by Mike Shevdon
“It’s strange,” I said. “Almost as if it has a life of its own.”
“We have to get out,” said Blackbird. “The house is going to go.” I could hear bangs and cracks as ancient beams warped in the heat, and the crash and whoosh as a ceiling came down or a wall gave way.
“It’s growing,” I said.
“What do you mean?” she asked me.
“It’s getting bigger. It was tiny at first, but now it has a distinct size.”
“Well make it stop,” she said. “In fact, make it disappear altogether.”
“I don’t even know what it is,” I said, coughing at the encroaching swirls of smoke. I extended my senses, looking into the light. It had an intensity that belied its size. “I’m going to try and extinguish it,” I said.
I extended my hand and the star hovered over my palm. As a creature of the void I had a sense of the space between things. If I could collapse it, then it should vanish. I subtracted the space from it, expecting it to wink out of existence. Instead it grew brighter. I tried again, and once more it grew brighter. You could see the whirls and eddies of smoke by the light it shed.
“It’s getting stronger,” said Blackbird.
I let my senses extend and gathered power from the surroundings. The room cooled and warm air rushed to take its place. I could hear the flames roar nearby as the breeze I was creating fuelled it. “Niall! What are you trying to do, fry us all?”
“I have to see it,” I explained. “It’s operating in a space of its own. I need to be able to sense the void to see what it’s made of.” I continued to draw power until everything began to fade around me. Strangely the star did not fade. In comparison to everything else it grew brighter, more dominant.
With my senses extending into the void I began to see it more clearly. Whereas it looked like a point, in the shadow world between things it was a twisted knot. It writhed and turned in on itself, turning inside out and then twisting to invert again.
“Niall! We have to get out.”
I reached into the knot with my sense of the void, pulling at one of the threads that made it. It wriggled under my gaze and inverted, gaining size and strength.
“Niall!”
“What? Give me a minute. I have to try and work this out.”
“Niall, look at your face. Look!”
I retreated from the void and found myself looking at a twisting ball of light. In the radiance it shed, I could see my hands. They were red and starting to blister. I felt my face — it stung just to touch the skin.
“It’s not hot,” I said. “It isn’t heat that’s driving it.”
“No,” said Blackbird, stepping aside from the doorway. “It’s radiation.”
“What?”
“Whatever that thing is,” she said. “It’s like you have sudden sunburn. You’re being exposed to some kind of radiation — maybe light, maybe more than that.”
“It’s a twist of space,” I said. “I keep trying to untangle it, but it reforms itself.”
“What did he say?” she asked.
“Raffmir? He said it was a parting gift, something for old times.”
“Is that a clue?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “What do I do with it? It’s getting bigger.”
“Bury it,” said Blackbird.
“Where?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter — in the wall, under the floor. Get rid of it.”
I guided it over to the fireplace where there was a solid surface, and then coaxed it down to floor level and positioned it. I found I could both pull and push it, and that it could be guided. Using my hand I pushed it downwards into the hearthstone. It flared angrily, pulsing out white flashes of light. Each time, my sight was blurred from the intensity.
“Stop! It’s not helping,” called Blackbird.
“There’s a hole in the stone,” I called to her. “I think it’s eaten into it.” It was also noticeably larger.
“Anything that can be made with magic, can be undone with magic,” said Blackbird.
“If it were made of magic,” I said, “wouldn’t it have died with Raffmir?”
Now it was pulsing, absorbing energy from the house, the fire — I just didn’t know. I could feel the skin on my hands burning in the scintillating light. With my void-sight I could see that the tangle had accelerated; it was twisting, turning, inverting and re-ravelling faster now.
“I have to get it away,” I said.
“Where to?” said Blackbird. “If it eats through anything it’s in contact with, what will you put it in? Where will you take it?”
“Is there some sort of nuclear shelter? Maybe glass will hold it?”
“It needs to be somewhere away from anything else.” I could hear the panic in her voice. “Niall, the walls are smoking, and it’s not the fire.”
I already knew. My sight was failing me. I could no longer see with my eyes. They had been burned away with the intensity of the light. Only with the void-sight could I sense the malignant tangle. Whatever Raffmir had done, it was his way of denying us the future we had fought for. My mind raced, trying to think of somewhere it could go, something that would contain it. Soon the house would collapse and bury it, which would only make it bigger and harder to contain. Even if I managed to get it out of the house, it would continue to grow unless I could find some way of undoing it. But then, if I released it, where would all the energy it contained go?
Then I knew what had to be done. I knew of one place where it could go where the harm it could create would be limited. I understood at last what Kareesh and Angela had meant. Finally, it all made sense.
“Blackbird?”
“Yes, Niall?”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“About what? What are you sorry about?”
“Look after the children. I love you.”
“What? What are you doing?”
I embraced the tangle. There was a white flash greater than anything I’ve ever seen. It filled me with a burning intensity that surpassed anything I’d ever know.
So much brightness.
