​​​​24 Ghouls and Old Friends

THREADFIN’S RESCUERS IGNORED him whenever he attempted conversation. They passed through endless dead forest where there were signs life had once existed, such as mummified remains of animals in the gloom. Dusk was unending, the sun never touching the horizon.

After what felt like a few hours, they’d reached a river. At least, it must’ve been a river at one time. If he had doubted this was another world, he no longer did. The black flow gave off a sulphurous stink, beneath a wide stone bridge that looked ready to collapse into the deathly current. As they crossed, several chunks fell, making no splash. More of a plop.

‘I guess,’ he said with a slight nudge for the nearest breather, ‘you lot don’t swim much, eh.’

The guard stared back at him through his metallic mask.

Another few hours, and a city appeared. Vast, perhaps three or four times the size of Icarthya, and in ruins. There were no curtain walls; open plains of brown grass and dust, and then buildings of grey or black stone. They followed a dirty paved pathway into the city where it formed a wide street. The buildings on either side, though dilapidated and crumbling, rose to incredible heights. Ten times Icarthya’s tallest.

The city was monstrous. There must’ve been giants on this world once. Noting the smaller windows and doorways, he realised it hadn’t been built for giants. Maybe they’d had giants working for them. Interesting, although due to recent events, he didn’t think his sister would consider employing Nephilim labourers.

‘What is this place?’ he whispered, turning about with his head thrown back, trying to take it in. He didn’t expect an answer.

‘This was once the city of, Molt,’ one of his captors said with pride. Threadfin had no idea he was a, well, female. Broad, muscular, and taller than the others, she also wore a metallic mask. Her eyes shone as she spoke. ‘Ancient, it was the last refuge and stronghold of the kingdom of Epantrya in the Dark Days.’

‘Molt?’ Threadfin stumbled, not watching where he was going. He gave the woman what he imagined was a look of bewilderment. ‘A vision such as this and you lot named it, Molt?’

‘It is a good name.’

‘Oh, and what might your name be?’

‘Weedy.’

‘Well,’ muttered Threadfin, ‘that explains it. It was your parents named this city.’

‘Enough chatter,’ snapped Asher. They all looked alike in truth, except for Weedy’s height, but he remembered the voice of Asher. Besides, he was taller than her.

They crossed numerous streets and two bridges spanning the same sludge. He wondered what they drank. There had to be a proper source of water. Eventually they arrived at a large ruin on the far side of Molt. It still had most of its roof with glass in the tall windows. Threadfin had never seen such a construction. The style of this building was palatial in nature, but its snaking, curved architecture pained his eyes. The angles didn’t want to meet, resisting one another. His mind’s failure to reconcile the contradiction made him nauseous.

Once, he had believed the undead didn’t get ill, being undead and all. He had since learned differently. He tried not looking at it as they entered, and quickly revised his opinion. Whoever had designed this should’ve been tossed into the river with weights on their ankles.

Once inside, they climbed two flights of broad wooden stairs, and at the top entered a wide room. It looked like a military staging post with wooden tables smothered in maps. Tall curtains of various hues, from red to sickly green with a variety of patterns closed off any daylight. Flames danced within three low fireplaces, along with several torches in iron sconces.

A man of average height, with a pockmarked face, stood waiting. He grinned as Threadfin entered. ‘Well, well, it is you, although you’ve changed.’

‘Hello, Rope,’ said Threadfin. ‘How’s death treating you? Not all it’s cracked up to be, I bet.’ His suspicions were correct, but being right didn’t make him feel better.

Without warning, Roper walked towards him, and pulled him into an embrace. The breather stepped back after a moment, grinning. ‘This,’ he announced to the others, ‘is my old acquaintance, Fin Todder. Used to work together once. All those adventures we had. Crawl’s best, we were.’

‘Prime said you died, uh, from grief.’

The man quit smiling. He turned, and walked away to examine a missive handed him by an aide. They all wore metallic masks, all except Roper. ‘Fat bastard said a lot of things.’ He glanced up after scanning the missive. ‘Crawl always talked too much. Thought no one had a clue who he was. Ah, I see by your face you don’t know.’

