7 A Tower of Wept

COLLPASING ONTO THE floor of his tower with a grunt, nausea ebbed through Threadfin’s knotted guts, which was odd since virals didn’t get queasy. Everything was spinning. Seems like I suffer from a lot of stuff most undead don’t. Oh, Spectrum Divine, maybe I’m turning into a breather. The thought made him feel worse.

Getting to his feet before tottering to one side like a drunk, he patted himself down, checking all was accounted for. A mongrel appeared by his side, smacking his legs and raising dust. The mage tried shoving Nipper back though the blighter was insistent.

Threadfin was about to give it a kick, when he noticed they weren’t alone. He lowered his foot and tried looking innocent; he’d been perfecting it in the mirror. His sister, Aiyana, lowered her hood, but didn’t smile. He also took note of half a dozen guards crowding her. Was he under arrest? Wait, what have I done lately? There were several possibilities.

Nipper, sensing tension, slunk around the princess to shut the entrance to the Tower of Wept. It was then the mage noticed the draught and another half dozen guards stood outside. Her security had increased for some reason.

‘You could knock first,’ he grunted, trying to halt the spinning. It was sort of a slow turn by this point.

‘I did,’ she said in a cool tone.

The mongrel returned and began hitting him with a broom as though he was a carpet. He flapped his arms at it to shoo it away, aware kicking wasn’t an option. For now. At last, Nipper took the hint and tossing the broom began shoving things into a hessian stack. His method of tidying up was to rob the place. The guards inside tried to make themselves inconspicuous, although there wasn’t much room for anything that fancy.

Aiyana studied the disarray of junk – most of which belonged to the mongrel, which it had stolen from the palace when tidying up there – stacks of books and rolled vellum, wooden plates cluttered with leftover bones and those looking human. Had Nipper been in the graveyard again? He was convinced the rascal thought himself a little necromancer.

‘Well,’ said Podral Pole at his side causing him to jump, ‘anything new to report?’

The mage put a hand to his head as the spinning stopped. In its place a headache had developed. He hadn’t noticed his Darken arrive either. Had he a living heart it would’ve leapt into his throat and choked him, or stopped altogether. Get a hold of yourself, Todder. ‘Not to sound unwelcoming but—’

‘You never do,’ said Pole. ‘Welcome us, I mean. When was the last time you invited me up for tea?’

‘You don’t drink tea.’

‘Figure of speech. It’s the principle of the thing.’

‘What are you both doing in my tower?’

Aiyana raised one immaculate eyebrow. Not a hair out of place or a maggot in sight. If he could only learn her trick and reproduce that magic. ‘Your tower?’ she asked.

‘Yes, mine, as in not yours or his,’ he added jerking a thumb at Pole. He felt irritable and why shouldn’t he? He’d just paid for information with her bloody soul. No refunds or exchanges allowed, no thank you. Not even a discount.

‘I do believe I loaned this tower to you, brother. Did you not request a space for your experiments?’

Threadfin waved a skeletal hand. ‘A technicality, and you’re not imperatrix yet ... uh, sorry.’ He probably shouldn’t have brought that up. ‘Still, you don’t own all this. Our family does. I think. Right?’

‘Thanks for reminding me of my current status, brother.’

‘I said sorry, didn’t I?’ His irritation and headache had gotten the better of him. ‘I reside here and while I do, I consider it my home. Next time, knock. Nipper? I thought I told you, no visitors as in ever. Why do I keep you around? You’d just let the entire city walk in here while I’m in the bath, wouldn’t you? Which reminds, me, I’m running low on natron salt. Nipper, add it to your shopping list. And this time, pay for everything!’

Pole barked a laugh, slapping him on the shoulder, which near buckled his knobbly knees. ‘Not feeling too good, eh? I guess this last jaunt of yours didn’t go well? Where did you get to?’

‘Nowhere local, I can tell you.’

Pole snorted, rolling his eyes. At least his rash had cleared up. He looked his old annoying self.

Threadfin risked a glance at his sister who was perusing his personal possessions as though she’d loaned him those too. He approached her, reaching out to take back a book she was holding. ‘Um, those tomes are over eight hundred years old. Please, be careful with—'

Aiyana slammed the hide-bound book onto the table, raising a cloud of dust.

‘Or, don’t be careful.’ The mage waved a hand in front of his face, in dramatic fashion though dust didn’t affect him.

‘You never used to care about books,’ said Aiyana. ‘Now you fear I am going to damage one? What is with you these days?’

‘Why is everyone in a foul mood? Not like I killed anyone.’ He glanced at both in turn. ‘I didn’t, did I? Please say, I didn’t. Whatever it was it wasn’t my fault. I was away.’

