There were those in the enemy ranks that wore clothes of this time but there were others dressed in clothes from earlier times. History was alive before Shiel’s eyes. He saw faces, old and young, armies, young and old, stretch out to the eastern frontier. They should be at rest, their bones in the ground, their spirits at peace, instead they were being used as meat to overcome the living.
Anger rose in his throat, which was good, it would help give him an edge; to open the bridge between worlds; the slipworld joining he and his fellow mages had been working on these last years. This would be the proving ground, the culmination of all their work, of his work, his vision.
They had minor successes early on, small glimpses of what could be, what was on the edge of possibility. A slow process, blood and death along the way. But then he had found the imperfection that had shown the way. He had found the way, followed the light, discovered the thread that would unravel the illusion of reality between the two worlds.
Shiel’s chest swelled with pride - He had discovered how to tear the fabric of reality.
Everyone was obsessed with time, always time; conquering time, reclaiming time, owning time. They had missed the point, time was too obvious, a distraction. The real frontier was to tear the wall of reality apart, access the other worlds, other dimensions. The possibilities were limitless.
Shiel brought himself back to the present and focused on his anger, nurturing it, feeding it with hatred and hunger. The flame responded and answered his call. He reached out with his mind, arms open, searching, out there, amongst the seething mass of undead flesh.
He would find one, the one that knew, the one who had paid attention and remembered the faintest tang of birth or death, for it was at the moment of birth and death that reality was suspended, disbelief banished and truth exposed.
Unseeing eyes saw the truth at the moment of entering and the moment of leaving life. From that connection he would find the thread leading to the tear that would shred reality, opening the door between worlds.
The door to the kingdom of New York.
Come to me, come to me, come to me. I know you are there, equally cursed and blessed. I can feel you, see your footsteps, hear your breathing, smell your flesh. Come to me child, mother, father, son, brother, daughter, you are there, here I am… find me. Reach out from the grave, take my hand, we have all the time in the world.
Shiel’s eyes rolled back into their sockets, the soldiers guarding him backed away, fear on their faces. His arms shook wildly, he rose up, his feet leaving the battlements, he hung suspended, a green glow surrounding his body.
Without warning his body jerked, air crackled, his hair burst into flame. Shiel’s right arm jerked forwards, a bony finger pointed at the massed undead.
Found you! Found you, lost one. Yes, there you are, in the solitude of death, I see your life, I feel your death, how they used you and threw your body away. Come to me, together we can open the bridge between worlds.
Shiel shuddered, his mouth opened, spittle dribbled down his chin. The rest of his words lost meaning but his throat still gurgled, unintelligible, meaningless. Except, he knew exactly what he was saying; he spoke the language of the undead. A dust storm of ash and gravel burst forth from his mouth.
He conversed with the dead woman who remembered the briefest moment of her passing. The thread that joined life to death, the truth of reality. He took her memory and followed it, mind outstretched, feeling the way.
He found the thread and pulled. He wept as he witnessed the beauty of the tear; the tear that would open reality and throw a bridge between New Haven and New York.
The soldiers on the battlements witnessed it, the king and his generals witnessed it, as did the undead host. A great rent opened up beneath the enemy extending through the city walls into the heart of New Haven. Darkness dwelt within the tear, a terrible cold sucked warmth from the surrounding air. Men’s breath frosted along the wall, birds fell from the sky.
Two worlds started reaching for one another. Enemy ranks buckled, distorting. Faces shimmered and twisted, spines snapped, eyes popped. Flesh sizzled, blistering, skin turned to ash. The black rent turned on itself, sucking in those around it, friend and foe.
The screaming began.
Screams rose from the dry throats of the undead and the moist throats of the living. Sanity left those on the walls as they were sucked into the dark defile; the opening between worlds.
The bridge between New Haven and New York.
~
Jack felt it.
Halvdan felt it.
They felt the opening between worlds like a shadow falling across their graves, they saw their old lives, real, vivid again, memories flooded through them. The draw from the old world was strong.
Halvdan felt the pull and responded. The defile sucked him in, he vanished in the blink of an eye, within sight of New Haven’s northern gate.
Far away, Jack fell to his knees on the island; Sabine, Raven and Tig at his side. He cried out, a deep, lost sound.
“What’s wrong Jack?” Sabine shouted, torn from her sleep.
“Sorcery!” Raven hissed, her eyes shining in the starlight.
Tig woke with a start and looked at Jack wide eyed. Sabine reached out touching Jack’s arm, he felt cold. His image faded, he became translucent, a shadow. Sabine shivered, something was stealing her friend away.
Sabine screamed. She would not let this happen without a fight, she held Jack, raising her voice to the sky, “Stay, stay, don’t leave us!”
Raven grabbed Jack, her voice joining her sister’s. “If you take him you will have to take me. Stay Jack, stay, don’t leave us!”
Tig snapped out of shock and added his voice. He shouted, jumping onto Jack’s back knocking him to the ground.
The spell was broken, Jack’s outline reformed, his past life released its grip on him. His eyes fluttered, his breathing became ragged and he passed out.
“What just happened?” Sabine asked, cradling Jack’s head.
