.

  “I tried to stop them,” Agatha said, “but they wouldn't listen to me.”

  Xol caught Quetzalcoatl in the ribs, raking him with sharp claws. Quetzalcoatl roared and twisted, surprising Xol by grabbing him and pulling him in closer. Long fangs stabbed deep into Xol's shoulder. Real flesh or not, the cry of pain was utterly genuine.

  “I can't stand by and watch this,” said Seth. “Isn't there something we can do?”

  “Nothing,” said Meg.

  “But Quetzalcoatl's your ghost. You made him like that!”

  “It was his decision to remain here. He chose of his own free will. What we made of him changed none of that.”

  “Xol murdered him,” Ana added. “This is the punishment he meted out.”

  “Well, I don't think it's fair.” The glibness of the Sisters’ response only infuriated him more. “I don't care what Xol did in the past. He's helped me, and he deserves my help in return. How do I get back down there?”

  The Sisters exchanged a glance. “You will it, of course,” said Meg.

  Of course. Seth channelled his anger at the Sisters and himself into determination to help Xol. Ellis went to say something—perhaps to call him back—but he was already falling. The light of the Flame faded as he slipped wraithlike through the floor and the surface of the sphere. Illusory gravity took hold of him as soon as he was outside the curved mirror surface. He did his best to turn a headlong plummet into a more controlled tumble.

  He hit the ground hard and lost his balance on his right side. The missing hand was troubling him, but he couldn't dwell on it. Xol and Quetzalcoatl glanced at him. The four flat eyes were unwelcoming. He didn't let that stop him, either.