Alan Campbell - God of Clocks

“That was… odd,” Mina admitted.

“Something strange is happening,” Rachel said. “Thaumaturgy, or…” She waved her hands. “I don't know. Something to do with what happened to Rys's bastion in Coreollis… or else something involving the god of clocks. Doesn't Sabor study time?”

“He observes time,” Mina said, “but what you're talking about sounds like the manipulation of time itself, and that's impossible.”

“The same arrow came through that gap twice. The same arrow. And just before Rys's bastion fell I saw two versions of the god of flowers and knives. One Rys on the balcony and another Rys inside. I'm sure of it now.”

Mina considered this for a long moment. Finally she said, “I experienced something odd, too. When Dill pinned down that arconite… for an instant it seemed to me that it was Dill lying on the forest floor, and Menoa's warrior holding him down.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

Mina came over to join Rachel. “Sometimes our minds play tricks on us. I didn't dwell on it at the time.” She picked up the arrow and turned it over in her hands. Then she shrugged, and turned her attention to the view outside.

“What must we look like?” Rachel said. “The settlement militia is going to attack the very moment we heave into view.”

Mina smiled. “Just look at us poor women,” she said, “held hostage inside a demon's mouth, our hapless friend, Hasp, imprisoned and hideously tortured by a gang of ruthless mercenaries.”

“Ruthless mercenaries?”

“They look like mercenaries to me,” she said. “Don't you think? I mean, just look at all this gold. The Mesmerists must have paid them well.”

Rachel turned slowly to face her. “Oh, Mina…”

“It explains why this ghastly automaton is cradling them so gently, and why it shows them so much respect. Clearly these woods-men are leading Menoa's assault against this land.” She gave an abrupt nod. “Local knowledge, you see-that's what conquerors pay for. You knock out the scouts and the watchtowers before you attack. I'll bet this arconite attempts to keep those traitorous dogs out of harm's way once the settlement defenders begin firing arrows.”

“Firing arrows at them. ”

“Yellow Sea pirates used to do the same thing. They'd fly the flags of their enemies during attacks on merchant vessels. The merchants blamed the attacks on the pirates' enemies.”

“That's terrorism.”

She grunted. “We've little choice. Oran knows us too well. If he killed Hasp, would we crush his people in a bloody act of revenge? Murder all those women and children? He doesn't regard that as much of a gamble. But if he found himself caught amongst an angry mob, thousands of people who would readily kill him to protect their town… then the ensuing violence no longer becomes our responsibility. Our position changes from one of potential avenger to potential saviour. In such a situation, he might be more amenable to bargaining.”

Rachel smiled. “You're really quite fiendish, Mina.”

“You have to be,” the thaumaturge replied, “when you have a devil for a master.”

If this was Hell, as she suspected it might be, then she found it satisfying to think that the gods might well have created this realm with her in mind.

A river of blood.

Carnival waded onwards through the thick red waters. Her rage felt like a cold fist in her gut. It had reached an extreme where it could no longer remain in conflict with her soul. Hatred, pure and simple, controlled her every thought. She was going to kill a lot of people.

She thought she recognized the dark-skinned giant up ahead, but couldn't remember where she'd seen him before. He wore a cumbersome wooden harness attached to a heavy rope that floated limply in the river behind him. The line seemed to have been previously connected to the vessel now scattered across this bloody landscape.

A pale, red-haired woman in a grey uniform was held in the big man's arms. Carnival studied her, but nothing stirred in her memory. The woman had a small wand tucked behind her ear that emitted harsh white light, and she held a bottle in the crook of her arm while she manipulated a silvery device with both hands.

As Carnival walked towards the couple, she felt odd currents tugging at her legs. It was almost as if the river was examining her. She heard a splash, and turned sharply.

The boy from the airship was following a short distance behind. Realizing he had been noticed, he ducked behind a mass of broken timbers. Carnival ignored him. She strode up out of the water, across one of the low banks between channels, and then back down the other side. The river embraced her again her like a lover.

“I do not wish to fight you,” the tethered man shouted. “Choose another path, angel.”

Carnival continued straight for him.

“You are free of the Rotsward,” the man said in a steady voice. “But you are not free of Hell, eh? We are here to fight the Lord of the Maze… to save our world… your world. Come with us. We'll leave this place together.”

Carnival made no reply. She was within twenty paces of him now.

“I am not afraid of you,” he said. “You hate me, yes? But I do not hate you. Violence between us makes no sense.”

She heard the boy splashing through the river behind her, but she didn't turn around this time. Her full attention remained fixed on the huge warrior. He was now urging the red-haired woman away from him.

“I beat you once before, angel,” he said. “And I can do so again-but you need not fight me. You wish an apology? Then I am sorry. My master sent me to fight you and I obeyed him.”

Carnival stopped. A memory surfaced: a glade in a stone forest, a place where every branch and thorn had been coated with colourful poisons. She remembered fog, too. “You,” she said.

He nodded grimly.

She felt the blood rush into her scars. Her muscles tightened, making her rotted leathers creak. Instinctively, her wings angled backwards as she prepared to pounce.

The giant reached around behind his back, where the end of the great rope had been split into strands and woven into the latticed harness. He grabbed a fistful of hemp and tore it free, then repeated the process. He was tearing the rope loose.

Carnival waited.

One strand at a time, the tethered man ripped the mighty rope from his back. When he was finished he rolled his shoulders and stepped forward. “I am ready now,” he said.

She leapt at him.

He sidestepped with remarkable agility, bringing one huge fist round to bear on her like a mast hammer.

Carnival twisted and ducked under the blow. Putting her knee behind his own, she grabbed the rear of his harness to pull him downwards.

He remained standing.

She might as well have just tried to pull down a mountain.

His punch had swung wide, but now he tried to loop the crook of his other arm around her neck. Carnival bowed out of this attempted maneuver. They wrestled for a heartbeat, their shins splashing through the sucking water, until she found an opening and threw a vicious punch at his neck with enough force to kill any normal man.

He released her and backed away.

They faced each other again.

The warrior rubbed his neck, looking at her for a long moment. “You have improved,” he said, nodding. “You are much quicker than before, eh? Much stronger now. That is good.”

His red-haired companion was still studying the silver contraption in her hands. “She isn't an angel,” she announced. “I don't know what she is. The locator won't probe her. It's terrified of her.”

The big man laughed uproariously. “Impressive,” he said. “If she can terrify Mesmerist silver, then she can terrify the walls of Hell itself.” He cricked his neck and then crouched, holding out his arms as though he meant to catch her. “Now let me see that move again.”