3 Gressil

THE BODIES WERE gone. Swallowed by thunderous waves crashing against what remained of Atlantis. Most of the island had sunk, with only the highest points remaining.

Asher Tone scrambled through the wreckage of what was once his home. His hands were bloodied and bruised, hair thick with salt-water and sand. What remained of once fine clothing was torn and muddied. He knew he looked more like a vagrant than an Atlantian prince, but then, there was no one to see.

‘It has to be here,’ he muttered as he clambered over a swamped and crumbling section of the palace wall. Waves lapped the edges of the ruins. It was days or perhaps hours away from sinking beneath the Adalcis Ocean forever. This was his last chance to find it.

There was a jumble of old mechanisms and twisted metal for the most part; any magic they’d held was long gone. He scrambled through the debris and lifted pieces out of the way, but there was no sign. An hour passed, and he had made no progress. He was just about to give up, to head back to his leaking boat, a vessel he’d stolen although he intended to return it, when a glint of gold caught his eye.

It was just beneath the water. He stumbled towards it and grabbed it as a massive wave hit, drenching him, and threatening to take him to a watery grave. It was partly trapped beneath some stone, but he managed with a lot of grunting effort to free it, scrambling back out of the way of the next wave.

Hunching down over the device, he held it between his knees, examining it. It was his most incredible creation, one neither his sister nor his father had known about. He stroked it, trying to tell if it was damaged, but it appeared intact. He didn’t have his tools. He didn’t have anything to facilitate repairs.

It was circular in shape, with alternating concentric rings, three in all. In the centre was a ruby the size of a small egg. For a long moment, he held his breath, and then the ruby glowed. Nothing dramatic, of course, but then he was hungry, cold, and tired. It had been a draining couple of years. He’d tried many times to get hold of an astrolabe, which had nearly seen him killed and had ended up costing him every silver dralan he’d possessed. Then, he’d struggled to find a vessel since he’d had nothing left with which to hire one.

Now it was in his hands. He cradled it and wept. Too much had gone wrong, with his family, with the destruction of his home, and even his attempt at a new life in Icarthya. He’d begun to fall in love with Aiyana, though he’d never told her. After all, he’d hardly gotten to know her, but there had been something wonderful about her. The fact she was a viral hadn’t bothered him. Now, she was gone. It was all too much. But then, this was why he had created it; to make things better.

Following Aiyana’s death, he’d found himself sinking into a dark abyss, until opium had seen him begging in the streets of Icarthya. It had taken him almost two years to find himself again, and then seek out an astrolabe.

That’s when they’d come for him, seeking to murder him and take the precious device. After all, everyone had heard about the riches of Atlantis, but no one could find the island without an astrolabe. Even now, with most of Atlantis beneath the ocean, the protective magic still worked. It would for millennia to come.

During that time, he’d been at his lowest, but had always planned to return and find it. He had named it an Ameliorate, but it had never worked, or at least it had never done what he’d intended it for; it had managed to do a lot of other things. Still, considering his current circumstances, he felt better with it than without. I know I can make it work, he thought. I just know it. He’d even fantasised that he could use it to bring Aiyana back.

‘An interesting creation,’ said a voice, and he leapt up in surprise, almost dropping the ameliorate back into the water.

An old man in a white robe stood on a section of crumbling wall. He was bald with a long white beard. The man’s eyes were what captured his attention, for those were the eyes of wisdom, of ages long past.

Asher shook himself, gripping his device tighter. ‘Where did you come from?’

The old man smiled. ‘From far away, like you.’

‘How did you get here? I don’t recognise you. You’re not Atlantian. What are you doing here?’ He could not have found his way to this island without an astrolabe, but then there may well have been a surviving device on the black market. It was where he’d found his after all. There were certainly many counterfeits out there.

The stranger laughed. ‘Did you know everyone residing in old Atlantis then? I certainly did not, and I have a good memory for faces. Near a million inhabitants at its height. Don’t fear, I am here to help.’

