“Don’t get too close,” Hawk warned quietly. “You might wake them.”
Fisher shuddered suddenly, a cold feeling of utter revulsion running through her. For a time in the darkest part of the Demon War, she had wielded the Infernal Device known as Wolfsbane. The sword had proved to be alive and aware and utterly evil. It had sought to corrupt and possess her until she gave it up. And sometimes she thought giving it up had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Even now a part of her wanted to walk over and claim one of the Infernal Devices, take its dark power for herself again. To kill and kill, until all the world ran red with blood. She fought the feeling down, crushing it mercilessly, but was shocked at the effort it took.
“Magnificent, aren’t they?” asked the Burning Man. “Soulripper. Blackhowl. Belladonna’s Kiss. With three Infernal Devices at your command, you could conquer the world.”
“Or destroy it,” said Hawk. “Those damned swords have their own desires. Let them sleep here forever.”
“I’ve heard the stories and the songs,” Lament said. “Could whatever’s inside those blades be the souls of saints, captive and corrupted?”
“Unfortunately, no,” said the Burning Man. “Whatever’s in them, The Engineer brought out of Reverie with him. A little bit of the dark world, free in the world of men. Sometimes you need more than one serpent.”
Hawk turned his back on the Infernal Devices, and after a painfully long moment, the others did the same. They all breathed a little more easily. Lament glared at the Burning Man.
“You said there was a wonder in here. A genuine wonder. Where is it?”
“On the altar,” said the Burning Man, reluctantly.
They all turned to look, and together they moved forward to stand before the altar constructed from human bones. In the middle of the altar lay a small wooden casket, six inches by four by two. Simple polished wood, with no obvious markings. Just two silver hinges for the narrow lid. It looked perfectly ordinary at first, but as they drew closer, drawn by some deep, primal attraction, they realized it was more than just a box. The casket had a presence to it, a feeling of enhanced, almost overwhelming existence, as though it was the only real thing in the room, or perhaps even the world. Just being in its presence was strangely comforting, the first time any of them had felt at ease since they’d entered the Inverted Cathedral. They felt welcome, like finally coming home after a long journey. And yet none of them wanted to pick it up or open it. None of them dared.
“What … said Lament, then had to stop and clear his throat, and start again. “What is this box? What’s inside it?”
“They know of this box even in Hell,” said the Burning Man. He was still back standing with the Infernal Devices, his gaze averted. For the first time he sounded uncertain. “The box is older than anything here. Christ made it when He worked as a carpenter with His earthly father, Joseph. It is said that within the casket is the original spark, from when God said Let there be light, and the universe began. The single spark of light that was the source of all creation, preserved forever in a small wooden box. Is that enough of a wonder for you?
“It’s said a man brought the box out of the Deadlands soon after their creation. Perhaps it was what the two sorcerers were fighting over. No one knows who the man was, though there are rumors. Some say it was the surviving sorcerer, much diminished. Some say he was called the Magus. No one knows for sure, even in the inferno. Someone gave the box to the first Forest King, who commanded this Cathedral be designed and built to honor it. Did the Magus give it to him? I don’t know. But he was right there when the King needed someone to undo the dreadful thing I’d done. Now he’s back at Forest Castle while matters threaten to come to a head at last, and the fate of the world shall be decided. Who is the Magus? What is he? I don’t know. All I can tell you is that he frightens me, and I have known the horrors of the pit.”
“Why are you keeping your distance?” asked Hawk. “Can’t you feel the peace there is here?”
“I can’t even look at it,” said the Burning Man bitterly. “Peace and hope are for the living.”
“Has anyone ever tried to see what’s inside the box?” asked Fisher.
“A lot of people have thought that, by all accounts,” said the Burning Man. “Why don’t you try?”
Fisher started to reach for the box, and then stopped abruptly. She couldn’t touch it. Deeper than knowledge, deeper than instinct, she knew that the box was a holy thing and she was not worthy. She said as much, and Hawk and Seneschal nodded. And then they all looked at Lament.