Threadfin waved a hand. ‘His real name is Davard Tystrus. He’s an Aidari and the imperial spymaster. A contradiction, but what of it?’

‘Like I said, you don’t know.’

Threadfin scowled, feeling irritated. ‘Games are almost as bad as riddles.’ He felt something was wrong with his old friend, apart from being alive when he was supposed to be dead. ‘How did you get here?’ I’m not sure how I got here.

With a gesture, Roper sent his aides scurrying. The guards also left. ‘Did you also think no one had figured out your identity? Back in Lame, I knew you were a Todralan, and not because Todder was easy to decipher. Should’ve picked a less obvious alias, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Few virals left in that world. Where did they all disappear to eh? Did you ever wonder?’ He gestured about him, arms spreading wide. ‘You don’t think they all perished in the purges, do you?’

Threadfin thought of those six-legged serpents, and his nausea returned. ‘Is this world the Styx?’

Roper gestured for him to accompany him. He put an arm around the mage as they vacated the chamber and entered a smaller room. There were chairs and tables, but instead of maps, food. Not to mention wine in glass goblets. Threadfin picked one up. He’d never seen a goblet like it. Such skill to have made something so flawless, and from glass? Must’ve been Atlantian. How had it ended up in this place?

The food too; how had they produced such fare when nothing seemed to grow? This world looked like it had died choking in the Grim’s armpit. He gave Roper a questioning look.

‘We have our means,’ was all he said. He always did like being mysterious.

They sat and Threadfin stared at a wooden plate of rare meat, bread, olive oil, and three types of salads including kale. He tore off a chunk of the meat and was surprised at how good it was.

‘Listen, Fin, I’m delighted you’re here. Didn’t expect to see you, I’ll admit.’

‘I can relate.’

‘I need your help. We all do.’

‘I’m here to find someone,’ the viral said, taking another bite. He was leaning forward on the edge of his seat, ready to bolt. He tore another bite off the bone. ‘Afterwards, I’m gone.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Roper, ‘the dark-haired beauty who’s raising all kinds of trouble. Did you know the entire Spectrum is aware of her actions? All sorts of undesirables are hunting her.’

Threadfin dropped the cleaned bone onto his plate with a growl. ‘Where is she?’

Roper wagged a finger at him. ‘Never used work like that. Why should anything have changed?’

‘This isn’t some bit of business, like old times.’ He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his withered stomach. It wasn’t the meat. Well, he didn’t think it was. A belch escaped him, and for none of the reasons it would have for a breather.

Roper stared out a window at the dead metropolis. In this room the curtains were open. ‘You remember her?’

Threadfin hesitated, knowing exactly who he meant. ‘This isn’t the time and place.’

‘A shame if you insulted me further. I hate decapitations. The terrible thud and roll, eyes blinking, body jerking as though it doesn’t know it’s dead. Of course, it would be true of someone living. Virals, on the other hand ...’

‘It’s obvious you’ve a lot to say. Out with it.’

Roper gestured about him. ‘It’s your fault I’m here. In this, place. I wanted to get closer to her. You promised it would work. You promised, Fin.’

And now, we’re getting to it. Most if not all virals had a magical bent to them. Back in Lame, everyone who knew what he was had wanted to make use of him. His main job had been thievery. Documents, jewels, people if required. On those latter jobs, he and Roper had worked together. Roper had no magic but he’d had natural ability. It had not proven enough to get close to the Governor’s daughter, Layla.

‘You promised,’ Roper rasped, ‘it would work!’ He screeched the last word, face reddening.

Oops.

‘Well,’ said Roper in a reasonable tone, the change instant, ‘it did not. Instead, my soul was torn from my body. Do you know where here actually is?’

Threadfin shrugged, sitting back. ‘Your soul ripped away. Okay, I get it. It would annoy anyone. Well, you look solid enough. You know, all in one piece.’

‘Ah yes, the infamous sarcastic wit. How I’ve missed it. You know, Fin, I always hated you.’