Asher tried to think straight. With the island nearly sunk, he wondered if the magic protecting it was failing. He didn’t believe that was possible, though. The stranger was obviously addled, but then existing on a sinking island surrounded by the dead, watching your end slowly come with every crashing wave, would likely drive anyone nuts. Yes, that had to be it. One of the last residents of the island, confused and alone. Still, his suspicions refused to give in. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘But I did, I just didn’t answer both. I am here with an offer of help, one which I once made to your father but unfortunately, he rejected.’

‘And what type of help am I needing exactly?’ Who was this person? His instincts told him to flee back to his boat, to escape, but the old man’s gaze held him fast. Like a prey cornered by a predator.

‘Why, a chance to save the world, Asher Tone, and perhaps to save yourself.’

‘I never told you who I am.’ Asher turned to leave, heading back to his small ship. He had what he’d come for, and didn’t see the point in standing around chatting with an insane fool. Maybe he’d just guessed his name, though he knew the chances of that were near impossible. Could he remember me. After all, I am my father’s son, a prince, or at least I was. However, after a few steps towards the edge of the shrinking island, he stopped and turned. He couldn’t just leave someone to die. ‘You don’t have a boat or a ship nearby?’

The old man just smiled.

‘You’d better come with me, then. This place will soon be under water, lost and forgotten for all time.’

‘Oh, no, my dear Asher, it will never be forgotten. Lost, yes, but it will live on in the minds of all for countless millennia.’

Asher snorted. ‘You couldn’t possibly know that.’

‘You did the right thing.’

The Atlantian hesitated, trying to figure this stranger out. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Coming back for the ameliorate. You will have need of it one day. We both will.’

In his surprise, he almost dropped it again. He had told no one of it, let alone what it was called, not least because it hadn’t worked in any of the tests. All his other devices had, but not this one. Perhaps the old man remembered him as a prince of Atlantis, but he could not possibly know about this device.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded in a near whisper.

‘A friend.’

‘I don’t need a friend, and I don’t know you. You could be just some addled old fool.’ No, he looks far too intelligent and sly.

‘Deep down, you know you need to listen to me. That’s the real reason you stopped and offered me a place in your ship.’ The old man took a few steps toward him, moving nimbly for a person of advanced age. He stopped within two feet of Asher, and slowly reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. ‘You are the last prince of Atlantis. There will never be another. Your son will be an ordinary lad, with no titles and no knowledge of his family’s history. However, within him will be the magic of the Atlantians, a race blessed by the angels.’

‘You ... you can’t know such things.’ He didn’t sound so certain, even to himself.

‘What I know or don’t is of no consequence. What is,’ he added, tapping Asher’s chest with his other hand, ‘is inside of you. Your heart, your courage and strength. Your will to do what is right, to serve a greater purpose than yourself.’

Without asking, the old man took the ameliorate in his hands, and Asher to his shock found he didn’t even want to stop him.

The ruby remained dull and uninteresting, but the stranger stared deep within it. ‘It does not function, because it is not needed. Not yet. You created a wonder in this, something no other Atlantian has managed. Its time will come, as will yours, Asher Tone. This I promise. Have faith.’ He handed it back, and Asher took it in shaking hands.

‘Faith in what?’

‘In yourself. No other faith is as important.’

Asher stared at his device, fumbling with it, trying to make sense of what was happening. There was a strange feeling in his chest, not unpleasant but unexpected. A feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

When he looked up, the old man was gone. For a moment he thought perhaps he had imagined the whole business. Perhaps he had gone too long without food, too many weeks under the glaring sun. He’d come close to drinking seawater at one point, even though he knew it would kill him. It had then rained during a mild storm, and he’d managed to collect enough water to survive.

He searched for an explanation, anything suggesting an hallucination, an overactive imagination, right down to the ameliorate itself having caused it.

In the end, he was left clueless and confused, but he was not left bereft.

In his chest, there fluttered the most wonderful thing of all.

In his heart, there was once again, hope.

‡

Threadfin stood before the full-length mirror, one of his most valuable possessions in the Tower of Wept, or well, it used to be. It now had a massive crack in it. Besides, these days, all he saw was his reflection. He was not the same thief who’d escaped exile in Lame to save his sister. Although, perhaps I am still the same fool.

There had been a time when seeing himself in mirrors, or any reflective surface, had been impossible. His reflection had been non-existent. It felt like an age had passed since, instead of roughly four years. So much had been lost. Almost everything. His family was gone except for one sister, the one who didn’t like him very much. Many companions had died too, including his closest friend.

