Midnight

  Glowing with stolen health, Abyssinia allowed the husk of his remains to fall at her feet and looked up. “It’s so good to be around you again, Skulduggery. I missed you when I was a heart in a box. I missed our talks.”

  “I would imagine good conversation is hard to come by when you’re an internal organ.”

  “You see? You understand me. You always have.” She switched her gaze to Valkyrie. “This is not the first time we’ve spoken, either, is it?”

  “I saw you in my vision,” Valkyrie said. “You touched me. How did you do that?”

  “I am the Princess of the Darklands. I can do many things.” She turned slightly. “Nero, Skeiri, leave us, please.”

  “Uh, is that wise?” Nero asked.

  “You are such a sweet boy,” Abyssinia said. “Thank you, but I’m perfectly safe here. I’ll contact you when I need you. Go on now.”

  Nero glanced at the woman called Skeiri, but she remained impassive. A moment later, they vanished.

  “There,” Abyssinia said. “Some privacy. I have to admit, Valkyrie, there are … gaps in my memory when it comes to you. I think it happened when I drew from your strength. You’re something of a mystery to me – which I find delightful, by the way. You’re a book I have yet to read.”

  “No one’s called me a book before.”

  “I’ve sensed you since that day, haven’t I?”

  “Not me,” Valkyrie said. “Must be somebody else.” She pressed on before Abyssinia revealed too much in front of Skulduggery. “So this Darklands – is that a place, or more like a state-of-mind-type thing?”

  “It’s here, Valkyrie. All around us. To the Faceless Ones, this entire planet is the Darklands. It’s why they sought it out. It’s why they fought so hard to stay. This is their holy land. It’s why they want to come back.”

  “Huh. I hadn’t heard that before.”

  Abyssinia smiled. “Of course not. You haven’t read the Book of Tears, have you? You haven’t listened to its sermons. I would recommend it, if you have the time. It could change your life.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Valkyrie. “To be honest with you, I never liked going to regular church, let alone crazy church.”

  Abyssinia laughed. “You think the mortal religions sound any less fantastical? At least our gods are real. You faced them, didn’t you? You were there when they visited, ten years ago.”

  “I was there, all right. They came back, my head felt like it was going to explode, and they killed a bunch of people. Mostly their own worshippers, so … that’s one good thing about them. Pity you missed it.”

  “Yes, it is. I do so love a family reunion.”

  Skulduggery tilted his head. “Family?”

  Abyssinia bit her lip. “Here it comes – everything I kept from you when we were … dating. Could you call it dating? Let’s call it dating. I’m royalty, darling. My bloodline can be traced back to the Faceless Ones themselves.”

  Valkyrie frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  “My family comes directly from the first Faceless One to take human form. Not to possess a human body, mind you, but to actually become a human body. It was to be the start of a whole new species, before the Ancients rebelled.”

  “And I thought we shared everything,” Skulduggery murmured.

  “Oh, don’t be mad with me, my love. My father swore us all to secrecy. If our enemies, of which there were many, learned of our heritage, they would seek to destroy us.”

  “Wait,” Valkyrie said. “Skulduggery, are you actually believing her?”

  He shrugged. “You’re descended from the Last of the Ancients – why can’t she be descended from the Faceless Ones?”

  “Because at least my ancestors were human, not an insane god who put on a human face and went out and got lucky. Abyssinia, are you sure your family wasn’t just full of it?”

  Abyssinia’s smile dimmed. “Do not speak ill of my family.”

  “Sore subject?”

  “My mother was a beacon of love, and my father had the blood of gods in his veins. You have no idea how better off the people of this world would have been if my parents ruled over them.”

  “We’ve been to a world overrun by the Faceless Ones,” Skulduggery said. “It was not a fun place.”

  “My father had no intention of bringing them back,” Abyssinia said. “Why would he? They had their time, and that time ended. Now it was our turn. A thousand years ago, my father was about to reveal the truth to the world and rally the righteous to our banner. We would have overthrown the mortal civilisations. We would have cured disease, ended famine, made countless lives better …”

  “So long as the mortals knelt before you.”