“I have given myself to God,” he said slowly. “If He wishes it, I shall take His casket out of this awful place.”
He reached out his hand, paused briefly, and then picked up the box with no trouble at all. He smiled, almost shyly, and held the casket up before his eyes, studying the workmanship at close range. “To touch something that Christ touched …” He smiled again, then put the box in one of his coat’s inner pockets. Everyone stirred unhappily as the feeling of peace and comfort diminished, and was gone.
The Seneschal sniffed loudly. “If you ask me, there’s far too much religion in this quest. Religion should keep its distance from real life. It’s far too distracting.”
“Come on,” said Fisher. “Your grandparents were the High Warlock and the Night Witch. You should be used to weird shit in your life.”
“Well, yes, but that’s just magic. Magic’s everywhere. This is religion. If I actually believed in any of this, I think I’d be getting very worried.”
They left the Ossuary behind them and continued the long climb up the gently curving wall of the Cathedral. They were all tired now, that bone-deep weariness that’s worse than pain. As they passed from floor to floor, and from level to level, increasingly slowly now they were finally nearing the top, they began to feel changes, in the Cathedral and in themselves. Pressures and influences came and went like tides. Distances varied, coming closer and backing away, all without moving. They all felt like crying or laughing, and didn’t know why. The base of the Cathedral seemed impossibly far away now, and they felt that if they should by some chance fall from the narrow stairway, they would drop and tumble forever, and never reach an end. They began to wonder if they would climb forever and never reach the spire. Or if they had always been climbing, and everything else had just been a dream along the way. Sometimes it seemed there were more than five people climbing the narrow steps, and sometimes less than five, and both perceptions seemed entirely normal until they were over.
As they finally drew near their destination, climbing doggedly on past pain and tiredness and everything else the Cathedral could throw at them, the Burning Man began to taunt them, saying that when the Transient Beings broke loose, this time the Wild Magic wouldn’t be limited to just a long night. This time not just the Demon Prince and his demons, and not just the Northern Kingdoms. When the Gateway opened, the Blue Moon would shine forever, and Reverie would swallow all of reality, making reality a part of itself. Wild Magic would finally run free, unchecked by such human concepts as logic and order, cause and effect. It would be Chaos Unleashed. Everything would be possible. Every dream they’d ever had, especially the bad ones. Hell on earth, eternally.
“Personally, I can’t wait,” said the Burning Man, and they all winced at the harsh sound of his laughter.
“You are testing my faith,” said Lament. “I won’t listen to you, liar.”
“What use is faith in a place like this?” asked the Burning Man. “In the end, you’re just a man, and the Transient Beings are so much more.”
“Why are you so happy about these monsters breaking loose?” Hawk asked him. “What’s in it for you?”
“When Reverie is all there is, all restraints will be broken, all the locks on all the doors shall shatter, and every demon in Hell will be liberated. The dead and the damned will walk the earth again, and I will be there with them, finally no longer burning.”
“You see,” said La
ment. “You still know hope. You still have faith in something.”
The Burning Man stopped on the stairs and looked back at Lament, and his words came fast and viciously. “You say you gave yourself to God, Lament, but did you really do so of your own free will? Did you ever really have a choice in the matter? Or did God direct those demons toward your monastery? Did He send them there to kill your brethren, destroy their innocent lives and your simple happiness, just because He needed a new Walking Man? Would a good and loving God do a thing like that? Or is everything you are, and everything you’ve done, the result of a compact you made not with God, but the Enemy?”
Lament cried out, a terrible pain-wracked sound. The others looked back as Lament buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. None of them knew what to say to him. The Burning Man went back down to the step above Lament, and leaned down to pat him comfortingly on the shoulder.
“There, there. Let it go. It’s not so hard to give it all up. Better to have no faith at all than to believe in a lie. Throw away your tyrannous conscience; you won’t feel nearly so bad when it’s gone.”