TWENTY-FOUR
The sky lightened out in the east. Blackbird stood on the grass, watching the smouldering, smoking remains of the house as it crumbled in on itself. Only the chimneys had survived, the blackened rickety columns rising out of the ashes. Her face was smeared with soot, her clothes charred black, and she stank of smoke. Beside her a man stood in the growing dawn light. In uniform, Secretary Carler looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if taking the place of someone else. The insignia on his arm gave it away, though. A shield with six horseshoes.
“We seek your assurance that the danger has been contained, Lady. I’ll need to report to the proper authorities,” said Secretary Carler.
“Don’t call me that,” she said. “My name is Blackbird. It’s as good a name as any I’ve had and will serve me well enough. I didn’t ask for this.”
“The survivors are looking to you,” said Carler. “They need reassurance.”
“I’m not in a position to reassure anyone,” said Blackbird. “You call us survivors, and that’s all we are. Simply those who remain.”
“Nevertheless,” said Carler. “I would like to be able to reassure the minister that the danger has passed.”
“It’s gone. So has Niall. That’s all I know,” she said. “If I knew any more, I would tell you.”
A soldier in similar uniform trotted up, saluting smartly at Secretary Carler, hesitated and saluted Blackbird as well. She sighed. “Sir, the fire is contained and as far as we can ascertain the hostiles have been eliminated. Some may have escaped — it’s impossible to say. Lord Mellion is evacuating the survivors through the portal in the woods.”
“They’re called Ways,” sad Blackbird.
“Yes, Ma’am,” said the soldier.
“Assemble the men,” said Secretary Carler. “Get them back on board the chopper. You can allow the fire service in now, I think. They’ll want to make it sa
fe. I expect they’ll pull down the chimneys.”
“What about any remains within the building, Sir?” asked the soldier.
“There was at least one human body in the house,” said Blackbird. “We would like the remains recovered if possible. There should be a funeral, or at least a memorial.”
“In a fire like that, Lady, the chances of recovery are small. The entire building collapsed,” said Carler. “The heat…”
“His name was Big Dave,” said Blackbird, “and there are those who will grieve his loss.” She glanced towards Lesley who stood apart, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, holding William.
“I will see what can be done,” said Secretary Carler. “Perhaps a symbolic gesture — some ashes from the fire.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “There should be something.”
The soldier saluted and trotted away again.
“You understand that it was not within our remit to intervene in matters internal to the Feyre,” said Secretary Carler.
“If the night had not gone as it did,” said Blackbird, “this morning’s prospect would be somewhat different for all of us.”
“I think you can hear the truth in my words, Lady, when I say that we had contingencies for that, but none of them were prospects I was looking forward to.”
“Let’s not mince words, Secretary,” said Blackbird with some bitterness. “You let us take the brunt, and only became involved when it looked like we would prevail.”
“The treaty-”
“The treaty is with the High Court of the Feyre, a body which I think you will find no longer exists. You chose your battle and your losses are light as a consequence. Ours are not.”
“The treaty has held for almost a thousand years, Lady. We regard it as a treaty with the Feyre, rather than with the High Court.”
“I can’t speak for the Feyre.” said Blackbird. “I only speak for myself.”
“What about the gifted?” said Carler. “What about the people who have yet to emerge, those whose gifts are still dormant?”
“You could have helped us,” said Blackbird. “Instead you chose to stand on the sidelines.”
“I have my orders, Lady,” he reminded her.
“And yet the choices we make are what defines us,” she said. “We are no longer the Eighth Court for that would imply there were seven others, and after tonight I’m not even sure we can muster one, never mind eight.”
“Lord Mellion-”
“Has his own concerns, though without his help we would have been truly lost. I will speak with him, Secretary, but not now. We need time.”
“Of course,” said the secretary.
“He’s out there somewhere,” said Blackbird.
“Who?” asked Carler.
“Niall. I can feel it in my bones. He did something. He’s not stupid — blindly loyal, impetuous, brave to the point of recklessness, but not stupid. He found a way…”
“Let’s hope so, Lady. He did say when we last met that he would arrange for the return of certain journals to the National Archive,” he said.
“Did he? What journals?”
“I think you know the journals I am referring to. They were taken after the incident with Ms Radisson in the National Archive. Is that something you’ll be able to help me with?”
“The fire has destroyed much,” said Blackbird. “It will be some time before we know the extent of the damage.”
“I see,” said Carler. “We are hoping that a new clerk may be appointed, along with the new Remembrancer.”
“You’re intending to continue with the ceremony?” asked Blackbird. “To what purpose? The wraithkin are here, what’s left of them,” she pointed out.
“The ceremony has always continued, Lady. No matter what. The journal will be useful for the new clerk. He or she will need to familiarise themselves with certain protocols and practices.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Blackbird, “but I make no promises.”
“We would consider it an act of good faith,” said Carler.
“Is that so?” said Blackbird.
