Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

“It’s a twist of space,” I said. “I keep trying to untangle it, but it reforms itself.”

“What did he say?” she asked.

“Raffmir? He said it was a parting gift, something for old times.”

“Is that a clue?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “What do I do with it? It’s getting bigger.”

“Bury it,” said Blackbird.

“Where?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter — in the wall, under the floor. Get rid of it.”

I guided it over to the fireplace where there was a solid surface, and then coaxed it down to floor level and positioned it. I found I could both pull and push it, and that it could be guided. Using my hand I pushed it downwards into the hearthstone. It flared angrily, pulsing out white flashes of light. Each time, my sight was blurred from the intensity.

“Stop! It’s not helping,” called Blackbird.

“There’s a hole in the stone,” I called to her. “I think it’s eaten into it.” It was also noticeably larger.

“Anything that can be made with magic, can be undone with magic,” said Blackbird.

“If it were made of magic,” I said, “wouldn’t it have died with Raffmir?”

Now it was pulsing, absorbing energy from the house, the fire — I just didn’t know. I could feel the skin on my hands burning in the scintillating light. With my void-sight I could see that the tangle had accelerated; it was twisting, turning, inverting and re-ravelling faster now.

“I have to get it away,” I said.

“Where to?” said Blackbird. “If it eats through anything it’s in contact with, what will you put it in? Where will you take it?”

“Is there some sort of nuclear shelter? Maybe glass will hold it?”

“It needs to be somewhere away from anything else.” I could hear the panic in her voice. “Niall, the walls are smoking, and it’s not the fire.”

I already knew. My sight was failing me. I could no longer see with my eyes. They had been burned away with the intensity of the light. Only with the void-sight could I sense the malignant tangle. Whatever Raffmir had done, it was his way of denying us the future we had fought for. My mind raced, trying to think of somewhere it could go, something that would contain it. Soon the house would collapse and bury it, which would only make it bigger and harder to contain. Even if I managed to get it out of the house, it would continue to grow unless I could find some way of undoing it. But then, if I released it, where would all the energy it contained go?

Then I knew what had to be done. I knew of one place where it could go where the harm it could create would be limited. I understood at last what Kareesh and Angela had meant. Finally, it all made sense.

“Blackbird?”

“Yes, Niall?”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“About what? What are you sorry about?”

“Look after the children. I love you.”

“What? What are you doing?”

I embraced the tangle. There was a white flash greater than anything I’ve ever seen. It filled me with a burning intensity that surpassed anything I’d ever know.

So much brightness.

The sky lightened out in the east. Blackbird stood on the grass, watching the smouldering, smoking remains of the house as it crumbled in on itself. Only the chimneys had survived, the blackened rickety columns rising out of the ashes. Her face was smeared with soot, her clothes charred black, and she stank of smoke. Beside her a man stood in the growing dawn light. In uniform, Secretary Carler looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if taking the place of someone else. The insignia on his arm gave it away, though. A shield with six horseshoes.

“We seek your assurance that the danger has been contained, Lady. I’ll need to report to the proper authorities,” said Secretary Carler.

“Don’t call me that,” she said. “My name is Blackbird. It’s as good a name as any I’ve had and will serve me well enough. I didn’t ask for this.”

“The survivors are looking to you,” said Carler. “They need reassurance.”

“I’m not in a position to reassure anyone,” said Blackbird. “You call us survivors, and that’s all we are. Simply those who remain.”

“Nevertheless,” said Carler. “I would like to be able to reassure the minister that the danger has passed.”

“It’s gone. So has Niall. That’s all I know,” she said. “If I knew any more, I would tell you.”

A soldier in similar uniform trotted up, saluting smartly at Secretary Carler, hesitated and saluted Blackbird as well. She sighed. “Sir, the fire is contained and as far as we can ascertain the hostiles have been eliminated. Some may have escaped — it’s impossible to say. Lord Mellion is evacuating the survivors through the portal in the woods.”

“They’re called Ways,” sad Blackbird.

“Yes, Ma’am,” said the soldier.

“Assemble the men,” said Secretary Carler. “Get them back on board the chopper. You can allow the fire service in now, I think. They’ll want to make it safe. I expect they’ll pull down the chimneys.”

“What about any remains within the building, Sir?” asked the soldier.

“There was at least one human body in the house,” said Blackbird. “We would like the remains recovered if possible. There should be a funeral, or at least a memorial.”

“In a fire like that, Lady, the chances of recovery are small. The entire building collapsed,” said Carler. “The heat…”

“His name was Big Dave,” said Blackbird, “and there are those who will grieve his loss.” She glanced towards Lesley who stood apart, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, holding William.

“I will see what can be done,” said Secretary Carler. “Perhaps a symbolic gesture — some ashes from the fire.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “There should be something.”

The soldier saluted and trotted away again.

“You understand that it was not within our remit to intervene in matters internal to the Feyre,” said Secretary Carler.

“If the night had not gone as it did,” said Blackbird, “this morning’s prospect would be somewhat different for all of us.”

“I think you can hear the truth in my words, Lady, when I say that we had contingencies for that, but none of them were prospects I was looking forward to.”

“Let’s not mince words, Secretary,” said Blackbird with some bitterness. “You let us take the brunt, and only became involved when it looked like we would prevail.”

“The treaty-”

“The treaty is with the High Court of the Feyre, a body which I think you will find no longer exists. You chose your battle and your losses are light as a consequence. Ours are not.”

“The treaty has held for almost a thousand years, Lady. We regard it as a treaty with the Feyre, rather than with the High Court.”

“I can’t speak for the Feyre.” said Blackbird. “I only speak for myself.”

“What about the gifted?” said Carler. “What about the people who have yet to emerge, those whose gifts are still dormant?”

“You could have helped us,” said Blackbird. “Instead you chose to stand on the sidelines.”

“I have my orders, Lady,” he reminded her.

“And yet the choices we make are what defines us,” she said. “We are no longer the Eighth Court for that would imply there were seven others, and after tonight I’m not even sure we can muster one, never mind eight.”

“Lord Mellion-”

“Has his own concerns, though without his help we would have been truly lost. I will speak with him, Secretary, but not now. We need time.”

“Of course,” said the secretary.

“He’s out there somewhere,” said Blackbird.

“Who?” asked Carler.