‘Yes, you vanished without a word, for days,’ said his sister, fingering through several choice items littering the table, tossing them onto the floor.

‘Days?’

‘How long did you think you were gone for?’ asked his Darken.

‘A few hours.’

‘Six days.’

Threadfin felt the urge to sit and shifted some books off a stool, not caring how old they were. ‘There’s someone moving pieces on a board here, and I’m one of those pieces, but I can’t see the game they’re playing never mind who’s winning. I don’t like this feeling, not one damn bit.’

‘Not a Soul & Fury fan then, eh?’ said Pole.

‘Never played,’ he admitted, ‘too complicated.’

‘Oh, you played. You just always lost. Remember, I watched over you before you knew I existed.’

‘Come to think of it,’ said Threadfin, ‘I thought I saw a decrepit-looking beggar skulking about a lot of the time.’

Aiyana moved some items and shoving a stack of vellum sheets off a nearby bench, also sat. Threadfin hadn’t known there was a bench. ‘Fin, we need to have a talk.’

The mage groaned and looked to his Darken for support. Instead, Pole was scratching Nipper behind the ear. With its hood lowered, the mongrel’s ugliness increased tenfold. Threadfin shuddered and attempted to focus.

Aiyana gestured at the overlarge bronze mirror. ‘I thought we agreed you would let the matter drop. Astra is gone and good riddance.’

Threadfin growled and began looking about him, hoping she’d change the subject. Wept was spacious or would have been without all the rubbish. The lowest chamber was the largest, and also the last habitable one. The rest of it was a ruin and he had to wonder how the mongrels had managed to finish this section. Twenty of Nipper’s relatives labouring away with stone and mortar for weeks. Little industrious bastards did a good job of it too. Threadfin had lent a hand with magic, but since the price of his power was life, there was only so much he was willing to do.

‘You agreed,’ he muttered, after she waited him out. He hated how patient she could be when it suited. ‘I just grunted something. Besides, I wasn’t looking for her exactly.’ I will find her, though, he thought. ‘I was trying to get the location of the Tower of Babel, if you don’t mind.’

‘And did you?’

Threadfin hesitated and saw by her expression that evasion wasn’t an option. ‘It’s to the north in Zalanthya.’

Pole whistled. ‘Almost as far north as one can go.’

‘It’s also in Atlantis.’

They stared at him. ‘What?’ asked Pole. ‘Lad, you’re not making sense.’

Threadfin shrugged. ‘Obviously, magic of some description is behind the discrepancy, or the Librarian was lying. Guess I must investigate both places.’

Pole gaped at him. ‘You mean to tell me you’re going through with this? You’re going to find the Grim, and do what?’

‘Well, how about stopping him from invading and enslaving the world? I also don’t intend to allow him to harm Astra. I bet she escaped. Those Torments wouldn’t have held her long.’

‘If she’s so strong,’ said Pole, ‘then she don’t need you.’

‘I’m going through with it, Pod. You’d better start packing. Both warm and winter clothing.’

‘You can’t be serious about going to both places,’ said his Darken with a sour look. ‘Atlantis, which is under water, or Zalanthya, a frozen wasteland beyond civilisation? Why can’t you pick a nice spot to visit?’

‘I need time to think.’ The mage rubbed at his face, noting how Aiyana had remained silent. He tried to forget the Librarian and the price it had demanded, which wasn’t easy. ‘You know this place wasn’t meant for all this clutter, or visitors. It was supposed to be a quiet space for thinking.’ He glanced at Pole who was still scratching the mongrel. ‘Will you quit that?’

Pole grinned at him. ‘You’re just jealous.’

Threadfin glared at him. ‘In the name of the Spectrum above, why would I be jealous?’

‘I never scratch you behind the ears.’

When he heard Aiyana giggle, the mage whirled. The delight on her face was both a pleasure and an irritation.

‘A rare event,’ said his sister, ‘when Threadfin Todralan is rendered speechless.’ Aiyana’s expression then soured and he realised all was not well. He decided not to correct her on his name. Her face was paler and her eyes appeared sunken. Something had put strain on her efforts to maintain her mask.

‘You’ve given me nothing but anxiety of late,’ she added.

‘Oh, thanks, and after I turned those bricks into bread to solve your food crisis? Try finding another viral who can do that. No easy thing kneading mortar, you know.’

His sister stared back at him, face impassive. ‘Fin, the medicary is stuffed with people with stomach-aches and other ... medical issues. All related to your bread!’

‘Shittin’ bricks,’ snorted Pole. ‘Really, I’ve never seen the like. It was bread when they ate it. It wasn’t bread, well, you know. After.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Threadfin was examining his fingers, wondering how he was going to get out of this. He’d tried to help. Didn’t that count? Magic didn’t always work as planned and experimenting was risky. ‘Did anyone say, you know, if it at least tasted good?’

