The Tower of the Forgotten

by Sara M. Harvey

  Radinka sighed and blessed herself. "Keep him safe," she whispered.

  Portia gave her a moment before leading them into the passage Kitty had indicated. The long, industrial corridor sloped upward, then joined with a stairwell at a sharp angle.

  Onward and upward." Portia and Imogen kept Radinka between them, even though the stairs were plenty wide to let the three of them nearly walk abreast. The dimness subsided little by little as they climbed, although the growl of the engine below was near-constant. The stair rose steadily in a series of right angles. Occasionally, a landing would appear with a door or another corridor leading off into darkness. Portia leaned into one or another, letting the glow of her axe illuminate these hallways or, most often, some kind of empty storage room.

  After several flights of steps, the walls took on a slight shimmer, as if they had begun to enter the tower proper. At least Portia hoped that was what it meant.

  Does any of this look familiar to you?" she asked Imogen.

  Imogen shook her head. "The maidens never came down here. I didn’t even know these levels existed. I doubt even Celestine knew."

  "Celestine knew more than she let on." Portia scanned for any presence of the woman, but there was none. Which was a good thing, really. Portia had been careful to take her power but not consume her soul.

  "But I think we are going the right way."

  "Why is that?"

  "Because with every step I take, the terror looms larger and stronger inside of me."

  Portia stopped and turned to her. "Why?"

  But it was Radinka who answered. "Because Alaric has the Lord of Fire with him."

  "The who of what now?"

  "The Lord of Fire. That’s what he likes to be called. His name is Adramelech. He’s a soul-bound demon prince that serves Alaric, and he isn’t too happy about it."

  Portia glanced at Imogen, who had gone frighteningly pale. "That’s the one, the one you told me about. The one that killed you."

  She nodded. "He was blessed with every charm imaginable to make sure you failed against him."

  "Good thing I’m not me anymore, isn’t it?"

  They advanced another flight and encountered the faint odor of brimstone. Portia inhaled, testing the scent. It was strong, more sulphurous and salty than the smell of a fiend. Although the odor was dilute, that had more to do with distance than strength. Even at this low concentration, Portia knew what they would find was truly a powerful creature, possibly on par with Belial. If not stronger.

  She was wondering just how Alaric had come into such a pact when a gasp from Imogen let her know they had arrived at their destination.

  The steps continued up, no doubt joining with the elaborate spiral stair that climbed the interior walls of the tower. But at this landing a door waited, ajar. They could see wisps of brimstone smoke curling around the jamb like the threshold of an opium den. Imogen wavered on her feet, and Portia wrapped one wing around her.

  "My love, I don’t want you anywhere near this creature. I don’t want him to even know you’re alive, much less here. You and Radinka keep going up, at least until you reach the main floor of the tower. See if you can find any weapons, or anything that would be useful. I have a feeling this isn’t going to come to an easy end."

  "I’m not a coward."

  "Of course not—don’t be ridiculous. You are also not bait, and I don’t intend to use you to distract the Lord of Flames."

  "Lord of Fire," Radinka corrected.

  "Whatever," Portia said. "Do you think you two can scout a little for me?"

  Imogen frowned. "I am not afraid for myself."

  "And you shouldn’t be afraid for me, so that just leaves Radinka."

  "Very well. I’ll get her out of harm’s way."

  "Keep in touch." Portia touched her fingertip to her forehead, then gently caressed Imogen’s lips. "I won’t be far behind you. I just need to get a look at what we’re dealing with."

  They nodded and continued up. Portia waited until they were to the next landing, then she gently pushed open the smoke-wreathed door.

  —8—

  A SHORT ENTRY HALL OPENED onto a room that had once been some sort of library or study. Whatever it had been, Alaric had converted it into his personal base of operations. Elegantly paneled walls had been covered with pages torn from books, brittle scrolls, and colorful maps all tacked up in a frenzied manner that reminded Portia of the bedrooms of the younger students at Penemue. He paced the windowless room, obviously agitated, occasionally throwing glances at the ceiling as if by his will alone he could pierce the stonework and see what went on above.