If Roper sought revenge, Threadfin would have to kill him. Likely everyone else too. The prospect did not appeal. His mind raced for another solution, including running. If what the man said was true, was he alive at all? He did appear solid, short of poking him. He banished the thought. It was tempting. Tezcat’s influence.

‘This world,’ said his former friend in a controlled voice, ‘was once populated by strange creatures, giants, winged monstrosities, but all of it was an intelligent population.’

Hah, giants, I knew it.

Roper paused, scratching at his face. ‘Viral outcasts are all that exist here now.’ His gaze snapped to Threadfin’s. ‘Yes, those things are your kin. Decades of experimentation, of failures, dumped here. It is where you in turn dumped me.’

‘Now, wait a minute. I don’t know what you think I did, but—’

Roper’s face warped, dark ripples revealing another creature. Its head was bald, its eyes white orbs. Vicious small black teeth filled its mouth. A kobold sat opposite Threadfin.

‘Now,’ said Roper’s voice from the creature’s mouth, ‘you see what I’ve become? My soul trapped within this, thing. My benefactors, those insufferable twins, thought they were doing me a favour. Can you believe it?’

Threadfin could, having met them.

‘They even provided me with the illusion of my old body, so I might cope with the change. However, this is what I am now. This is what you did to me.’

‘Okay,’ said Threadfin in a near whisper, watching as the illusion of a human reasserted itself. Manic and Mania, responsible for saving Roper? Huh, interesting. ‘Look, I didn’t know about any of this. Crawl told me you’d died. They must’ve found your, ah ... body and assumed you were dead, which obviously you’re not, well, not exactly—’

‘Oh, I am dead. My corpse rots in a grave as we speak. They captured my soul and trapped it in this replacement. All they could find on short notice. Apparently, its former occupant was insane. I’m a breather though, right? Got what I deserved? Isn’t it what you believe, Todder?’

The viral gave him a level stare. ‘Rope, I’d had no idea it would go wrong. No idea any of this would happen. It was an accident.’ Like all the others, dammit. The list was growing longer. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You owe me,’ said his old friend, sipping his wine. He rested the glass goblet on the arm of his gilded chair. ‘You will do as I tell you. Refuse, and I will see you fed to those cousins of yours. They’re not picky about their food, but they are messy eaters.’

Threadfin dropped his plate and stood. ‘Nice seeing you, Rope. You’re looking well. No, really, love the teeth and bald head and all. You should go with it instead of hiding. An improvement if you ask me. Never were a ladies’ man anyway. Good luck with whatever it is you got going here.’ He turned to leave.

‘You think you can escape? Or do you think I will let you go? Either, makes you an idiot.’

‘I don’t like being threatened,’ said Threadfin turning back. ‘You know what I am, what I’ve become. I could wipe out every one of you. Lucky for you, I’m a lot more civilised than I used to be.’

Roper laughed. Had Threadfin any blood, it would’ve run cold. ‘Normally, you would be correct. Go on, try it. See how powerful you are.’

The mage reached out for the lives around him, touching his magic, to find it ... gone. No, he could sense it when he stretched for it, but he found a barrier in place. He managed a trickle and attempted to draw on Roper’s life, enough to give him a pimple or two. It was pathetic. It must have been why he hadn’t sensed his captors earlier until they were right on top of him.

‘The closer you get to him,’ said Roper, fingering the new pimple on his chin, ‘the less power you possess. Know who I’m talking about? This memory fragment lies closer to the Styx than the others. This city closest of all. Why do you think my men made you walk all this way? I wanted you as powerless as possible. Should you enter the Grim’s world, you will be as helpless as a babe.’ He laughed again. ‘Although, I’d say you’re helpless enough as it is.’

What else could go wrong? No, don’t ask. Better than lying to oneself or running away was not tempting fate. He’d need to write these down as some sort of viral mage canon once he got home.

Roper’s next words caught his attention. ‘Your own world is next. This is what it will become like, unless you listen to me. You can’t leave here without my help, so you might as well accept my offer.’

Threadfin heard a hint of something in the man’s voice. ‘I won’t let you harm her. If it means my destruction, so be it.’ It was then, he realised he hadn’t just come to ask Lorn a question or to find the Shathra Stone. He’d also come to save her. Something about her drew him, something he didn’t understand.