‘The price has been too high,’ he whispered at his warped reflection. The worst of it was, he knew it wasn’t over.

His mirrored self was staring back at him with a sour and haggard visage. It had been better when he couldn’t look at himself. That green-grey scaly skin, the ridges on his forehead, those sunken eyes, and tiny horns jutting asymmetrically from his undead face.

How did I ever dare to love, her, he thought feeling miserable. She could never have loved me back, not this ... thing. Her death, more than any of the others, haunted him. Thinking of her, of those last moments, felt like a dozen hot knives piercing his soul. It was a similar feeling when he thought of Podral, but that one was different too.

The tower was quiet, Nipper off gallivanting as usual. His sister had on a whim of idiocy, given all mongrels their freedom. I should never have told her the full story of Volcanus. That’s where honesty gets you; left to sweep and dust my own bloody tower without a cup of tea for my trouble. She’d even allowed the mongrels to draft up their own laws, giving them rights to payment and time off.

It annoyed him no end, especially since Nipper had stolen all the cups. Not that the mongrel had done much dusting or tea making, but he missed having the little fellow about. The least that pesky mongrel owed him was a visit now and then.

He wiped off a layer of filth on the mirror’s frame with one finger and stepped back. He was about to toss the sheet over it when he spotted something.

It was faint at first, but it grew clearer. Two figures had appeared, standing on either side of his reflection. Knowing he couldn’t see anything in mirrors anymore, since the power of the Aura no longer resided in him, he turned, expecting to see two intruders. No one was there.

Slowly, he looked back at the mirror, half squinting, wondering if he was going insane. He’d been waiting for it for some time, and it was overdue.

‘He still looks odd,’ said Manic, ‘and underfed. That skeletal visage is so a thousand years ago.’

‘Eccentric,’ suggested Mania.

‘Psychotic, if you ask me, sister. See that squint of his, and that murderous rage in those sunken eyes? Why does he always look at us like that? Downright rudeness is what it is.’

Threadfin’s anger evaporated. He was too tired to care. Instead, he groaned. He had hoped he’d seen the last of those twits, but it seemed there was no escaping them. They had latched on to him for whatever reason, and wouldn’t let go. They had always served their own interests, even when they had managed to help him.

‘What are you two doing in my mirror? Couldn’t you just walk up to my front door and knock like reasonable folk?’ Then again, they were shraeds, albeit unusual ones. A shraed knocking on anyone’s door was laughable at best.

Mania offered him a sympathetic smile. ‘My dear, we know you can no longer come to us, but nothing stops us from visiting you.’

Threadfin rubbed at a horn on his forehead, feeling an ache in his skull grow to a low throb. ‘No, I meant what are you doing in my mirror?’

‘Enemies abound,’ said Manic as though that explained everything.

‘Hunting us day and night,’ added his sister. ‘We are the solution to your inevitable plight after all, and there are many who seek to deprive you of our expertise. Now, dear, we need you to touch the mirror, so we can discuss matters in private.’

Threadfin eyed them suspiciously. If asked, right at that moment, he couldn’t have said exactly what it was, but something about them was wrong. Instinct or intuition of some kind, not that he’d ever had much of either. Still, he knew in his shrivelled heart, they weren’t who they claimed to be. This is not the Manic and Mania I know.

What he said instead was, ‘I’ve no time for you inbred, tight-arsed, thick-headed ignorant dolts, not to mention your inane foul gibberish. You’re nothing but trouble. Go and bother someone else.’ Then he watched them, and waited.

Manic turned and glanced at his sister with a shrug. She just smiled. ‘My dear, we are simply here to warn you. Please, just touch the mirror and we will discuss it.’

Now, Threadfin Todder could accept one warning of a morning, but two was pushing it. Also, he knew Manic and Mania might warn him if it was in their self-interest, but one thing they never reacted well to were direct insults. Especially, Manic. Whoever these imposters were, they’d given a fair imitation of the shraed siblings, but not good enough.

With great care, he took a few steps backward, feeling for his magic with a feather-light touch. He noticed Mania’s face twitch, and knew he was too late.