  The stench of sulphur and smoke permeated the room, rising from a figure standing at its center, cloaked in formless black clouds that flickered with lightning the color of blood.

  The King of Fire, Kitty had said. Indeed, there was no better descriptor of the thing that stood there like the living embodiment of an inferno.

  "He’ll have no more of me?" Alaric barked. "Those were his precise words?"

  The answer came in a low rumble. "Precise enough. The message was clear. You are not wanted."

  "How interesting!" Alaric rolled something from one hand to the other as he paced, something small and glowing, like a pearl. "Did you hear that, my dear?" The little shimmering sphere did not reply.

  "This gamble, the stakes grow higher each day. Allies become enemies. You are unpopular; you will be betrayed by your fellows."

  "Spouting prophesy, Adramelech, or is this just more of your pessimistic bellyaching?"

  "Listen to me!" The room blazed with flickering firelight, and Portia covered her face with the tip of one wing, trying not to choke on the fumes. "I pledged myself to you, Alaric Regalii. You had such promises, then. And what have I to show for it? I killed an angel’s daughter. Belial is dead and I do not serve in her place. Zepar is confined to a mighty weapon, yet I do not hold it in my hands." The floor shuddered as the demon moved, coming around an end table to loom over Alaric.

  A ghastly thing, it seemed to be putting on a show for Alaric, with its flesh as black as tar and smoking with oily blue vapors. Flames leapt at its fingertips and down its spine. Its wings, tattered flesh the color of clotted blood, glowed like embers and cast crazed shadows around the room. Portia marveled at the demon. Where Belial had cast herself as a beautiful queen, this creature seemed to revel in its own hideousness.

  "Your little witchling grows restive, Alaric. Analise’s creations do not serve you. Not the witch nor the undying golden one." The demon’s massive head tilted for a moment as if it was listening for something, but it continued. "Your dark prince betrays you; he wants the power for his own. He rules the tower, he controls the machine. The oaths he swore mean nothing to him. He has nothing to lose and so he risks all."

  "They will serve me!" Alaric slammed his fist into a nearby desktop, the glowing pearl vanishing into his trembling grip. "I have set upon Nigel a geas the like of which controls you. He shall bend to my will — there is no other choice! Those oaths shall bind him, and Portia’s heart will betray her. She is the easiest of all to manipulate, fed so long on the sweet poisons of honor and true love. She will kneel before me and she will be grateful to carry out my wishes!"

  Alaric sounded neither convincing nor convinced.

  Adramelech growled. "I was a fool to listen to you."

  "You’re all fools, every last one of you. From Lucifer on down. Every time someone promises you absolute power, you all take leave of your senses and try whatever scheme is presented to you. It is a weakness I exploit. And I take great joy in it."

  The demon rumbled again but did not disagree.

  Alaric opened his palm to toy with the sphere once more. "She is Nigel’s echo, his reflection. We can trap him using her." He smiled, smugly.

  Adramelech crouched, resting his thickly muscled buttocks on his heels. "Simple, maybe." He turned his head again, glancing at the door. Portia froze. Once could be a coincidence, but twice? He knew sh
e hid there; he must sense her. "But you have opposition. The Gyony girl, you underestimate her."

  "That, my pet, is where you are wrong. I know a secret about Portia. One that will make it quite simple for you to defeat her when the time comes."

  The demon muttered something, and Alaric laughed.

  "You are correct. She is much stronger now, and it will be more difficult than before. But when I render her as weak and docile as a newborn pup, you will find her as easy to dispatch as her ginger-haired lover. Who is back among the living, did I tell you?"

  "I noticed."

  "And a fine specimen for study, if I do say so myself. One of the convent’s original brood. Back before we knew anything about them. She was born in the days of the first great queen. I have longed to study her, but Analise thought it best to send her off to Penemue. There’ll be time when all this is finished." His voice rose in pitch and he mocked Analise’s drawling accent. "And where did we end up? With the ginger-haired girl cut in two, her soul remaining with Portia and her body in a display case. She was supposed to die!" He threw up his hands. "She never ended up being any use to me! But now, now I have her and Portia and all the time in the world, except Nigel decides now is the time to act the spoiled brat!" Down came the fist again.