“His old life came calling, a door opened, didn’t you feel it?” Raven whispered.
Tig looked at the sisters. “It’s magic isn’t it? Didn’t you smell it? That’s the smell that comes from the Mage School. Someone’s cooked up one hell of a spell, it had Jack’s name on it. Except he wasn’t going to answer it, we held him back.”
They looked at Tig, his words made sense. Sabine stared at Tig. “What do you know? Tell us, it’s important Tig. We need to know.”
“I’m not sure, I don’t know. I didn’t see anything.”
“But you know something, you heard something,” Sabine persisted.
“I… well. I was in the library, hiding. I was going to steal that scroll, a beast scroll. Fingers sent me, I heard two mages talking, they were planning something big. I only caught a few words… something about opening up a place called New York. Something about a bridge.”
Raven pounced on Tig’s words. “New York? They said New York?”
Tig nodded his head earnestly. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what they said. Fingers taught us to remember what rich people said. Fingers said stolen words often led to wealth.”
“New York is Jack’s home.” Raven said. “He told me the night he arrived. He had the fever but he definitely said New York.”
“It has to be the mages, or… necromancers.” A look of unease crept across Sabine’s face. “They’re up to something. Something bad. Reglis must have given the mages free reign.”
Raven held her sister’s shoulder. “Time is short, we need to find this Clovenstone and soon.”
Jack groaned and lifted his head. “What happened? My head’s aching, my bones ache, I ache.”
“You passed out Jack. How are you feeling?” Sabine asked.
Jack shook his head. “Weird, but ok, I think.”
Tig’s voice piped up, “I remember something else! One of the mages said he was going to banish the undead army… to this New York.” Tig’s eyes flashed with pride as he pa
rted with this information.
Jack looked at Tig in horror. “They think they’re destroying an enemy but they’ll be opening a door to the enemy that’s destroyed my world. They’ll let in a disease so virulent it’ll destroy this world in a heartbeat. They don’t know what they’re doing. The infection will jump from my world to yours and destroy … everything.”
Jack paused.
He looked at Sabine and Raven. “The infected are mindless, they’ll not stop, after defeating the undead here they’ll fight everything else, they’ll bleed your world dry.”
Tig shrugged. “Fight fire with fire. Isn’t that good?”
~
Halvdan saw the New York skyline rising over the trees of Central Park.
He was back in the real world, back in his living hell. He looked down and sighed with relief, he still had the use of his legs, that part, at least, remained.
He looked round and saw he was alone. The park was deserted, overhead a flock of birds flew south. His heart quickened, something was wrong with the city, it was too quiet.
He had a bad feeling and started to walk. He had to know more.
Chapter 35: The Fall of Leerma
Thomas watched transfixed as the afternoon wore on.
He thought Leerma would hold out for a few days. In the end it held for just under three hours. The undead were too many for the town’s remaining garrison. He watched in horror as the enemy pressed in along the town’s walls and gate. No matter how much oil, flame and steel the defenders threw at the invaders they kept coming, kept pressing on the gates.
In the end the gates gave way. A tide of death spread through the town in minutes. All were put to the sword and the buildings set alight. Once the destruction was complete the enemy left, marching back over the coastal plain, south toward the city state that was New Haven.
Thomas was bereft, tears stained his face. He had been so close to Liliana and his girls. They were within those walls, he was less than three miles away when their lives had been taken. He wished he had died with them. They were alone in death, now he was alone in life.
Steely resolve rose within him. He had to see their bodies, their faces one last time, to accept, to know. He had to have that at least, to carry that memory with him to his grave. He waited hours, watching the estuary. Slowly, the waters became restless and started to withdraw. The endless pull of the tide worked its magic, soon he was striding across the mudflats to the now dead port of Leerma.
Thomas reached the broken gates and gagged, the stench was overpowering. The smell of blood and death lay everywhere. It always came to this in the end. Why? He closed his mind as he stepped over the bodies. Buildings were still burning, the sky would be well lit that night. His feet crunched on glass and broken blades. He wandered aimlessly through the streets, numb, trying to think.
Where would Rurik have taken them? Where would Rurik have found work?
The docks.
Thomas swung round and headed down the hill towards the harbour and the restless sea. His eyes scanned buildings, every detail. The destruction was complete, every house burning. He reached the harbour and walked to the end of the pier. He sat down and looked back at the town his eyes red and swollen. He stared, he felt empty, his heart numb.
He stayed like that for an hour, an hour of desperation and loss. An hour, the like of which, he had never experienced before.
Then he turned away from Leerma and looked out to sea, to the west. A dark idea formed in his mind, if he could not be with his beloved family in this life then he would join them in death. He would kill himself and cross to the otherside.
He stood at the end of the pier and looked into the murky depths of the churning waters below. The sea was blood-stained, the lifeblood of Leerma was bleeding away, leaving the heart of the town, returning to the ocean.
Thomas, Jarl of Elverium would end his life here, on this day and join with all those who had perished; he would join his wife and daughters on the otherside. He looked up to make his peace with Falinor.
He froze.
A boat was approaching the harbour. A man and boy aboard a small craft with sail and oars. They were making progress against the tide, they knew the waters.