Roper took a longer swig of the wine, draining the goblet. He threw it, to smash against the wall. ‘It’s not me she needs to worry about.’

‘What do you want?’

Roper leaned forwards, clasping both hands together, examining them as he spoke. ‘No reason we can’t both win.’ He smiled, but this time without warmth. ‘She carries something with her.’

‘I know what you’re thinking, and it won’t work.’

‘I need both it and you, since it is no good to me on its own. I can’t use it, but I hear you can. Always knew you were worth something.

‘Now,’ Roper continued, ‘I help you get her back, and you will use it to fix things for me. That artefact is reality itself. Don’t tell me different. I know all about it. Once you’ve done what I ask, you can have it and go your way with my blessing. Not my forgiveness, but I will consider your debt to me paid in full. Good enough?’

Threadfin grunted, thinking it through. There had to be a catch. ‘Why settle for a simple life. Riches, immortality maybe? The Stone shapes reality, and therefore you could have me shape anything. Assuming I would know how. A lot to ask.’ Roper’s eyes told him he wasn’t far from the truth. ‘What of Lorn? What becomes of her?’

‘You can take her with you. I mean her no harm, if she hands it over. However, should you try to cheat me, I will see you both suffer. Virals feel pain, don’t they? At least, your kind does.’

‘I don’t fear pain.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t referring to the physical sort. You know, I’ve a lot of experience in suffering.’

‘Here I thought of us as friends, despite you being a smart-mouthed bastard. All those years we spent together. For nothing.’

‘That’s existence for you, eh, Fin?’

The man he’d known in Lame had been a tough nut, but fair. He could trust what the old Roper had said. This man before him, he didn’t trust at all. I guess, he thought, having your soul ripped out of your body and stuffed into another on a dead world, will do strange things to a mind.

Roper wouldn’t let him or Lorn go free. With the Shathra Stone, Threadfin could undo everything; even use it to destroy Roper. The breather wouldn’t risk it, but the mage couldn’t leave it in Roper’s hands either.

A messenger burst through the double doors, unannounced. He wore a metallic mask like the others. Threadfin realised something about these people. He’d wanted to ask if they were all trapped souls, but he knew the truth. They were kobolds, but these were free and alive. It was the one named Asher who perplexed him. This one wasn’t kobold.

Behind the messenger, a creature entered. It crept across the wooden floor on all fours. A human-like form but its skin was grey, its mouth full of sharp teeth. Two skeletal arms ended in claws. Threadfin touched his forehead when he saw it had horns protruding from its head.

‘We’ve located her,’ said the messenger, and Roper leapt to his feet.

Threadfin felt a thrill of excitement and apprehension at the news. What was Roper going to do with her? Could he trust the man not to harm her?

‘Good,’ Roper said, stalking around the table to stand next to the creature.

‘Where,’ stuttered Threadfin, ‘did you get a ghoul from?’ He’d never seen one, but he’d seen an illustration. A few short notes in a book Aiyana had shown him once. ‘They’re extinct.’

‘Oh, and are not your sort extinct too?’ Roper asked. ‘How was it Crawl used to put it? Oh, yes, “all official and on paper.” I have dozens of ghouls. Did you know they can be used to breach reality? Their usefulness has limits, since they can only pass between the Styx and your world. Of course, that includes these memory fragments, though it won’t work for me.’ He patted it on the head. ‘They have pressure points behind the eyes. Fantastic trackers too. Oh, I’m sorry, they won’t help you escape either. They obey me.’

‘Thought never entered my mind.’

Roper laughed. ‘I suppose you could call this a family reunion.’ When Threadfin didn’t comment, he smiled and gestured at the doors. ‘Shall we go and meet her? It shouldn’t be long before they drag her back kicking and screaming. Oh, don’t fret. They won’t kill her. Not unless I order them to. She strikes me as the kicking and screaming type. All arms, legs, and teeth. At least, that was how she was the last time I captured her. This time, she won’t escape.’