The shoulder of Lament’s coat burst into flames as the Burning Man took his hand away. Lament slapped at the fire with his bare hand, beating out the flames, trying to use the pain to center himself again. It was only when the flames were out, and he looked at his scorched and blistered hand, that he realized the truth. He should have been invulnerable to the Burning Man’s touch, but that strength was based in his faith. As doubt undermined belief, he became human and vulnerable again. Lament took a deep breath and pulled the tatters of his faith around him. He had to believe. Or everything he’d done, all the people he’d killed, was nothing more than a monstrous lie. He tried to remember when his faith had been as much a part of him as the air he breathed and the blood in his veins, but that seemed impossibly long ago now. He should never have come here. Never allowed his pride to bring him to this terrible place.
Then he remembered the box in his inner coat pocket, and was ashamed. All he’d been through was nothing compared to what Christ had suffered. Lament let out his breath in a ragged sigh. He would believe because he chose to believe. Because the things he’d fought for were worth fighting for. Because for all the losses and hurts of his life, he still believed in love and justice and hope. No one ever said the Walking Man would have an easy job. He straightened his back and looked up at the Burning Man.
“Keep going, murderer,” he said calmly. “We’re not at the Gateway yet.”
“If you knew what really lay beyond the Gateway, you wouldn’t be nearly so keen to get there,” said the Burning Man, starting up the steps again.
“You don’t know any more than we do,” said Hawk.
“I know you’ll meet an old friend there,” said the Burning Man spitefully. “When you banished the Demon Prince, he returned home, to Reverie. He’s waiting for you there. I’m sure there’s a lot he wants to discuss with you.”
“Hell,” said Fisher. “We kicked his arse once, we’ll kick it again.”
“Right,” agreed Hawk. “And I’ve got the Rainbow sword again.”
And then they both looked quickly back at the Seneschal and Lament, to see if they’d heard that. But both of them had their heads down, lost in their own thoughts. Hawk sighed tiredly.
“I came back to solve a murder,” he said plaintively. “No one said anything about having to save the world. Again.”
“Life’s like that,” said Fisher. “Our life, anyway.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
* * *
True Colors Revealed
Queen Felicity sat alone in her empty Court and thought how small it made her feel. The great Hall had been built centuries ago, to house a great host of knights and heroes and warriors, but they were all long gone. Even the Land’s last few heroes, those brave men and women who fought in the Demon War, were mostly gone now. Fill the Court with a few hundred politicians screaming their heads off, desperate for their voices to be heard, or at the very least to be sure of drowning out their opponents, and then the Court seemed alive and vibrant, even powerful. But more and more that seemed to Felicity to be nothing more than an illusion. And all the raised voices did was give her a headache.
Felicity was isolated. No one even wanted to plot with her anymore. She only held on to the Regency because no one felt strong or secure enough to take it away from her.
So now she sat alone in an ancient Hall, on a carved wooden Throne that had once been the seat of legends, planning one last desperate throw of the dice. One last reckless gamble, to find out who her true friends and enemies were, and perhaps reestablish her authority. She’d never wanted to be Queen. Marrying Harald had always been her father’s idea. Felicity had never wanted the responsibility. But now she had to be Queen because someone had to save the Land before warring factions tore it apart and soaked the earth in innocent blood. Felicity sighed tiredly, and gently massaged her aching temples with her fingertips. She’d never wanted to be anybody’s savior. Why did it have to be her?
Because there’s no one else, said a quiet voice that just might have been her conscience. Because you’re the one on the Throne. Because you accepted the job, and now you have to prove yourself worthy of it.
The great double doors swung slowly open, and the warrior woman Cally entered the Court. She had to struggle with the doors by herself. The usual guards had been dismissed. This particular Court session was strictly private. Cally pushed the doors shut behind her and approached the Throne. She was wearing her best leather armor, all buffed and shining, and her hand rested on the pommel of her sheathed sword.