The figures in the mirror merged as one with lightning speed, and a monstrous creature took their place. Not the other incarnation of Manic and Mania known as Cerberus – for this was not them - but something more hideous and deadly.

Moving on six legs, it had two large heads and eight mouths filled with teeth. Two disjointed legs lashed out of the mirror at the viral as he attempted to use his magic. He managed to dodge them, stumbling backwards. The crack in the mirror appeared to save him, preventing Gressil from coming through too easily. After Adal’s warning, he had no doubt as to this imposter’s identity.

His magic fizzled out and a third leg, which ended in sharp talons, slammed into him, sending him flying into the door of his tower with a smack.

Gressil began to clamber free of the mirror, its body contorting and reforming as it tried to get around the crack. Then it transmogrified again, and a handsome rugged man stepped out of the mirror instead. Threadfin noted he did not cast a reflection in the mirror behind him.

With a snarl, the viral mage unleashed a burst of power, which this time worked. The magic struck the intruder in the chest, but diffused harmlessly. He might as well have hurled a bucket of piss at it for all the effect it had. In fact, the piss might have done more.

The door behind him slammed into his back, and he crawled out of the way. Tezcat Licolo strode in as though she owned the place. Considering his predicament, he thought he might just let her off with a warning.

The man’s arms elongated with speed, forming talons as it struck out at both undead mages. Tezcat attempted to deflect the attack, but ended up being hurled across the room to land on a large table covered in books and other odds and ends.

Threadfin remained in a crouch, knowing their magic couldn’t kill this thing, at least not directly. Instead of aiming for the creature itself, he aimed for the mirror. It was an awkward weave of his power, one he’d not quite practised, but he managed to drag the mirror forwards so it struck the half-man, half-taloned monstrosity in the back.

At first, nothing seemed to happen, but then the creature let out a vicious roar. The mirror had snagged it. Threadfin then hit the intruder with a series of blasts to make certain, forcing it back into the mirror. It then fell flat on the stone flags, glass splintering from the impact.

Tezcat was picking herself up from the mess that had been a perfectly nice oak table. She lifted a shattered wooden leg, stared at it, and then tossed it aside, appearing unhurt. It wasn’t easy to injure or kill the undead.

Threadfin approached and reached out a hand to help her up. ‘You alright?’

‘You see,’ she said, ‘that’s why I doesn’t use doors. Look what happens.’

‘Yeah, uh, maybe you do have a point.’

‘How’d you knows it would work?’ she asked, staring at the broken mirror.

‘I didn’t,’ he confessed, ‘but our magic had no effect on it. It came out of the mirror so I guessed it should go back in. Mage logic.’

She had her hands on her thin hips, frowning up at him. ‘You was experimentin’ wasn’t you?’

Threadfin winced. ‘I wish I could say I had been, Cat, but no. This time, it was nothing to do with me. That was a creature called, Gressil. Nothing to worry about. It’s just been sent to destroy me. Another day in the existence of a mage. Good job you turned up. I think you bought me enough time to figure out what to do.’

‘I didn’t do nothin’ much,’ she replied with a shrug.

‘You broke my table.’

‘Oh.’

‘And you distracted it, Cat, and saved my scrawny ass in the process.’

She bent down to get a good gawk at him, making a show of it. ‘Yep, it is scrawny alright.’

Threadfin looked around at the mess that was his tower, scratching his head. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’

‘Yours sister sent me to find you. She’s holdin’ a wars council. Says you needs to attend her immediately.’

‘Oh, do I now?’

‘Yep. She says you does.’

‘That question was rhetorical, Cat.’

‘Huh?’

He waved a hand at her and turned towards the door. ‘Never mind, I guess I’d best get going before she sends the entire Actaeon Guard up here to drag me to her.’

Of course, he had no intention of attending any war council. They didn’t listen to him anyhow. They were all about defending the imperium, which was fine as far as it went, but it was a losing strategy. Sitting back and waiting for Astra Dar to attack was a bad idea. They needed to go on the offensive. One would think his sister, a former military commander, would see his point.

