Mark Newton: The Book of Transformations

Shalev held out her hand; Caley was the first to take it. Careful not to tread in the liquid glass, he hauled himself inside. As the others gained entry, he shuffled around in the darkness. The place reeked of stewed vegetables and herbs. He could see the shimmer of blades and utensils on one wall, beside two enormous stoves. Pots and pans were hanging above his head, and he swore he spotted a rat’s tail disappear around one corner.

Eventually the Cavesiders were all assembled inside and drawing their weapons before following Shalev through the darkness. Caley found himself getting increasingly angry as they exited the kitchen and rounded the corner. If he had been asked to imagine opulence, he would have struggled to match the reality of this place. How was it possible that people could live like this? Why was there a need for so much gold, so many gemstones, such a finely polished marble floor?

One of the others tried to knock a vase from its pedestal, but Shalev spun on her heels and gripped the ornament. She whispered harshly, ‘I know you want to destroy this place — but not yet, not now. First, we kill Urtica. With him dead, the fun can commence.’

Shalev led the way, having memorized the route from a crudely drawn map. She clutched a relic in one fist, ready to apply it, and Caley didn’t have a clue what it would do, but he felt safe with the fact that something secret and advanced could be used against the Imperials.

They progressed taking slow, cautionary steps, suddenly pressing themselves against the wall whenever anyone passed. Some corridors contained a constant level of activity: Imperial missives being carried about the place, soldiers marching with some urgency. It surprised Caley, given the time of night.

They climbed the stairs and reached the third or fourth level — he couldn’t be certain which it was — and they were presented with a vast, carpeted floor. Murals covered the walls and ceilings, though they couldn’t be discerned properly in this light.

Somewhere outside, the wind still moaned.

*

Lan was following Vuldon as he searched his memory and led them further and further into the heart of Balmacara. No one had stopped them to question their purpose, where they were taking Lan, and ultimately it ceased to matter. The focus of all activity was on the all-out war flaring in the city.

Tane was invaluable. He walked alongside Vuldon with his eyes closed, with Lan steering him gently, in order to tune in his hearing as effectively as possible. They scoured a few holding cells nearby, but there was no movement inside, not even anyone sleeping. There were no guards stationed, nothing to denote use of the facility. ‘I’m certain this place contains nobody at all,’ Tane declared.

Down ever musty stairwells, the walls giving way to raw stone, the Knights moved through the darkness, not wanting to even strike a match or speak to each other, in case they gave themselves away. Lan felt vulnerable down here, in these confines, without the freedom to move vast distances. Her faith and trust was in the other two — who had never once questioned her intentions, or her past.

Eventually they reached the solitary confinement zone. Everything had been too easy so far. Would Fulcrom be kept down here, in the worst of the gaols?

Tane waved again for them to stop, and on each occasion the tension was drawn out so much that it began to hurt. ‘Other voices,’ he breathed. ‘In the distance.’

Rounding the corner, she saw an area where a few torches were burning steadily. Further along the corridor two guards were sat playing cards. They must have been a hundred feet away. The shadows were bold, and Lan didn’t know what they might conceal.

Tane whispered, ‘Agents,’ and within a heartbeat there were four of the grey coats walking in a line towards them. She had no idea where they came from, but Vuldon stepped in front of her — for once, she wasn’t annoyed.

‘Hand it over,’ one of the agents muttered.

Vuldon grunted a laugh; here was a fight he wanted.

‘The he-she — give it here and we’ll say no more. You go your own way, we’ll go ours.’

‘The lady ain’t going anywhere,’ Vuldon declared. ‘At least, not with you.’

‘Lan is to be decommissioned,’ another said, she couldn’t see who.

Lan leaned forward to Tane and asked, ‘Is Fulcrom here?’

‘Indeed,’ Tane replied. ‘I believe he’s up behind the guards. One of those corner cells.’

Vuldon waded into the middle of the room, and beckoned the grey coats forwards. They fanned out, each carrying a weapon. Tane angled himself in alongside Vuldon, his claws extended, waiting.

Lan moved along the edge of the room, feeling the gaze of the agents upon her, but Vuldon saw to them. ‘Enough of this stand-off shit,’ he called out. ‘Give me a fight, wankers.’

They seemed to know enough about Vuldon to back off from him; in fact, they actively fled. It was absurd. Vuldon and Tane chased after them, hurtling through the shadows. Lan left them to it and sprinted at an alien speed to the end of the corridor, past the two guards. She peered in one cell: nothing, then another, nothing. She banged on the bars and heard a groan from the third.

Suddenly the two soldiers were upon her. She leapt up, hovered momentarily with her hands pressing up against the brick ceiling, then she kicked one of their heads. Stunned, the man fell to the floor, and Lan landed beside him. She looked up as the other brought his sword down — she rolled to the left, before she spotted more agents approaching.

‘Vuldon!’ she screamed. ‘Tane!’

‘Come here, you freakish bitch,’ one of the agents sneered, reaching out for her while the remaining guard tried to grab hold of her. Tane arrived just in time, drawing his claws across the man’s throat: it blossomed with blood and he collapsed. The second agent stepped back alongside the soldier.

As Vuldon arrived and started unremittingly thumping the face of one of the other agents just behind, Lan moved to gaze inside the last cell in the corner.

There, hunched up against the wall, Fulcrom turned his bloodied face towards her.

‘Stand back from the door,’ Lan spluttered, trying to force it open — unsuccessfully. It was made from some alloy, a good inch or so thick, and with a complex-looking locking mechanism. She gripped the bars of the tiny window set into the door, and shifted her feet up onto the wall to one side. Then she began panting heavily, seeking her reserves of strength. As the fight raged on around her, she reached deep inside herself… then a few moments later released a burst of magnetism. In the blast, her heels piled into the stone, her arms stretched taut at the elbows and wrists, and she wrenched the door — still within its frame — bringing the two surfaces inch by inch apart. She relaxed and collapsed to the floor.

‘Vuldon,’ she moaned loudly.

The big Knight lumbered to her side and, with one palm against the wall, he instinctively pulled the alloy away from the stone — it seemed so easy to get in now that she had prised the surfaces apart.

Vuldon moved back to allow Lan inside, where she took Fulcrom’s outstretched hand.

‘How are you? Did they hurt you?’ she crouched beside him and her questions were answered well enough by just looking at him. His face was covered in blood, one eye had swollen shut. And…

‘My tail…’ he spluttered. Down to one side was his thick tail — severed, like discarded rope. Lan felt the tears seep into her eyes. ‘How could they do this to you?’

‘They wanted to know where you’d gone,’ Fulcrom said. ‘But I wouldn’t tell them.’

This was because of me? She gathered him in her arms and sat with her back to the wall, and she was careful not to squeeze him too hard.