The Tower of the Forgotten

by Sara M. Harvey

  Imogen nodded. "I can help with that."

  "You can?"

  "Halford Kirkley is a cad with a roving hand. And I can definitely turn it to my advantage."

  "No. I will not allow it."

  "I don’t mean him to have his way with me!"

  "Imogen, we’ll find some other way. Don’t sully yourself at his grubby hands!"

  "Nonsense! That isn’t what I have planned at all! Watch." She rose from the cot with some effort. "Close your eyes."

  "I don’t see how games are going to help."

  "Just trust me."

  "Fine." Portia shut her eyes and flopped back down on the cot.

  "Now imagine you have your old eyes back."

  "What?"

  "Bring yourself to a point before the tower, when your eyes and your sight were your own."

  Drawing a steadying breath, Portia did as Imogen asked. "All right."

  "Now, look."

  Portia glanced over to where Imogen was crouched. Portia’s back was to Imogen, and yet she saw the floor clearly. Imogen had taken her striped stockings and spelled out the letters I and P and formed Portia’s gown into a heart shape between them. From Portia’s vantage point on the cot, there was no way she could have seen the display, but the image was clear as day to her. She realized that she was looking through Imogen’s eyes. Or at least her own eyes that lived in Imogen’s being.

  "I see," Portia said.

  "Exactly! So, all I have to do it get to where I can see the plans, and then we’ll both know what this is all about. That way you won’t have to risk your little escape act during the day when people will see you."

  "You’re brilliant! I love you!"

  Imogen sauntered back toward the cot, her hair a fiery mantle that barely concealed her naked body. "How far do you think we could take it, this connection? Do you think if we thought about it, that we could feel what the other feels?" She sank to her knees before Portia and nibbled playfully on her lover’s kneecap.

  "I don’t know," Portia gasped.

  Let’s find out." Imogen ran her tongue across Portia’s inner thigh and nipped the soft flesh there.

  Portia could hear her little yelp of pleasure echoed back to her through Imogen’s thoughts. "Yes," she whispered. "I think we can."

  "I think we should make sure." Imogen dipped her tongue into the warm recess of the cleft between Portia’s legs. Pleasure overlaid pleasure, and Portia soon lost track of which sensations belonged to whom. And she found that it did not matter in the slightest.

  —4—

  "A SUMMONING CIRCLE." Imogen’s voice was grim. They sat together over her copy of the plans in the pleasantly golden light of the setting sun. "We were right."

  "I hate being right about these things."

  "Me too."

  Portia sat back on her heels, tilting her head to regard the hastily sketched layout of the new Circus Avernus from a different angle. It did not change the outcome. "How can they not realize what this is?"

  Imogen shrugged. "Perhaps if they do know what it is, the money is worth it. You should have seen the take today." She shuddered. "They’ve started a causeway that leads right up to the tower itself. Four people have already drowned trying to reach the spring."

  "So, instead of blocking off access, they are making it easier for their supplicants to reach it."

  "For a small fee, of course. They’ve also opened a shop at the near end, next to the promenade’s gates."

  "Selling the water, no doubt."

  "The water, the rocks, and…these." Imogen pulled one of Portia’s feathers from the reticule that hung from her belt. "They don’t have many, and at the prices they are charging, they aren’t likely to run short anytime soon. But we cannot allow you to remain here much longer. It isn’t safe."

  Portia ran both hands through her silver hair and growled. Frustration gnawed deeply into her soul. "Has the Primacy sent word? Captain Cadmus?

  Anyone?"

  You’d likely know before I would. The Primacy has no idea I’m here."

  "I’m sure they do. And I know this plays into Lord Alaric’s plan, somehow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we put a stop to this. People are dying, Nigel grows stronger, and I am damned tired of sitting here like a trinket on a shelf."

  Smiling, Imogen ran a finger along Portia’s cheek. "But a lovely trinket."

  Portia paced the enclosure as dawn stained the tower pink and gold. Imogen rose, rubbing her eyes.

  "Didn’t you sleep?"

  Portia shook her head. "Haven’t needed to since I came back."