Sounds like her, thought Threadfin stepping ahead of Roper and the ghoul. Lorn had escaped this bastard once already? The thought gave him hope. Maybe she might land a few of those kicks on Roper for good measure. The messenger brought up the rear as they all stepped into the cold eternal twilight of memory.

‡

LORN FOUGHT TO KEEP her eyes open as weakness flooded her muscles. She wrapped her bloodied forearm with a rag torn from her clothing. There wasn’t much left to rip. The injury wasn’t from a bite, for which she was thankful, and the pain kept her conscious. Five times in as many hours she’d evaded her pursuers. While it appeared Manic and Mania had managed to distract the other hunters, the ghouls proved relentless.

Without the shraeds, she didn’t hold out hope of making it much further. She suspected those attackers had been Torments sent by the Grim. She had agreed to Mania’s plan. The shraeds’ motives, however suspect, were good ones, if she believed their story ... and do I?

The chance to save many lives wasn’t one she could pass up. She could achieve her objective if in a different manner. In a way, she was glad she wouldn’t face the Grim. Seeing him again wasn’t something she’d relished. The Fetch didn’t sound much better, however.

She risked a glance over the top of a shattered wall. The Styx was a grey world. A cold sun battled the bleakness but it was a futile fight. Ghostly spheres of other worlds hung in the sky. Canyons and ravines shattered the landscape, interrupted by vast mountain ranges and gloomy valleys.

The Grim also had intelligent hunters on her trail, besides the Torments. He didn’t like betrayal. She smiled at the thought of his spitting fury. Had he set the ghouls’ master on her too? Or did Roper work for someone else?

She crept out of hiding, keeping low, hearing a keening wail in the distance. She resumed her trek into the mountains, which loomed above her. She had no doubt the ghouls would sniff her out, and she would need to make a stand. If she was to die, at least it came from a decision she’d made. All her life, she’d made her own choices, and her death would be no different.

It mattered, for reasons she didn’t want to contemplate. For reasons no one would understand. However, Mania’s plan did entail staying alive a bit longer. It also meant avoiding the Grim’s hunters.

A shriek rose in the distance. She hurried her climb, wanting to be higher so she could spot them coming. Ghouls moved with greater speed and were stronger. They were also difficult to kill without magic. Lorn still possessed her talent, but it was weaker for some reason.

The shrieks grew. She drew her daggers, her magic awakening like she’d been taught, wreathing both blades. They wouldn’t be much use without it. She’d killed ghouls before but it was always close. There were at least three this time. She could distinguish their separate calls. Still, she wouldn’t fall without poking a few holes in them. I’ll give them something to shriek about, she thought.

She glanced behind and spotted them. This trio looked big and well fed. The path she followed ended, and gripping the rock wall, she began to climb. Her muscles burned and her forearm was agony. She forced herself upward, ignoring fatigue. She’d spotted what she thought was a narrow shelf twelve feet above. She would make her final stand there. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. Sorry, Mania, I didn’t even get halfway. You bet on the wrong mortal, and she was mortal, no matter what they thought they knew.

As she reached the shelf, she heard them below her. They climbed, swift and sure, claws finding purchase with ease. She waited with weapons ready. As the first reached the edge of the shelf, she stabbed at its claws and it fell, but it ripped the dagger from her hand as it did so.

The second was quicker, but she managed to swipe the dagger at its face, the coruscating magic on the blade alive like fire. It caught the ghoul off-balance. It also fell, and same with the third. Twice again she foiled their attempts, though one managed to bite her in the face. The wound stung, and she knew she was infected. Their essence was a plethora of disease. She wouldn’t last long.

The fourth time, they leapt at her in unison and landed on the ledge, forcing her back. She swiped at the nearest two, scoring wounds, but the third thwarted her attack. It sent the dagger skittering away, magic evaporating. All three opened their mouths wide. Their lower jaws unhinged as they inhaled. Within was a yawning, swirling darkness instead of throats.

They had frozen Lorn in place. The ghoul-master still didn’t want her dead, but captured. Perhaps, she thought, I will live a while longer.

She felt her body and soul sucked out of the Styx, and into the blaring light of another world.