As he made to open his front door, Tezcat popped up in front of him in a gaseous cloud, and grabbed his arms. ‘Oh, no needs for that,’ she said with a sly grin. ‘I been practicin’ lots. I can brings someone with me, sometimes two, though I is a bit tired from jumpin’ backs and forth so much. Asides, the imperatrix instructed me not to lets you out o’ my sight. She were very prolific.’

‘Eh? Oh, I think you mean, specific.’

‘What I said, weren’t it?’

‘Where is she then?’ From the way Tezcat was talking, Sarscha Todralan was not in Icarthya.

‘Down south. A town called, Cantrip.’

‘Cat, I’m not going to no bloody desert. It’s hot, dusty and I don’t like sand. Now, there is an end to it.’ He let his own magic bloom in resistance, shoving her away.

Her face turned serious, which didn’t suit her as much as her mischievous grin. ‘Oh, yes, you is. I has my instructions.’

Something in her tone caught his attention. ‘Wait, what has happened? What don’t I know about?’

She screwed up her face. ‘Well, I was opposed to let yours high and mighty sister tells you about it, but ...’

He gave her his best stare. ‘Out with it.’

‘There's been a rebellion in Raddhon. Um, well, it looks like the king’s sister turned on everyones, and it might be all the Horites clan went along with her too.’

Threadfin frowned, and then he remembered hearing something about the king’s sister once. ‘She’s a high priestess, isn’t she?’

Tezcat nodded. ‘Yup, and worse, she were in charge o’ securin’ the Shathra Stone. It were hidden in a secret place only she and them Horites knew ’bout, and I guess the king too.’

A coldness seeped into his bones as he realised the implications. A rebellion like that could be no coincidence. No, this had the stench of sorcery all over it. ‘I think you’d better take me to see my sister, after all.’ Then he paused. ‘But um, wait here one minute.’

Tezcat watched him suspiciously. ‘Threads, I’s not stupid, you know.’

He flapped a hand at her. ‘I mean it, Cat, just give me one minute. I need to grab something.’ After what had happened with the mirror, he could take no chances. He left the room through a small internal door at the back of his tower, which led to a spiral stone staircase. He climbed it to the next level, the roof there partially open to the sky. The mongrels had never gotten around to finishing it, and probably never would now.

He felt along the slick stone on one side, until he felt out the right spot. Then with a flick of his wrist, and a touch of magic, two large stones flew out of the wall, to reveal a dark recess. With another touch of his magic, he removed the wards set within the recess, smiling to himself. A little trick Lyrin had taught him.

He pulled out a long object, wrapped heavily in oiled hide for protection. Not that it needed any, he supposed. It was more to keep it hidden from watching eyes.

The Watcher grumbled within his soul, but he ignored it. Unwrapping the Crystal Sword, Threadfin gazed upon its cold beauty. A swirl of light deep within it spoke of a trapped angelic soul, once known as Volcanus, the Despoiler. It also contained the Aura, a power he’d been born with, but it had never been meant for him.

Returning below, he handed the ancient artefact to Tezcat to carry. ‘By the way,’ he added, ‘while you’re at it, we need to find Grudge on the way. Can you handle both of us?’

She nodded. ‘I’s tired, but I has had lots o’ practice.’

When he was ready, her magic enveloped them both in a wash of dark vapours.

‡

Threadfin found himself standing in the southern town of Cantrip, or so Tezcat announced. Grudge, whom they’d collected enroute to both the captain’s surprise and horror, was on his knees hurling up his breakfast.

There was a legionary encampment of tents to the north of the town, which included cooking fires, wagons with skunks corralled downwind, sydarag enclosures, and mounted patrols along its perimeter.

‘What is she doing in the south anyway?’ he demanded.

Tezcat giggled. ‘She hads me bring her heres this morning. She wanted her wars council here. She were inspecting the Gulley’s defences. Been all o’er the imperium this past week.’

Threadfin straightened his cloak with a curse, and tried to make himself look presentable, which wasn’t easy at the best of times. Usually, he had Nipper’s help.

The captain emitted several groans, but he ignored him. Breathers weren’t known for strong constitutions where magic was concerned, but Grudge was handy with a sword when one was needed.

He turned around examining his surroundings, already wilting beneath the oppressive desert heat, and kicked at the white sand piled at his feet.

‘Spectrum above, but I hate bloody deserts.’