  “A little kneeling never hurt anyone,” said Abyssinia.

  “Your dad,” Valkyrie said, “would he be the King of the Darklands, by any chance?”

  “That was his title, yes.”

  “It’s not any more?”

  “When I was still a child,” said Abyssinia, “my father was betrayed by his most gifted – and trusted – student. Murdered on the cusp of greatness.”

  “Ooh, I hate that,” Valkyrie said. “I hate being murdered on the cusp of things.”

  “You’re quite an insolent young lady, aren’t you?”

  “I have my moments,” said Valkyrie.

  “This gifted student,” Skulduggery said, “who was he?”

  Abyssinia smiled thinly. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”

  “I have,” said Skulduggery, “but I want confirmation. He killed your father. Both your parents? I imagine your whole family. Maybe you were the only one who escaped. He was probably unaware of this, as he wouldn’t have stopped hunting you if he’d known you were alive. So that means you, or more likely someone still loyal to you, killed a child of roughly the same age and appearance and presented the body to him as your own.”

  “Who are we talking about?” Valkyrie asked.

  “The gifted student,” Skulduggery said, “who went on to unite the disciples of the Faceless Ones and start a war that would last for centuries.”

  “Mevolent,” Valkyrie said slowly. She looked back at Abyssinia. “But then that means … your father was the Unnamed.”

  “That’s what they called him.”

  Valkyrie nodded. “I don’t know what to do with that infor-mation.”

  “So why does Mevolent’s wife have your son?” Skulduggery asked.

  “Does it matter?” Abyssinia responded. “It’s Serafina. Serafina does what Serafina does, and she always has. Have you met her, Valkyrie?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “You wouldn’t like her. Would she, Skulduggery? She wouldn’t like her. Serafina is … unlikeable, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’ve always thought so,” Skulduggery said.

  “Yes, she’s beautiful,” said Abyssinia. “Yes, she’s alluring. Yes, every step she takes is a sensuous moment to be savoured by all who bear witness … but there are more beautiful. China Sorrows, for example. A more beautiful person I have never seen than China Sorrows. There are those more alluring, also, whose footsteps are even more sensuous than Serafina’s.” She sighed. “Even so, as unlikeable as she is, she does possess a certain … something. Does she not, Skulduggery?”

  “I suppose she does.”

  “Would you say Serafina is more beautiful than me?”

  “I would not.”

  Abyssinia laughed. “Come now, you can be honest. With our history, with what we’ve shared, honesty is surely the least we can expect from each other.”

  “I am being honest,” Skulduggery said. “My criteria for judging beauty have broadened considerably since the last time we spoke. Serafina may be physically attractive, but she’s a monster.”

  “This is true.”

  “Of course,” Skulduggery continued, “you’re a monster, too.”

  Abyssinia smiled. “We’re all monsters here. Such darkness I see before me. Lord Vile and Darquesse. How many innoce
nt lives have you two snuffed out? How much blood is on your hands?”

  “Plenty,” said Valkyrie.

  “Plenty,” Abyssinia echoed. “This is indeed true. Everyone knows about you, Valkyrie. They fear you, don’t they? They resent you. They positively hate you. But Skulduggery’s dark side remains a secret. It’s why I sent Razzia and Nero away. A secret is only fun when it’s kept. How would the Sanctuaries around the world react, I wonder, to the truth? Maybe I should tell them … Oh, Skulduggery, how I wish you had a face! I would love to see if you were scared, or nervous, or resigned at the very notion! Instead, all I get is this … blank skull. Does it bother you, Valkyrie? Does it bother you that you can’t tell what he’s feeling?”

  “I can tell,” Valkyrie said.

  Abyssinia looked at her, and didn’t say anything.

  “Quidnunc let slip something interesting,” Skulduggery said. “Something Caisson told him when he was being tortured.”

  Abyssinia took a moment to take her eyes off Valkyrie. “Oh?”

  “He seems to think Lord Vile is his father. Why would you lie to him about that?”

  “You think it’s a lie?”

  “I may not remember every single thing I did when I wore that armour, but I’d recall fathering an impossible child.”