  The demon rested his forearms on his knees. "This is a truly fascinating tale."

  Alaric took a long, slow breath, controlling his temper. "You’ll mind your tongue with me. We have a long night of preparations ahead of us." He stood and jounced the pearl of light from one palm to the other. "Between this girl and the mechanic, we’ll have Nigel broken by tea time tomorrow. Come along."

  He pushed aside a faded tapestry and slipped through an arched opening. Adramelech followed, leaving smoldering footsteps in his wake. He stepped into the passage, but not before leveling a steely gaze directly at Portia. He said nothing, only shut the chamber’s door behind him.

  Portia waited, but neither of them returned. She backed out of Alaric’s study and ran soundlessly up the stairs, hoping to catch up with Imogen and Radinka before they encountered Nigel.

  She found Radinka in the large salon on the main floor, peering out into the hazy lavender clouds drifting across the inky sea below them. A small scab of land clung to the edges of the tower, like soil crusted around the shaft of a carrot recently pulled from the ground.

  "Where’s Imogen?"

  "She went up." Radinka pointed at the spiral staircase. "She told me to stay and keep watch."

  Portia nodded, shoving her panic behind a resolute mask. "Very good," was all she said before heading up the staircase, taking care not to run until she was out of Radinka’s sight.

  Up and up and up, she spiraled higher within the opalescent walls until she came upon the topmost floor. The stairs familiarly opened up onto the large central room, but this time Portia had no backup. She also had not quite the danger facing her, or at least she hoped not. The room stood as empty as it had before, with only a few lingering veils and the stain of blood on the pale floor.

  "Nigel!"

  He strolled in from the balcony, a bemused smile on his face. "I knew you’d be along, directly. So the gang’s all here, everyone working on their own thread in this particular tapestry. You know, you all might have gotten somewhere had you worked together."

  She bit back the urge to slice him in half right then and there and be done with it. He was still too useful. For the present. "You speak as if it is already over. It hasn’t even begun."

  "Shows what you know. This machine has all the fuel it needs and the circle has been cast. When the moon rises, all will be ready. It’s as good as done, don’t you see? Nothing can stop it now."

  "What will you do then?"

  Nigel glanced at her and smiled. "Rule."

  "Easy for you to say. But how will you accomplish that? Alaric is not the only one who will stand in your way."

  He shrugged. "When an avalanche comes, you might be able to save a family, even a village, but you cannot stop the onslaught, you can only hope to redirect it. Once something like this begins, all you can do is enjoy the ride or get out of the way. And trust me, sister, the avalanche has already begun. Not even you can stop it."

  "Not even if it was the very reason I was born?"

  Nigel laughed. "Portia, you weren’t born to stop this. You were born to cause it. And you have. Magnificently, at that. None of this would be happening had it not been for you."

  "You seem awfully sure of yourself."

  "Aren’t you worried about Imogen?"

  "Should I be? Have you harmed her? Again?"

  He touched his chin in mocking disbelief. "How can you say that? I preserved her, soul and body, and this is the treatment I get?"

  Portia shook her head and turned away from him, noticing the door to the other chamber was closed. Imogen had once waited for her there.

  Nigel caught her arm. "Wait."

  There was a timbre in his voice she had never heard before. It almost sounded like fear.

  "Yes?"

  "This game runs deep. Deeper than even I knew. Take care whom you trust, including her."

  Portia laughed, harshly. "So says the man who engenders so much trustworthiness."

  He chewed his lip. "We aren’t so different, really. You know that, don’t you? We’re both the model of our father." He nodded at the axe. "Bold, ambitious, foolhardy."

  "I’m not buying it."

  "I don’t want to hurt you, Portia. It’s Alaric I’m after. And you want to stop him too, I know. We both want the same thing!"

  "In a small way. You still want to destroy humanity, Alaric or no Alaric."

