Mark Chadbourn - Destroyer of Worlds

A shadow crossed Seth's face.

'This weapon was devised by the bastards in the stinking bowels of the Court of the Final Word. It has the power to bend reality, to ensnare, if you will, or to destroy, and to destroy on a massive scale, or so I am told. This is only a little baby of a Wish-Hex — not like the one those bastards embedded in the boy, Jack, who accompanies Church. But still, I think it will suffice.'

'You would not use it. You would not survive.'

Decebalus pretended to consider this point, then said, 'You gods do not live in the shadow of death, like Fragile Creatures do. It is the thing that defines us. An encounter with death changes us for ever, the passing of a loved one, a parent, like the stones the alchemists used to turn lead into gold. We become something sadder, but greater for the experience. Death is a companion to us, and sooner or later we must make our peace with him. I did that a long time ago.' He held the box up to eye-level and examined the carvings around it. 'I have been told that wish is an old word for soul. Now what do you think that means? Is this a small part of Existence, with all the power that lies in it? I think perhaps it is.'

'The Caraprix-'

'If they are destroyed too, then so be it. At least your foul lord will not use them to ensure his unending rule.'

There was movement in the room. A shadow emerged slowly from the brilliant light: Jerzy, not conscious, was suspended a few inches above the floor. The light wrapped around him and entered him through eyes, mouth, ears and nostrils.

Seth lunged for the box, and without a second thought Decebalus tore open the lid. His defiant battle cry was drowned out by a deafening roar that made his ears bleed. A brilliant blue light flooded the corridor, and for a second, that was all Decebalus could see, until, strangely, he was walking hand-in-hand with Aula through the forests of Dacia. He was at peace, for the first time. Aula smiled at him, and that was all he knew.

Into the Great Plain wound a column of Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, gods and inhabitants of the Court of the Soaring Spirit, stragglers racing from the city to join the tail end. When the soundless blue flare lit up the sky, they came to a halt and glanced back only to see that the city and part of the mountain behind it were gone.

Aula stared at the barren, blackened zone for a long moment, and then wiped away a stray tear. Holding her head proudly, she nodded to Ronnie who waited with Mahalia and Crowther, and the column continued slowly on its way.

Rough hands dragged Callow's head from the water. He was briefly distracted by the sensation of the wriggling razor-worms disengaging from his empty eye sockets, and then he cried, 'Oh, thank you, oh, thank you! I knew you'd come back for me. Forget about the eyes! They'll grow back in no time, and I'll be as good as new! I forgive you. I accept my punishment for my minor misdemeanour-'

'You encountered the Brother and Sister of Dragons?'

The voice was low and rustling, and inhuman. 'Who are you?' Callow asked hesitantly.

'The Hortha.'

'Ah. And what is a Hortha?'

'You should know. I have been a step behind you your whole life.'

'I think perhaps I would have noticed.'

'No. Your kind never notices.'

'Perhaps, kind sir, you could help me down from this undignified position, and then we could talk as old friends-'

'My nature is a paradox for all living things,' the Hortha said. 'Some cross my path at random. Some call me to them, consciously or otherwise. And some I pursue. Once I have been encountered I can never be stopped. It is only a matter of time.'

'Why, this sounds like a riddle! What am I? I do like riddle games. Perhaps if I guess correctly, you could reward me in the age-old fashion? In this case, by bringing me down to earth.'

'Random or purposeful, that is usually the question that follows me,' the Hortha continued. 'There is a pattern. There is always a pattern. You can beg and plead, make a bargain with your gods, you can try to bribe and cajole me, or run faster, or hide, or wish, but the pattern can never be changed. And I am bound into the very fabric of it, into the weft and the weave. I have all faces and I have two faces, and in the end I have only one. I am both a being and a symbol.'

'Good! Good! I like this. I think I am almost there! Give me another clue.'

'Tell me what you learned from the Brother and Sister of Dragons.'

'I learned that they are vicious beasts, and that everything they say about their own nature is a lie!'

The Hortha began to lower Callow's head back into the water.

'Wait! Wait! You want information! I understand. A valuable nugget, something that will help you to find them, perhaps? Or… Ah, I have it! Something that will give you power over them. Knowledge is power! Yes, indeed.'

'Continue.'

'They carry a lantern that is not a lantern. Within it is one of their own kind, a genie in the lamp, one who has two faces like yourself — a man and a blue flame! And he is the key to everything they do. Not just their guide, but also a manifestation of that sickening Pendragon Spirit,' Callow gabbled. 'Is that the kind of thing you want?'

'Yes. It is.'

'Then bring me down, my good man!'

Once again, the Hortha began to lower Callow into the water.

'Wait! My reward!'

'You have your reward. You have crossed my path and still you survive. Others, in a similar situation, would not have survived. On this occasion, the great forces of all there is have shifted around you and moved on.'

'No!' Callow shouted.

'You still do not understand your good fortune. That, in itself, is unfortunate.'

Allowing Callow's head to drop back into the water, the Hortha moved on. The razor-worms returned to their eternal task, and Callow to his screams.

Alone in the stifling heat of the room, Church worked at the rope around his wrists fastening him to the chair. Blood slicked the fibres and a deep ache jabbed towards his elbows, but he ignored the pain, focusing instead on Ruth and everything she meant to him.

The Libertarian had grown bored with tormenting him long ago, but that only made Church more anxious, for now his other self might be with Ruth, exacting his promise of torture. Church couldn't think about that, nor his other doubts: did the Libertarian's departure mean his future-self knew Church would not escape, or was this another of his memory blank spots? Where was his sword? Was Veitch already saving Ruth, while he was trapped there impotently? Was that a scream he had heard echoing through the wall, or just his imagination? If he allowed himself, he could get lost in the questions and the infinite permutations.

Focus on the now, he told himself. He used the pain in his wrists to clear his head.

The lamps and candles fizzed as they attempted to keep the dark at bay. Sweat coated his body. But still the rope would not give.

'Shouldn't we have a rope or something, or chalk so we can scribble some arrows, or some other shit like they have in all those old stories?' Veitch asked uneasily as they picked their way through the twists and turns of the dusty tunnels beneath the queen's palace. Bearskin and Shadow John had found two torches to light their way, but they revealed no distinguishing features on the stone walls.

'My nose will lead us back out,' Bearskin said, before adding with a hesitance that masked a touch of distaste, 'Fragile Creatures have a distinct aroma.'

'You can smell the woman?' Shavi asked.

'Not yet. But when our paths cross…'

Shavi's hand jerked to his alien eye.

'Seeing things?' Veitch asked.

'Just flashes… flickers on the edge of my vision. It happens like that sometimes. I cannot tell what they are until they come into focus.'