Thomas forgot his intention and waved his arms at the boat. “Hello! Hello there!” The man saw him and nodded to the boy, who took down the sail, they rowed the last stretch of water into the harbour.
“Is it safe?” the man shouted at Thomas.
“Only the dead here now,” Thomas answered.
The man tied his boat to the harbour and climbed the steps to reach Thomas. He eyed Thomas suspiciously. “Who might you be? I don’t recognise you, your clothes aren’t from these parts.”
The boy came up behind Thomas his hand resting on his fisherman’s knife.
“I might ask you the same,” Thomas answered. “But my name is Thomas of Elverium. I’ve come in search of my wife and two daughters, they were staying here in Leerma with a friend, a man called Rurik. Perhaps you knew them?”
The fisherman’s face changed. “I knew a man who worked the docks, an outsider, yes, his name was Rurik. But he left on the exile ship for the Crosswind Isles not three days ago with some of the other townsfolk. They should be there by now, weather permitting.” He looked over Thomas’s shoulder at the burning town. “I saw the town was going to fall, I had to save my boy, we put to sea and watched. Just watched as they took the life from her.” Tears spilled down the man’s face.
Thomas turned and looked at the boy standing beside him, no more than thirteen or fourteen, his eyes were a lot older. Thomas nodded at the boy, his hand fell away from the knife at his belt. The boy’s face remained impassive.
“At least you have your boy. I’m looking for my wife and girls. I thought they were dead, back there somewhere.” He gestured with his hand at the burning town. “But now old man, you have given me hope. If Rurik was on the exile ship as you say, it’s possible my family were on it too. I must follow them to the Crosswind Isles.”
The old man looked at Thomas then at his son, stunned. “How will you get there? It’s at least a three day journey under sail. I only have my skiff here.”
Thomas looked at the old man and his boy, then turned round to look at the harbour. There, moored in the water was a small cutter built for speed, a deep water vessel that would do the job. There were three of them to sail her. Thomas looked back at the old man and saw the understanding in his eyes.
“You’re going to teach me to sail, old man. You’ll find I’m well motivated, I’ll do anything you say to get to the isles. You and your boy have nothing left here, you too will find safe haven there. What say you friend?”
The old man scratched his beard and looked at the sleek cutter. “She belonged to Ameran, he used her to trade, gold, silver and salt. She cuts a dash through the waves right enough. I never thought I’d get to sail a craft like that, she’s above my station.”
The old man looked at the burning town, his shoulders sagged, he shrugged. “Aye, Thomas of Elverium. Needs must, and I need to get my boy and my scrawny bag of bones out of here. It’s a deal, we’ll take the cutter.” He spat on his hand holding it out to Thomas. “The name’s Skovar, this here’s my boy, Fin.”
Thomas felt his heart soar. He took his glove off, spat on his hand and shook the deal with Skovar.
It was done.
~
The necromancers recoiled in shock. Their magic was being swallowed by a vast unknown. They reached out from their fastness and felt the way across hundreds of miles to their army outside New Haven. They watched from the edge of their forces as a whole swathe of their troops disappeared into Shiel’s rift.
Understanding dawned within the necromancers’ consciousness.
He has opened the way to another world. A slipway, open to us. Perhaps… perhaps we can use this, reverse the path, there has to be similar energy in this new world for it to attract our necromancy. We can find the undercurrent and join with it, we
will become stronger. We will return with our army, enhanced and unstoppable.
The cloud of necromancy roiled, flashes of purple danced within. A multitude of voices argued, whispering. The voices subsided and a deep thrumming reverberated in the chamber the cloud congealed and hung in the air. The thrumming grew, interspersed by the buzzing of flies and insects.
Under New Haven’s walls the necromancers’ army threw itself into the defile. A buzzing sound filled the air.
Men looked on from the walls and did not know whether to cry or cheer.
~
Liliana and her girls made themselves useful around the Silver Fox.
An air of anticipation hung in the village, the local community had not seen such an influx of mainlanders before; the talk was of war and what would happen if king Reglis fell.
“Mother, what should we do if the undead come here too? There’s nowhere to run to is there?” Eveline asked.
“We should stand and fight, like papa is doing,” Kate offered.
“Girls, it is noble to fight for what is good and sacred, we shall prepare. You’ll renew your blade skills with Rurik, you’ll be able to defend yourself if needs be.” Liliana stopped, looking at her girls intently. “It’s very unlikely they will come here, at least for the moment. The enemy’s attention is focused on the capital, but…” Liliana’s voice cracked.
“What is it mother? Tell us,” Eveline said.
“I want you to promise me, if you are caught by the enemy you’ll not let them take you alive.” Liliana managed to get the words out, the words that had been haunting her since the fall of Elverium.
The girls looked at one another then at their mother.
“Don’t worry mother, we’ve already had this conversation with each other. We know how to fall on a blade if we have to,” Kate said.
Liliana’s eyebrows shot up. “Who showed you? It’s the way of warriors, an honourable way to die if defeat is written on the battlefield. Better than slavery. Women do not know this way, even shield maidens.”
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