  "I see."

  It’s a perk."

  "If you say so." Imogen stretched and yawned widely.

  Portia’s glass enclosure rattled. The walls trembled softly again, and something clattered to the wood flooring in the viewing area. Rising onto her toes, Portia could see that there was a waterlogged shoe lying a few feet away and a grimy splatter on the glass.

  "That’s odd."

  The bodies hit with such a force that Portia immediately feared the glass would not hold. Two came from the arcade and two more threw themselves onto the skylight. They beat their green-grey flesh against the barrier, oozing seawater and pus from between their fingers.

  "You said four drowned trying to reach the tower?"

  "Yes," Imogen said.

  "Ah. Well, they seem to have a new purpose now."

  "What should we do? Fight them?"

  The skylight, not made to withstand the weight of two adults writhing around on it, began to crack.

  "Seems so."

  The glass above them seemed to cry out as it gave way, dumping two rank bodies nearly into their laps. The two remaining outside grew agitated and redoubled their efforts against the glass.

  The first creature righted itself and plucked the glass shards from its face and belly. It regarded them a moment before swinging its glass-laden fists at Portia. She dodged easily and watched as the second creature went after Imogen. Stepping toward her beloved, she realized there was no need. For all her delicate and willowy frame, Imogen was an accomplished fighter. She brought her elbow down into the ghoul’s collarbone as it sought to wrap its hands around her throat. The bone broke easily, and with a sickening wet sound, but the creature did not slow its assault.

  Portia took the drowned creature in both hands, reaching under its tattered sleeves to touch its bloated flesh. Her fingers scalded it, but she did not dare let go. She half expected it to ignite like a fiend might, but instead, the pitiful thing only wailed as it melted into a clotted heap of putrid silk and hair.

  Behind her, Imogen had forced her attacker to the floor and delivered blow after blow into what remained of its skull with the heel of her suede boots. Portia lamented only a moment that the stains would never come out of them as she reached for a bit of the creature’s exposed leg and gripped it fiercely with both hands. This one had far more fight in it than the other had; it tried to kick free before finally collapsing with a hiss of gas that reeked of low tide.

  The two others refrained from their attacks on the glass enclosure and looked to the tower like dogs awaiting the whistle of their master. Portia wasted no time.

  "Imogen, close your eyes!"

  Without waiting to see if she complied, Portia opened the floodgates on her inner fire, letting it stream out from her unfettered. The wave of light struck the two ghouls, and they fell back, howling. A fearsome roar rose up through the light. The glass walls arced momentarily before blowing out with a crash that woke dogs in Capitola-by-the-Sea, a half-mile away.

  "Let’s go." Portia wrapped her arms around Imogen. With a few sweeps of her wings, they rose through the ruined pavilion and into the brightening day.

  She did not lower them to the circus grounds, but made for the tower. She flew straight for the balcony from which she had been plucked by the airship crew weeks ago. Her golden axe had fallen when she was captured, she remembered. As they landed upon the balcony, there was no sign of it.

&nb
sp; Portia could feel it, though, she could nearly hear it calling her name with her father’s velvety voice. And she also knew it was not alone.

  "Stay here. Do not set one toe over this threshold, do you understand?"

  Imogen nodded, her double-layered irises swirling a shade darker with worry.

  "I’ll be fine. I already know I can come and go from here. I’ll be right back."

  Portia stepped into the room. It reverberated as she passed into the halfway house between the living realm and the spirit. In strange, translucent layers, she could see Celestine’s blood as well as the piles of discarded books and scrolls. Over it all, there were shadow-puppets of the maidens, of Imogen and Kanika, of herself, those last moments before the rending of the worlds.

  "Oh, sister, I knew you’d be back soon."

  At first, Portia could not tell if the voice came from the here and now or the weird tangle of memories pervading the tower. But the moment she saw him, she could not doubt that Nigel was very present.