Aiyana rose and began to pace, her guards trying to make room. ‘I can’t do it, Fin. I thought I could. I believed I could. Those people just want to live their lives. They don’t care who sits on the throne, living or undead. They just want to be. Any ruler who will let them do that is one they’ll accept. I don’t think that is me. Not anymore.’

‘Avitus left you a horrible mess, sis. You’re doing the best you can.’

‘Am I? Three quarters of this city are starving, never mind the rest of the imperium. Crime has risen a hundredfold. Slavery has returned and there is a rebellion brewing. Then, there is the plotting and scheming behind my back. All before I’ve taken the throne. Liviana didn’t have half this trouble.’

‘Well,’ said Podral, ‘she did go and murder anyone who opposed her, or looked at her funny. Or spoke out of turn. Or had a certain last name.’

‘We’ll figure something out,’ said Threadfin. ‘Let me think on it.’

Aiyana halted her pacing, fingering one of myriads of metal objects littering the table top. ‘Magic won’t solve our problems. Just like with the bread. It won’t solve any of them.’

Threadfin shook his head. ‘If I had the Shathra Stone—’

‘You don’t!’ She sighed, smoothing her tone a little. ‘Besides, you said it yourself, it could take decades if not centuries to master, if at all. It devoured Liviana. The only reason Andromeda managed anything with it was she had two souls to utilize. The harpy sacrificed Liviana’s soul so she could use it without harm to herself. And, she failed in the end.’

‘Well, to be accurate, someone stole it and we killed her. Good times.’

‘Fin,’ said Aiyana, her tone hardening again, ‘it might be best if you never find it. It’s too dangerous and so is she.’

‘As it happens, I have no intention of finding it. The Stone is now someone else’s problem.’ He recalled what Lorn had said to him when they were in the Grimstyx. ‘Protecting the Stone,’ she had told him, ‘keeping it out of their hands is all there is. It is why I am here, and why you must go. The Shathra Stone was never your responsibility.’ She had been right.

‘The Stone is not what drives me,’ Threadfin said, ‘not now.’

‘Then what does?’

‘I made a promise.’

‘Fin, whoever or whatever she is, we know her magic is lethal and out of control. You made your promise in haste and under stressful circumstances. You cannot be held to it.’

Threadfin grumbled a bit yet kept his peace. Arguing with her never worked. He didn’t believe promises could be reneged on whenever they proved inconvenient. ‘Babel,’ he asked, to distract her, ‘what do you know of it?’

Aiyana grimaced. ‘It’s mentioned in the White Daemoni; I can’t remember the passage.’

‘Atlantis makes sense as a starting point since Zalanthya is a huge wasteland,’ said Pole. ‘Maybe we should just start with the island and see how it goes. There might be a clue about the tower in the city’s citadel library. I don’t think all of it sank. At least, according to rumours.’

‘Well, then there’s another problem,’ said Aiyana. ‘It’s also rumoured only an Atlantian can find the island, and I think it might be true. Every ship allowed access to Atlantis in the past had to have an Atlantian guide. It may not have completely sunk, but you won’t find it.’

Threadfin nodded and then grinned as an idea occurred.

Podral growled. ‘I know that look, lad. You’re plotting something I’m not going to like.’

‘Yep, although you’re not coming with me for this bit.’

‘Oh, really? Abandoning me again?’

‘It’s too dangerous.’

Podral folded his arms, glaring at the mage. ‘You left us for six whole days after leaving me sicker than a kecc in a swinging sack. What could be so bad you’d leave your bodyguard behind twice?’

Threadfin turned to eye his friend with a dark smile. ‘I’m off to visit your ex-wife.’

Aiyana giggled, and the mage’s evil grin grew larger and well, eviler. He’d been practicing that one in the mirror too.

Podral Pole’s face had gone white as he whispered, ‘You mean, Dessa?’

‘You got others?’

‘You can’t ...’

‘Didn’t want to mention it. Old wounds. Vilt filled me in on everything, after I annoyed her about it for a few weeks. Funny thing is, I’ve known Dessa for years. She used to have a place in Lame. Sold me crossbows, bolts, anything I needed. Now she’s not far from Icarthya. Nice little set up too. I think she’s been following you.’

‘You bastard.’

‘I’m afraid he’s right,’ said Aiyana, ‘We need an Atlantian.’

‘Not her.’

‘You know of any others?’ asked Threadfin.

Silence.

‘Sorry, Pod. Look, I’m sure if you say you’re sorry or something, you know, buy her some flowers, she’ll get over it. Aiyana can give you some tips.’