“With your permission, Lady?” Secretary Carler indicated the waiting helicopter.
Blackbird nodded as the engines of the helicopter whined into life and the noise from the rotors drowned out any further opportunity for comment. Secretary Carler saluted, and withdrew, climbing into the helicopter after his men. Blackbird moved back to where Lesley held William, who reached for Blackbird so that she took him from Lesley. He stared with wide eyes as the aircraft lifted into the air, buffeting them with the downdraft, turned, and climbed away into the sky.
“Mellion said he’d wait for you at the Ways,” said Lesley, after the thudding of the rotors had faded to a distant beat.
“Tate will ask Mullbrook to send a car,” said Blackbird. “I’ll travel back with you.”
“You don’t have to,” said Lesley. “I can manage.” She looked pale and sick.
“It’ll give me time to think,” said Blackbird. “We can return to the High Court, or what’s left of it. There’s no one to gainsay us now.”
“What about Niall?” asked Lesley.
“He’s not here,” said Blackbird. “Wherever he is, he’s not here.”
They walked slowly together back towards the drive, away from the smouldering ruins.
“Blackbird, look! You have to see this.” Alex burst into the room, holding a laptop computer.
“Do we not knock any more?” asked Blackbird. She was changing, again. Somehow the smell of smoke lingered no matter how much she showered and changed clothes. It was in her skin, in her hair.
“It happened yesterday. They say it’s a rare event — something special,” she said. Alex went to the bed and rested the computer on the covers.
Blackbird pulled a soft cotton top over her head and went to see what Alex had found. On the laptop was a news website with images of a blurry star. “I don’t understand the significance,” said Blackbird. “Why are we looking at this?”
“It’s a nova,” said Alex. “An exploding star. It was first seen yesterday about the same time that Dad did… whatever it was. This could be it,” said Alex.
“It’s not your father’s doing,” said Blackbird quietly.
“You don’t know,” said Alex. “It could be…”
“A nova is an exploding star, but the light takes centuries to travel the distance to earth so that we can see it. Look, the rest of the article explains. This happened thousands of years ago.”
“It might still be the same,” said Alex. “We don’t know what Dad might have done…” said Alex.
“It’s not him, Alex. I’m sorry.”
“Fine,” said Alex. “Fine! If you don’t want to believe in him then you don’t have to. But I know! I just know, OK!” she slammed the laptop’s lid shut, picked it up and threw it at the wall. It bounced and tumbled sideways, landing on the carpet. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Blackbird could hear doors banging as she retreated.
Blackbird went to the laptop and retrieved it from the floor. She took it to the desk and opened it, finding the screen cracked, but the blurry image of the star still imprinted there.
“I want to believe,” Blackbird said quietly. “I really do.”
Against the light inside me, the dark was a cool balm. I pressed the back of my bare feet into the black sand, feeling the sharp grains under my heels. My fingers brushed the surface of the beach, the gritty feel of wet sand under my hand was a welcome sensation. The rhythmic crump and sigh of the waves were a relief. There had been noise and chaos, but I couldn’t remember what had caused it. My memories had been scoured clean. The utter blackness above was soothing to my eyes. All was calm. I felt my chest rise and fall with each breath, and heard my slow heartbeat echoing the thump of the waves.
I closed my eyes again and tried again to look inwards, only to find the glaring brightness coiling inside me. Every time I tried to remember who I was, where I was, w
hy I was here, all I could see was searing light. It twisted and turned, trapped writhing within me. If I could let it out — eject it from inside of me, then I could be free, but every time I turned inwards I was forced away by the brightness there.
There was something — a memory or a dream. There had been a fire. I could smell the smoke on my clothes and feel the rawness where the heat had caught my skin. That didn’t explain the light inside me, though. How did the fire get inside me?
“Cousin. I wondered if I would find you here.”
I opened my eyes. Standing above me was a man I felt I ought to recognise. He wore a long coat and his features reminded me of someone I knew. I could see him illuminated against the sky until I looked away. I looked back and the light found him again. I was seeing him in the glare from my eyes. Somehow the light was escaping from inside me.
“Who?” I asked.
He sighed and then looked out towards the horizon. “Ah,” he said. “So that’s what you did with it.”
“Do I know you?” I asked. His voice was familiar.
“I’m not sure that you ever did,” he said, “and now you probably never will.”
“Where are we?”
“These are the shores of night. This is the last place you will ever be.” He looked around, as if enjoying the view.
“Why am I here?”
“A fine question, though the answer is probably not to your liking.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
“I’m here because I let my judgement get the better of me. I let sentiment come before purpose, and I got lost in the play and got careless. You learn fast, do you know that?”
“I’m having difficulty even remembering my name,” I said. “Do you know my name?”
“Yes, Niall. I know your name,” he said.
His use of my name brought other things back. “You’re… Raffmir,” I said. “And we are not friends.”
“Not friends, no.” He agreed. “But we have a deal in common. Come,” he said offering his hand.
