by A. L. Knorr
“What signs?” Dary asked sharply.
“Most of it has to do with Ibby. She has come under psychic assault, manifesting as nightmares, multiple times over the past several days, twice in my presence. Her nightmares smell of ‘gallu,’ but there is a distinct difference between what she is experiencing and the spoor of lesser demons. And there was the ash.”
“Ash?” Dary’s expression took on an inscrutable interest. Was that fear or excitement sparkling in her eyes?
I tasted a phantom of the acrid stuff at the back of my throat. “A couple of times, I coughed up ash. It was like a chimney-sweep convention down here.”
Dary’s eyes held a ferocious glint. “This is perfect,” she said in a husky purr. “Really, it couldn’t be more perfect.”
Lowe and I shared a confused look.
“Winterthür, among many other things, are on the hunt for ways to access and control the powers of the ancients. Kezsarak’s Cask is no different than other such pursuits, except for one point: they need an Inconquo with the rings to release the poor demon. That’s where our advantage lies.”
I caught hard on the ‘poor demon’ point, and was struggling to form a reply when Lowe leapt into the fray.
“You are not seriously suggesting that she cooperate with these blaggards! What that brute did to Ibby earns nothing but a punched ticket to Ol’ Scratch, not capitulation! And since when did unleashing ancient demons become an option!”
A breeze I couldn’t feel ruffled Lowe’s clothes. The temperature dropped several degrees.
“What I am suggesting,” Dary replied, “is that there is a good chance Sark wants not just the rings, but Ibby too. If that is the case, then we need to capitalise on that. Before anything else, Sark is going to protect himself. That includes accomplishing his mission. I don’t doubt Winterthür is already pressuring him to wrap up this messy business, and so if Ibby at least presents the front of cooperation, he has incentive to take her at face value.”
Before anyone else could argue the phone buzzed, and Dary automatically opened the message and read aloud.
“South Greenwich Foundry, East Industrial. Both sets of rings, two hours or Jackie eats a bullet.”
My knees felt weak, and I gulped.
Greenwich was less than twenty minutes by tube from central London, but I’d never had much reason to go there.
“Are either of you familiar with the place?” I asked.
Lowe shook his head, but Daria was nodding, and she was using my phone to look something up.
“Yes,” she said distractedly. “I’ve actually been there a few times, as it is one of Sark’s preferred spots to do business. Here, you can see why.”
She showed me several aerial photos of a derelict industrial area. Rusty stitches of defunct rail lines traced a path to a cluster of crumbling buildings in the middle of a vast lot of cracked pavement, mud and piles of twisted debris. There was nothing green within hundreds of metres of the place. Only ugly brown creepers seemed capable of penetrating the crushing, industrial refuse.
Cycling through the images, I found an interior photo with a grainy texture of age. Several potbellied vats suspended by chains hung over a dark hall, a snarled-up assembly track running its length. A man in a hard hat stood under the slag-streaked vats, the only suggestion of human scale. Each vat looked to be the size of a lorry.
“It’s definitely desolate,” I observed. “I imagine it doesn’t get much traffic.”
“It’s a dead spot in more ways than one,” Dary explained, clicking a nail on the screen. “You could use the place as a shooting range and never have to worry about the authorities. If you tried to make a call with anything less than a military grade satellite phone, you’d just drain your battery.”
“Wow.” London was a wi-fi soup. If this place was a dead zone, then it really was the middle of nowhere.
“You’re going to need to get going. The nearest station is still a long walk. He’s not going to wait for a confirmation that you received the message. In two hours, you’re there or your friend is dead.”
Reality so baldly stated was like a kick in the stomach. Though I wanted to curl into the foetal position, I settled for bracing my hands on my hips. I took a few slow breaths, gathering my thoughts and my nerve.
Lowe interjected a thought that had occurred to me multiple times throughout this conversation. “How do we know that they plan to keep Ibby alive? Not to be indelicate, but couldn’t they just shoot her dead and take the rings? They murdered me easily enough.”
“Possible, but unlikely,” replied Daria. “On two counts: first, they didn’t immediately do that when they ambushed her outside the university. Sark beat her, and one of his goons lost control at the end, but if they’d wanted her dead, Ibby would’ve been bleeding out on the pavement before she knew they were there.”
It was hard to remember everything from my last encounter with Dillon, but the moment when the big thug stood over me with his pistol flashed in my mind.
“… Hang Sark’s orders.”
The statement gave some credence to Dary’s theory.
“The second thing is while the Inconquo bloodline has obviously spread,” Dary said as she pointed to me and Lowe with each hand. “It’s very diluted. You, James, had just enough to draw you to the rings, but you never could have exerted the power and control Ibby has already displayed. They are not going to waste a chance to control the bloodline.”
“What do you mean ‘control the bloodline’?” I asked.
Lowe shuffled his feet and looked embarrassed.
“Depending on the father’s parentage, your children could be just as strong in the blood as you,” Daria explained. “So Winterthür will make sure they find a suitable match, and then … they will make sure you keep having children.”
“Oh …” I breathed as the reality of the stakes was driven home.