‘She got me sentenced to death. She betrayed me.’

Threadfin fought to wipe the smile off his face. ‘Oh, right, well, maybe the flowers are a bit much. You’ll have to tell me that story.’

‘You know Todder,’ the ex-thief mumbled, ‘sometimes I hate your shrivelled rotten guts.’

‡

THE MEDICARY BY THE River Sulk in Icarthya was a low building, consisting of three sections filled with rows of cots.

The imperial marshal marched past each row, some of the beds occupied, until she reached the last. Sind lay beneath a thin blanket and appeared asleep. Her breathing was shallow and the wound to her face had swollen at the edges, a dark vein-like webbing spreading outward.

The medicus treating her with his attendants glanced up as she approached. He was cleaning the wound with maggots, but Scatter saw most of the maggots turn black, shrivel up and die. ‘No visitors,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t care if you’re family or a long-lost lover. Out, out!’

An attendant nudged the old man, who glared at the girl. ‘What is it now, what?’

With a jerk of her head at the marshal the girl hissed something at him.

The man pushed up his overlarge Atlantian-made spectacles, a rarity in Icarthya and stared at the Hatavan woman. ‘Ah, oh, well I see. Excuse me, but we don’t get many southerners marching in here, you know. How was I supposed to know, eh? It’s not like I get out very often, to keep up with who’s the imperial marshal these days, and I—’

‘How is she?’ asked Scatter, reminding herself she wasn’t there to kill anyone. ‘Will she live?’

The medicus glanced at his patient. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said at last. ‘What happened to her?’

‘She was stabbed in the face.’

The medicus glared at her, his expression fierce as his bushy eyebrows threatened to envelop his spectacles. ‘What stabbed her? An arrow, a spear, a sword, a knife, a shard of bone? It doesn’t look like any of those though an arrow comes closest I suppose. I’ve never seen a wound like this. The entry wound is too small, and yet the damage ... perhaps it was poisoned? With what though? What, what? What did this?’

‘A ... spine.’

The medicus glanced back at his patient, muttering to himself. ‘Her condition has deteriorated,’ he said at last. ‘I have given her more opiates than I should. They’ll likely kill her first. She was screaming with the pain and the normal dose was ineffectual. So was the double. She is in a very deep sleep. It is out of my hands. I cannot treat what I do not understand. I am sorry.’

Scatter knew he was referring to the dark lattice growing on the woman’s face and neck, but did not comment. What could she say? An otherworldly undead assassin with spines had attacked her? If he believed it, it would still not help Sind. There was no treatment. The infection had gone too deep.

The medicus moved away to examine another groaning patient. There were no injuries from the magical blast in the Pleth Quarter. All those had perished instantly.

‘Imagine the foolishness,’ the medicus grumbled, throwing his arms into the air and almost dancing in frustration, ‘turning bricks into bread and getting people to eat it. I have over three dozen patients with brick-dust in their stomachs. Brick dust! The undead trying to feed the living, hah, a curse if ever there was one.’

Sind uttered a moan, almost imperceptible, and Scatter knelt by the low bed. She brushed the woman’s short hair. ‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I was too slow.’ She wept, because she knew Sind would die. It was her fault. Like all those others throughout millennia. The death of mortals should not have bothered one such as her. Yet they did.

Each time someone died, she’d made a choice not to reveal herself, instead relying on mundane magic while pretending to be an Aidari witch. In so doing, many mortals had died.

She thought she understood the viral mage and his reluctance to take life, and yet he did because he had to. Nothing but dark choices before them all. So often, she had found herself on the verge of telling the mage the truth and each time had backed away. Threadfin Todder was a force beyond anything she could control. Telling him would achieve nothing. It might endanger him.

An hour passed and the imperial marshal did not move from her vigil. Two hours became four and the sun dipped towards the horizon. Attendants refilled the lamps with oil and lit them.

When Sind’s heart stopped, the black webbing had consumed most of her body. The corpse blackened as the rot set in. She stood, turned, and left the medicary, eyes dry, face stern and resolute.

It had to end.

She left the low building to emerge into darkness. Yes, it was fitting; she had learned over centuries dealing with humans, about imagery and meaning.

Something had arrived in the city, hunting. One attack, which had failed, but it would seek out Aiyana again and attempt to murder her. The imperial marshal could not allow it. She would strike first, and then she would seek out Adal, having avoided him for so long. It was time to mend their differences, to work together. The Darkness was rising, and it would devour this world along with many others. Unlike those others, however, the battle for them all would be fought here.

Linuncia, an Ancient of the Al Diron, and a member of the Seraphim Council walked on into the heart of Icarthya, to begin her hunt.