  He looked quite different; quite alive, in fact. Squinting a moment, she could see why. Beneath his all-too-casual exterior of tweed pants, leather suspenders, and one of his annoyingly perfectly pressed dress shirts, it looked like he had swallowed a pocket watch. A circular metal object hovered in the middle of his chest, blinking. Around his waist, beneath his clothing, a belt encircled him. Leather, but studded with copper disks, and both the belt and the disk at his chest were engraved with glyphs. She recognized the hybridization of science and magic; it was what had gotten them into this mess to begin with. It bore the unmistakable mark of Lady Analise’s plotting. Portia also noticed the Lady was missing from Nigel’s garland of ghosts—in fact, he walked aura-less and empty, devoid of even Kanika’s weakened shade.

  He crossed his arms and smiled in his usual silky manner, which put Portia immediately on edge. "Did you miss me?"

  "That’s a stupid thing to say. Of course not! I came for my axe."

  "Your axe? Didn’t you leave it behind?"

  "Not by choice."

  "Well, I suppose you ought to come and get it, then." He stretched one arm out, indicating the chamber in which Imogen had been kept.

  Portia looked between him and the door. It opened with a soft creak of its hinges.

  "I’ve tried, but you sealed the damn thing to yourself and I can’t wield it."

  Ignoring him, she glanced into the room. The axe sat there, glinting on the stone floor. She took a step toward it, and Nigel fell in behind her.

  "So there’s no use for me keeping it. It does belong to you."

  Portia did not like his tone, but she turned away from him and focused on her weapon. Nigel made a quick movement toward her, but she deflected him with her wings. Something passed through the feathers, irritating them as it went. She reached out her hand and called for the axe, commanding it by the name of her own father’s soul bound inside: Zepar.

  The golden axe flew through the room, end over end, a strange and ever-present light gleaming on the crescent-moon blade and the sturdy hammerhead, as well as the twining spike that stretched from the tip. For a moment, she feared it would come to rest in her hand blade-first, but the shaft swung around and deposited itself firmly in her grip. The touch of the Nephilim-leather wrapped handle still gave her a moment’s revulsion, but she swallowed it back and turned on Nigel.

  He had his hands clasped at his waist with no obvious sign of a weapon in them. His smile told a different story.

  "Listen, we’ve gotten off to a bad start, you and I. We can make it different, Portia, we don’t have to dance to the tune they play!"

  "I think you made that decision some time ago, Nigel. And from what I remember, you are a tremendous dancer."

  He chuckled and advanced a step. Portia held her ground.

  From her hiding place on the balcony, Imogen sent Portia a vision: a carriage coming into the circus grounds. And that was not all: dim figures rose from the shadows between buildings and along the seashore. A low moan rode in on the ocean breeze.

  "What’s going on out there? What were those things trying to kill me?"

  "Kill you? Silly girl, the likes of they can’t kill you. They sought only to entertain you."

  In her double vision she saw Nigel’s smile widen as he shifted his weight; she saw the carriage coming to a stop just outside the copper line surrounding the circus. She shut her eyes for a moment, disoriented.

  Nigel sprang on her, taking advantage, but Portia sidestepped him. His spirit essence glowed through her eyelids. She thrust out her leg and caught him at the ankles, kicking his feet out from beneath him. He did not fall, but only staggered, turning away from her for a moment to protect whatever he had hidden in his shirtsleeve.

  Portia covered the distance to the door in a few lunging steps and waited for his next move. Outside, a maelstrom brewed, and even Nigel paused to listen, concern clouding his features.

  "Not yet," he murmured. "Damn it, not yet!"

  "Portia!" Imogen’s cry speared Portia’s heart with its grief and terror. "Hurry! It’s Radinka!"

  She stepped across the threshold to find Imogen half-over the railing already. Far below them, a young girl whose dark hair swirled around her solemn face stood on the small rise where Portia’s tent had once stood. Portia recognized her from the convent; yes, her name was Radinka, and she’d had a penchant for magic.

  Now, she was some sort of conduit. Behind Portia, Nigel growled and swore, pacing back and forth across the tower’s top floor.

  Whatever Nigel thought the plan was, it appears that there are other plans afoot."

  "We have to get down there, we have to save her!"

  Portia watched the blue glow spread along the copper lines half-buried along the perimeter of the circus.