  "Not destroy it, what good would that do me? I’d have no one to rule!"

  Portia stepped away from him and went to the door.

  "Wait," he said, again.

  "Now I know you’re just trying to distract me. Knock it off."

  What waited within chilled her.

  Imogen had unbuttoned her blouse and was in the process of covering her chest and arms in sigils. She did not turn when Portia approached, but she did stop her painting.

  "Damn Nigel, he can’t be counted on for anything, can he?" Imogen did not look up.

  "Whatever you are planning," Portia said, "you can just put a stop to it right now."

  Imogen folded her hands in her lap. Her right index finger welled up blood from the spot where she had pricked it, and it dripped onto her skirt. "Portia—"

  "No."

  "You don’t even know what I’m doing."

  "Yes, I do. I can hear your thoughts too clearly, even though you’re trying to keep them from me." She ran her fingertips along Imogen’s collarbone. "I know what these are supposed to do. They are supposed to destroy the machine and seal the veil."

  "And I can feel the faith you have in Kitty, but she can’t stop what has already begun."

  "And why is Nigel helping you?"

  "I’d hardly say he was helping me. He just thinks to get his way by dividing us."

  "Well, he is right on one count. I cannot allow you to do this."

  "So, only you can ponder noble self sacrifice?"

  "That isn’t what I meant."

  "Portia." She looked up then, her multicolored irises glinting in the dim light. "The chance of any of us getting out of this alive is so very slight. We might as well use our deaths to save everyone else, don’t you think?"

  "It doesn’t have to be like that! We can find a way to solve this and get everyone out of here."

  Imogen grasped her hand and brought Portia near enough to kiss. "My idealistic sweetheart, how I do so love you."

  "Together, then. Whatever we plan, we both live or we both die."

  "The world still needs you, Portia."

  "And I need you."

  Imogen sighed. "All right."

  "Promise?"

  "I’ll do what I can."

  Portia nearly laughed. "You sound like me now."

  "What did you find out?"


  Portia crouched beside her. "They are all at cross-purposes. Even the demon grows restive. Each seems to think that they can outsmart the others in this scheme."

  "We should include ourselves in that—the thinking we can outsmart everyone else aspect, anyway."

  "Yes, but we are all on the same page, mostly." She eyed Imogen’s bloody markings. "Have you done enough of that for now? We should not leave Nigel to his own doings out there for long."

  Imogen nodded and buttoned her blouse again, smearing almost-dried blood across the fabric. In the main room, Nigel had once more disappeared from view. They found him on the floor below, gazing out a window.

  What they saw had once been a garden, hidden safe and beautiful in the center of Salus, one of the cities of the dead. But before them stretched out a landscape made of interlocking cogs and wheels, some metal, some stone, and some looking frightfully like bone. The rhythmic grinding sounded like both heartbeat and respiration, and they could see the faint glow racing up the tower’s walls above them like a pulse.

  It quickened, incrementally, almost too subtle to notice as it happened. The gleaming lights flooded the dark sky above. Not just dark, but blank, Portia realized. There, in the margins of the worlds, she could see familiar constellations above her—the archer, the great bear, the dragon—as if viewing them through a sheer mesh fabric, but she could also see the strange shifting sky lights of Salus, borealis-like and as fitful as lightning. They overlaid one another in places where the two worlds met. But gaps in the barrier were forming, tearing at the edges of the great rent that the tower had made for itself.

  The tower shuddered and Nigel frowned. "You wouldn’t be interfering with the plan, would you, Portia?"

  He turned and she saw, too late, the black stiletto in his hand, the same one Imogen had concealed in her flesh and used to divide Nigel from Kanika.

  He looked at her then, frankly and directly, gazing straight into her eyes. It was something, Portia realized, that she did not think he had ever done before. Nigel’s interactions were primarily of the sidelong variety, the not-quite-making-eye-contact sort that drove Portia and everyone else in Penemue mad. Nigel always comported himself like a liar, and this sudden, honest connection stilled her tongue in her mouth.