“Everyone we can reach has been contacted,” she said crisply. “All the messengers have been bribed to complete secrecy, and promised a horrible death by me personally if they screw this up. Even so, it won’t be long before word gets out. You can’t hold a special invitation-only Court at this late hour of the evening and not have someone notice.”
“They can suspect what they like,” said Felicity, stirring uncomfortably on the wooden Throne as she tried to find some sitting position where her buttocks wouldn’t go to sleep. The Forest Throne had been designed to be impressive, not comfortable. “By the time people have realized what’s going on here, this meeting will be over, and I’ll know where I stand. And, I hope, what to do next.” She started to fit a cigarette into her long holder, then gave up because her hands were shaking too much. She couldn’t afford to look nervous. “Do you think they’ll all come?”
Cally shrugged. “Curiosity should bring most of them. But whether you can make them listen is another question. What will you do if this doesn’t work out? Would you resign as Regent?”
“Would I hell,” said Felicity. “Give my son over into the hands of some damned politician? No, I’d grab Stephen and a box full of jewels, and head for the horizon first. Leave the Forest to stew in its own messes. But I won’t do that until I absolutely have to. As long as there’s even a hope we can work things out, I’ll stay. It’s a good Land. It deserves saving. It has such potential, certainly more than Hillsdown ever had under my father. So let’s try to be optimistic. At least some of the people coming are supposed to be my friends, or at the very least loyal to the Throne. And those who are my enemies can perhaps still be made to see sense.”
“You really think so?” asked Cally, taking up her usual position at the Queen’s right hand.
“They have to listen,” said Felicity. “There’s too much at stake for us to indulge our egos anymore.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” said Cally dryly.
Felicity laughed briefly. “Times are hard indeed if I’m the Land’s last hope.”
She stretched slowly, arms above her head, and groaned loudly as she let them fall back. “Christ on a crutch, I feel tired. My corset’s the only thing that’s holding me upright. And I’ve still got the day’s paperwork to go through after this is finished. There are people in the salt mines who work less
hours than I do. Of course, they don’t get to wear such pretty clothes.” She rubbed at her eyes.
“Coming here was never my idea, but if I have to be Queen, I’ll be a Queen they’ll never forget. I can’t let my authority be undermined any further. Someone has to take charge of the Court. Right now there are too many politicians chasing too many causes, and they’re tearing the Land apart. No decisions are being made, and nothing that needs to be done is being done. The whole infrastructure of the country is breaking down, just because no one at the Court can agree on how to share out the toys in the sandpit!” She looked at Cally. “That’s what I’m going to hit them with. Does it sound convincing?”
“Very convincing, very concise, very sharp,” said Cally. “You’re a natural, Fliss. Should have been a politician.”
“Mind your language. Still, I didn’t spend all those years in my father’s Court and not learn anything. I could teach this Court a lot about the subtle arts of conspiracy. Dear Daddy would have had me exiled or killed, like Julia, if he’d suspected even half of what I was up to. And I learned a lot from listening to my father’s speeches. Say what you like about him, he understood the value of a good speech. Always hired the very best writers. I could do with a few of them here. Harald always wrote his own. Wouldn’t be helped in anything. Typical of the man. Who do you think will support me, Cally?”
“Sir Vivian is loyal to the Throne, and to you,” Cally said slowly. “Same with Allen Chance. Hawk and Fisher are close with the Questor, so they’ll probably follow his lead. Tiffany’s a witch, so her main loyalty is always going to be to the Sisterhood. She’ll probably have to check back with the Academy before she can commit herself to anything. But since she and Chance are so sweet on each other, odds are she’ll side with him unless or until she’s instructed otherwise. Ah, young love. The three so-called Landsgraves, Morrison, Esther, and Pendleton, are vicious little back-stabbing toads who don’t give a damn for anyone’s interests but their own. But just maybe you can bribe or intimidate them into doing the right thing for once. Your father will do what he will do. As for your last choice …” Cally shrugged unhappily. “Who knows what the Magus will do?”