It was a struggle to meet Lowe’s mournful gaze. “I’m sorry, Ibby, truly. If I’d known … if I could help … if …”
I shook my head and took his hand.
“Hey.” I forced a smile and shrugged. “This is the family business, right?”
Lowe’s grin was no less an act of will as my own, but there was a sincerity we both understood regardless.
It is a peculiar thing, putting your affairs in order.
The odds seemed stacked against me. So, I decided to spend my last sliver of time saying goodbye as best I could.
An email apiece to Meredith and Professor Schottelkirk, apologising for the ‘complications’ I’d brought on them and thanking them for what they had been to me. I also sent one to Markus, unable to shake how nice it was he’d covered for me, not just once when he went looking for Lowe, but also when he thought I’d tricked him.
I wrote something to Jackie. If she survived, she’d know what she’d meant to a girl who’d felt so alone for so long.
I managed to make it through all of that without surrendering to tears, but now I was on what might be my final message to Uncle Iry, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I had to pause to clear my eyes.
I couldn’t possibly tell him all the ways I loved him and appreciated what he’d done. Sometimes, words are too small, but the small things make all the difference.
As I wiped my eyes for the last time, I read over what I wrote to Iry just once. A second time, and I’d never get on the train out of Museum Station.
Dear Uncle Iry, a’am in my heart of hearts,
I may not be able to answer your messages when you have time to reach out, but I wanted to let you know that I love and miss you.
When mother and father were taken, I felt so alone and so small. I was as lost as I’d ever been. I was crippled by the grief, so I thought I would never be able to live. It hurt too much.
But you would not let me stay that way.
You called me and sent messages every day. Sometimes, twice a day, no matter what it cost you. When you could barely
feed yourself, you were bartering whatever you had to keep in touch with me. Why you would do that for a child you never touched, never held or even saw in the flesh is beyond me. You dragged me out of the pit and brought light and hope back into my life.
You saved me, a’am, and I know why. We are family, and that is something which distance and circumstance can’t change.
Family, eayila, and because of my family, I am going to do something my loved ones taught me.
Did father ever tell you what to do when the world gets ugly? You live it every day, so I know you do.
Make it better by being better.
That is what I’m trying for, and I hope you’ll be proud. Don’t worry about me, and take care of yourself.
Love,
Ibby
Chapter Twenty
Dary promised to ride with me to Greenwich Pier, but beyond that, I was on my own. She smiled as she reminded me she was ‘still not a good guy,’ but I couldn’t help thinking there was a pain in her expression that had nothing to do with her bandaged arm.
From the Pier, I had Dary’s directions and my phone’s GPS to get me to the gates of the foundry complex. I’d have to take it at a trot.
I sat watching the thickening grey of the skies through the window, willing the train to go faster. Then I felt something give a little wobble in the train’s undercarriage, and I decided an Inconquo willing a high-speed train to do anything was not in anyone’s best interests.
I slumped in my seat and looked out over the car. It was filled with workaday types. Many of them were on their phones. Several others wore earbuds. Three had their noses in a book, while one chap was knitting and humming. A handful sat and stared at the floor or out the window, looking forlorn.
Despite the crowds, Dary and I seemed to find the one spot where we had some breathing room from the mass of frowning faces and shuffling feet. This was just as well, because as my eyes fell on Dary, the storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions emerged. I wanted to ask her about things I’d rather not have overheard.
I was under no illusions she would be waiting for me to return. This might be the last time I saw her, even if I survived the night. A few answers might make the difference between life and death when facing Sark and possibly Kezsarak.
“Is there something you want to say to me, Ibby?” she asked, as if she could read my mind.
I realised I had been staring at her, so it was little wonder she’d asked the question.
“Yeah,” I grunted, my mind shuffling thoughts in line like notecards.
Dary peaked an eyebrow. She swept her uninjured hand before her in a grand gesture, signalling me to continue.
“Sorry, there’s been so much in such a short time I hardly know where to start.” I met her curious stare with a forcibly steady gaze. “We’ve been talking a lot about demons or gallu, and while I’m not going to deny that something seems to be coming after me in my dreams, I’m having a hard time believing that evil spirits are everywhere, giving people excuses for the terrible things they do. In my experience, people don’t need a little devil on their shoulder to be wicked.”
Dary paused for a second to see if I was done, and then she pursed her lips as she nodded.
“You are right that the vast majority of terrible things and almost all the historically significant events have happened because mortals have been wretched. Typically, gallu try to avoid such things because it would threaten the greatest tool they ever devised to protect them and isolate their enemies.”
The implied conspiracy, some ancient scheme between wilful, inhuman forces sent prickles down my spine. My hair was starting to stand on end.
“What tool?”
“Unbelief,” Dary said. “Imagine how easy it is to hide when everyone is actively denying you exist. Not only will people consider it implausible to suspect a demon as the cause of a crime, but anyone who suggests it is punished with social censure. For the past few centuries, in the civilised world, gallu have had to do very little to cover their tracks, since humans do it for them in the name of being reasonable.”
The grin that had settled on her features was all the more chilling for the beautiful features it hung on. I think she saw my growing discomfort because the smile quickly dissolved, and her face took on a conciliatory aspect.