  The light encircled the grounds and shot out through the rolling, grey waves. It wrapped around the base of the tower, quickly winding its way into a tight spiral up the walls.

  "Time to go." Portia scooped Imogen into her arms and leapt from the balcony, carrying them both toward an outcropping on the hillside overlooking Avernus.

  She touched down on the sun-warmed rock and watched as the glow fully engulfed the tower. The walls seemed to dissolve—at least the walls between the living world and that of the dead.

  From within the tents and trailers came the familiar faces of the circus: the roustabouts and midway barkers, her fellow sideshow freaks and Aseneth, even Halford and Quentin, all wandering the same direction: toward the tall, copper-clad obelisk situated in the center of the courtyard near her pavilion. From their vantage point, the layout was even clearer than what the circus plans had shown.

  A second wave of figures rose up out of the shadows, from the roads leading in from Capitola-by-the-Sea, from the sandy dunes along the seashore, and from the foothills below them. These figures came shakily, often stumbling. While the circus denizens had moved like sleepwalkers, these new additions shambled like the walking dead. They ringed the circle, creating a wall between those inside and escape. No one looked remotely interested in escape.

  Ringing the obelisk, they began to strip. Symbols and sigils far too familiar to Portia’s eyes painted the unclothed bodies. They writhed against one another, kissing and biting and roughly groping in a fierce orgy around the central point of Avernus. Quentin brought out his fountain pen and Halford his blue architect’s pencil. Like a well-choreographed dance, they began to write on one another. Not just a mess of symbols, but long passages and stanzas of poetry. As they inscribed the words onto one another, the letters began to glow. The illumination was subtle at first, and Portia did not think Imogen could perceive it, but soon it grew brighter. Imogen touched Portia’s wrist and pointed.

  "How do we stop this?" Portia asked.

  Imogen shook her head. "I don’t know."

  "Can we break the connection between Radinka and the circle?"

  "Not without jeopardizing her safety."

  "That’s a risk we may have to ta
ke," Portia said as they touched down just beyond the perimeter of the circle. "These people are going to be consumed!"

  When the two circus owners had covered one another entirely with words, they dropped their writing tools and fell against each other with a heaving groan. Halford wrapped his arms around the obelisk, pressing his body against it, while Quentin came at him from behind, gripping him firmly by the hipbones and driving himself deep into Halford’s body. As they rutted in the street, the shimmer of the words grew in intensity, cascading off of their skin into glittering blue lights like fireflies. The frenetic energy infected the others as they, too, began to copulate with their nearest neighbors, regardless of gender, appearance, or age.

  The glow spread out from the center of the promenade, snaking across the electric wires and through the copper embedded in the buildings and tents. Blood, tears, and the fluids of sex saturated the earth and seemed to instigate the circus denizens into more frenzied fornication. The light streamed out from contact point to contact point, creating a vast network of bluish lines that connected to the circle encompassing the circus.

  They stepped back from the encroaching glow.

  "We need to stop this," Imogen cried.

  A guttural bellow echoed across the coastline. Blue light erupted from the ground in an upward cascade of rock, paving stones, sod, tent fragments, and bits of clothing. The illumination jumped from body to body, linking them all like some grotesquely glowing necklace as they writhed, moaning, whether in terror or ecstasy, Portia could not tell.

  "This cannot end well." Portia grabbed Imogen by the waist, awkwardly keeping hold of the axe, and took off, straight up, laboring to bring them above the impending mayhem below.

  Portia looked down. Radinka was gone.

  Halford and Quentin could still be seen at the center of the courtyard, slavering and thrusting madly, Quentin into Halford and Halford into the tower’s base. Then, they both froze and threw their heads back in unison, mouths stretched wide in what might have passed for climax in any other setting. But the light was moving through them, through their bodies and into the obelisk. Their eyes rolled back and they collapsed into dust as their souls were drawn violently from them and sucked into the glowing copper. Their actions foretold the fates of the others, who roared now, fiendishly slapping and grinding their bodies together until as one they shuddered and fell to pieces, releasing their spirits.