  “Not impossible, my love. There have always been ways to conceive a child with magic, even back then.”

  “I’m not his father.”

  “Oh, Skulduggery. You don’t know what you are.”

  “What about your anti-Sanctuary friends? Do they know about any of this? Do the First Wave kids? They all know you’re looking for Caisson, obviously – but do they know he’s the future King of the Darklands? Do they know of his heritage?”

  “We are united, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “You’re united because you’re lying to them,” Skulduggery said. “You sold them on a sorcerers-rule-the-world idea – but what you’re talking about now is something different. You’re talking about you ruling the world. Your son taking his rightful place on the throne, and you standing behind him. That’s why you sent Nero and Skeiri out, isn’t it? You’re afraid if they find out what you’re really up to, they’ll leave.”

  Abyssinia smiled. “I suppose we all have our secrets. But that’s not the only reason I sent them away. I seek a truce, Skulduggery.”

  “After everything you’ve done?”

  “Not for me. For Caisson. You murdered me before he’d even taken a name to protect himself. He’s never known a mother’s love, let alone a father’s. He’s had the cruellest of lives, and once I get him back he will assume the title of the King of the Darklands – the same King that Auger Darkly is prophesied to battle and possibly kill. I implore you, I beseech you, to talk to the Darkly boy, convince him not to hunt down our son. In return, I will take Caisson and leave, and you will never hear from either of us again.”

  “You want to negotiate? That’s unlike you.”

  “Not when it comes to our son.”

  “Don’t call him that.”

  “He’s like you, you know. He grew up tall.”

  Valkyrie interrupted. “Why don’t you go after Auger?”

  “I’ve thought about it,” said Abyssinia. “It would, admittedly, solve my problems to just kill the boy. But prophecies are complicated things. Who’s to say that an attempt on the Darkly boy’s life wouldn’t lead him to this fateful confrontation with Caisson three years from now? No, a peaceful solution is the most desirable, I think.”

  “You’ll walk away?” Skulduggery asked. “You’ll abandon the people who follow you?”

  “They’ll follow someone else. I’ve given them what they needed. I’ve started them on the road. Some of them are already beginning to turn away from me. It was inevitable, but they refused to see it.”

  “Tell us where Coldheart Prison is and we’ll talk.”

  “Oh, no, no, Skulduggery. This truce I offer is for me and Caisson only. You’ll have to deal with my friends on your own. Will you let us walk away?”

  “I’m sorry, Abyssinia – you’re too dangerous. You’ve always felt that the world owes you something. Now that I know you think it owes you fealty, I can’t trust you. You’re a threat. You’ll always be a threat.”

  Abyssinia sighed. “So you are turning down my offer of a truce?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Then you know what has to happen now.”

  “I do.”

  Valkyrie tensed.

  Nero and Skeiri teleported in. Skulduggery pulled his revolver and Nero dived on him and they both disappeared. Valkyrie raised her arm, energy crackling, but Skeiri’s palm opened, just like she had seen Razzia’s do, and a tentacle – just like Razzia’s, except green – shot out, and that tentacle plunged right between the open zip of Valkyrie’s jacket.

  Straight into her chest.

  26

  Valkyrie gasped. Stepped back. Both hands closed round the tentacle. It was warm. Slick. It pulsed with life.

  She dropped to her knees.

  Inside her chest, the head of the parasite squirmed.

  Skeiri held up her other hand. Her palm opened. The second parasite readied itself. Aimed right at Valkyrie’s face.

  It launched but Valkyrie caught it one-handed. It snapped at her.

  With her free hand, Valkyrie grabbed a shard of broken vase and slashed, severing the parasite’s head from its body. Skeiri screamed and both tendrils retracted into her palms and she staggered back, clutching her right wrist, sobbing.

  Blood drenching her T-shirt, Valkyrie got up. Abyssinia took hold of her, threw her against the wall. A framed picture was dislodged. Fell.

  Valkyrie’s weak knees. Hot blood against cold skin. Abyssinia’s hand on Valkyrie’s head, her mind peering into Valkyrie’s thoughts. Confident. Arrogant.

  Vulnerable.