“Though, it’s worth mentioning that many gallu only use disbelief as a cover to be left alone. It works well as a sword to cut off those that come looking, but more often it is a shield to hide under. Almost as many gallu, unable to change with the times, just want to live out their immortal existence without fear.”
“When talking about Winterthür’s plan to control Kezsarak, you said ‘poor demon.’ What did you mean?”
Daria didn’t answer immediately, instead she stared out the window where clouds stole the beauty of the setting sun. “Kezsarak’s story is a sad one. One that lies at the root of the Inconquo. My mistress in the temple of Tiamat told me. I kept it close to my heart because it has to do with how I came to serve at the temple.”
I scooted to the edge of my seat. Dary warmed to her story and drew closer to me as well. I’m sure we looked like two besties sharing juicy gossip. Her voice was low and clear, her eyes fixed on mine.
“During that time, the line between man, hero and god was thin, and the gallu moved openly among men. Some were worshipped and some feared. The first great cities had erected their strong walls less than a century before, and the world seemed headed towards a new, bright age. But that was when Asag came.”
The name made me shiver a little, and I crossed my arms. “Asag?”
“Asag was the greatest, most terrible and powerful gallu ever whispered about. Aside from his awful power, he brought his children: rock-skinned demons, the result of his ravaging of mountain spirits. They fell upon the first cities. Many of them were destroyed, their people slaughtered, because Asag hated and feared mankind. He poisoned the land and waters. Even those not in the great cities suffered and died. That was why my parents gave me to Tiamat’s service. They hoped the cult would see me through the famine. I survived, but my mother and father were not so lucky.”
I felt like I should reach out and take her hand, share, in some small way, the burden of her pain.
“Gods and heroes were beaten back. All seemed lost until one night when Kezsarak came to the camp of Ninurta, the last of those who fought Asag. Kezsarak was Asag’s child, but he had stayed in the mountains as he’d always done, not taking part in the destruction. Instead, he learned the secrets of the ores of his mother. Some of these, he shared with men, but he kept others to himself. He shared one such secret to save mankind, whom he loved for the beautiful things they could make. He taught Ninurta how to make a cage to hold his father and siblings, and then he returned to the mountains.”
I struggled to connect this beneficent hermit with the terrible presence that haunted my dreams, but I didn’t interrupt.
“Asag, catching wind of Kezsarak’s alliance, found his son and beat a confession from him. Kezsarak swore he only wanted peace, that men only had the power to bind gallu, not destroy them. It didn’t matter because Ninurta used Kezsarak’s secret and fashioned a weapon, not a cage, Sharur the Smasher of Thousands. With this weapon, he struck down Asag. His father died cursing his son’s betrayal. Kezsarak, stunned and broken at Ninurta’s betrayal, lived to see his siblings slaughtered by the weapon Ninurta made with the secrets Kezsarak had given him.”
“That’s … horrible,” I said quietly.
Dary nodded. “The blight of Asag ended, and Ninurta was a hero, but Kezsarak declared men murderers. He retreated to the mountains.”
“But, he didn’t stay there?”
Dary shook her head and then gave a shrug. “No, but the next part of the story I don’t know as well. I had already entered the service of Lamashtu when Kezsarak returned to plague mankind, so my knowledge is based in what I’ve read and what Lowe taught me, which is pretty murky, frankly.”
Out
side, the leaden clouds were making good on their brooding promise, spitting heavy drops. Over Greenwich, the storm was thicker. The clouds congealed into a deep, weeping bruise.
Dary’s voice drew my gaze back.
“Kezsarak returned and spoke to the tools of men, made them instruments of destruction unlike anything man had seen. Workmen were maimed, buildings fell and battles became slaughters where none survived. The people asked for help, and though Ninurta was gone, his descendants, who’d written the ancient voice of metals into their bones, came forwards to correct their ancestors’ mistake.”
Inconquo, I thought. It always comes back to family.
“Because Kezsarak had been betrayed by Ninurta, the Inconquo resolved not to kill him, but to bind him. That is why they made the rings. Rings bind things, physically as well as metaphorically. The rings of the Inconquo were made to bind Kezsarak. It is only with them that he can be unbound. Thousands of years ago, the Inconquo took on the mantle of guardians when they first bound Kezsarak. You get to start the same way.”
“Why would they want to free something as destructive and uncontrollable as Kezsarak?”
Dary gazed out the window at the passing landscape. “Mortals long for power, to shape the world to suit them. They’ll do terrible things to get that power. It falls to those like us to tell them, forcefully, when they are being fools.”
I smiled at that, but it was mostly to hide the churning I felt in my stomach. A voice signalled we were minutes out from Greenwich. I was going to be out in that pelting rain, racing towards an abandoned industrial complex, meeting with a monster of a man who had a plan to unleash a real monster.
I closed my eyes and felt the car around me — the rail beneath me, the lines above me and the brush of metallic songs against my mind. Each tingled psychically as they flew by, each offering a passing oath of fealty. Ready to serve, ready to fight.
It was a power inherited by my family from long ago, but it was more than that.