  Valkyrie’s hands clutched Abyssinia’s head.

  27

  Valkyrie drowned in memories.

  They overwhelmed her. She was lost to them, her own identity nothing but a drop in the vast ocean of Abyssinia. Pain and love and conflict, hatred and strength, peace and vengeance. Faces and voices Valkyrie had never known, suddenly as sharp as those of her own parents.

  Valkyrie went under. This was a mistake. Doing this was a mistake, but there was no way out now. She was being crushed by a life she’d never lived, where everything was new, where everything was alien.

  And yet, in all that newness, something familiar.

  She swam towards it.

  She was on a hilltop, hunkering in front of a dying man. Blood seeped from a wound in his belly. She prodded him in the chest with her finger. He winced, and opened his eyes.

  “Oh, no,” he said when he saw her.

  Valkyrie smiled. “Hello,” she said.

  No. It was Abyssinia. Not Valkyrie. This was Abyssinia’s memory, and yet it was Valkyrie who spoke.

  “They left you behind, did they?” she said. “A terrible thing to leave a comrade behind. You go to the trouble of attacking a village and killing all of these fine, fine people … and, at the first whiff of a stab wound to the gut, they leave you in their wake. You have my sympathies, brave warrior.”

  “Please,” said the dying man, “I know who you are. Help me.”

  Valkyrie laid a hand on his shoulder, and looked him in the eye. “I will help you. I would be honoured to help you. But first, I am in need of some information about these friends of yours.”

  “Ask me anything,” said the dying man, but Valkyrie shook her head.

  “You don’t have to speak,” she said. “Conserve your strength. Let me do the work.”

  She ignored his look of confusion and sent her thoughts into his, like the tip of a spear sliding into soft flesh. She felt his alarm and she pushed it to one side, focusing instead on his memories. They opened before her, every intimate detail of this dying man’s life. But she cared little for the intimate details. She absorbed
the recent memories. The moment the dying man and his eleven companions came across this village of mortals. The death they brought, with steel and magic and cudgel. She watched, through his eyes, as one of the mortals, a desperate woman defending her children, ran him through before she, too, was cut down.

  “They abandoned you,” Valkyrie said, leaving his mind. “After all you’ve done for each of them, they left you to die here alone.”

  “Please,” the dying man said. “Help me.”

  “Of course,” said Valkyrie, and rested her hand across his forehead, drawing out what remained of his life and taking his energy for herself. The empty shell of his body toppled sideways and she straightened.

  “Eleven of them,” she said, “going north. Six hours ahead of us.”

  Skulduggery stood over another corpse, his hood up, casting his skull in darkness. The wind plucked at the tail of his coat. His sword lay heavy across his back.

  Valkyrie walked over. “Did you hear what I said?” she asked.

  “Eleven of them,” he repeated to her. “Six-hour head start.”

  Valkyrie touched Skulduggery’s arm. “They’re just mortals,” she said gently. “There’s so many of them in the world that I doubt anyone will notice their loss.”

  He turned his head to her, ever so slightly. “You think I grieve for them?”

  “You don’t?”

  “Maybe once I would have. Maybe once such mindless slaughter would have stirred grief within me, or righteous fury …”

  Valkyrie bit her lip. “But no longer?”

  “Now I feel nothing but contempt,” Skulduggery said. “For their weakness. For their short, vulnerable lives. For the sheer pedantry of their existence.”

  A smile broke across Valkyrie’s face. “My love,” she said. “You have finally joined me.”

  She pulled away from the memory, heaving herself back into the ocean. She was herself again. Valkyrie Cain. And Valkyrie Cain had parents and a sister and a dog, and she wasn’t Abyssinia and she hadn’t been the one to encourage Skulduggery’s descent.

  Because, of course, Skulduggery didn’t need any encouragement.

  Valkyrie was in darkness, watching, as Skulduggery donned the black armour. Cold flame flickered off the walls. He worked slowly, methodically, with buckles and straps and belts. Piece by piece the armour went on, each segment sliding into place, covering him, burying him, sealing him away, until at last the helmet went on and Skulduggery Pleasant was gone.