Chapter 7

What Goes in the Dark

"I still think Athiaw was having you on," Gemiad said as we ambled down Gall's Hill in the New City. Caemlyn was quiet and dark, stars blinking above whenever the cloud cover broke. She readjusted the black cloth tied around her wrist.

I raised the lantern a little so we could see each other's faces. "Maybe. But I think his fear was real. And he's no friend of ours. So steering us into the path of a murderer, one who killed his friend, it can only have an upside for Athiaw. Either we expose the murderer, or he kills us."

"That's no comfort." She gave the buildings a nervous look. "You think he was right then? About it being a channeler? A man?"

"Hiding out in Caemlyn for years without going so mad he gets caught? I think it's unlikely. That doesn't mean there's not something going on. So keep an eye and ear out for anything strange, anything out of the ordinary."

Like much of New City, the buildings here were stone. Land came at a premium within the walls and the buildings took up every bit of space they had. No little pathways here to the gardens in the back.

"Like what?"

"Athiaw mentioned carting bodies. So there should be a building with a gate big enough to allow one through." I hadn't seen one so far, but it made sense. If walking down Gall's Hill with that black cloth tied to your wrist was the signal you wanted to talk to the Butcher, then he had to be keeping an eye on this street.

It was possible he actually had it in a building facing either end of the street. I turned to bounce that idea off of Gemiad, but found the street empty. "Gemiad?"

I looked up and down the street, but there was nobody there. I started walking back, looking for an alcove or anything, but quickly stopped. Panic wouldn't help her. I needed to approach this with a clear head.

Gemiad was gone. I swallowed down the panic. Gemiad had been taken, probably. The Butcher was the logical suspect. So then, how had he done it? Quickly and without making a sound. Gemiad had been close and I thought I would have sensed someone channeling that close to me.

Shadows shifted as I studied either side of the street with the lamp, but did not penetrate the gap between two buildings. There were a couple of shops here, closed up for the night. Could she have been dragged into one? Without making any sound?

I did not feel it was likely. I returned to the idea of something supernatural. Had a Myrddraal taken her? Was this about my part in the defense of the Eye of the World? My light wouldn't penetrate the dark shadows between buildings.

I froze as I realized I had found something that stood out. A gap between buildings, one that I didn't recall seeing anywhere else on this street or the adjoining ones. A gap that swallowed up the light of my lantern and gave nothing up.

It looked too narrow for even a rat to scurry through, but it hadn't been a rat that had taken Gemiad. My power answered my need and I plunged ahead. For a moment, I felt a resistance. The confirmation only strengthened my resolve, and I pushed.

A Path Free of Obstacles

One step, I faced a narrow gap between a two-story house and a weaver's shop; the next, the world unfolded. Gravel crunched underneath my boot, tall grass rustled against my coat, and the smell of offal was everywhere. But what held my attention was the house.

It was a small villa of a style I hadn't seen anywhere else in Caemlyn. Decorative columns were half-worked into the walls with a steep-angled roof that had half collapsed. It was in ill repair and looked to be held together by dark vines.

Beyond, I could see a shadow outline of the city as if through dark glass. A look back revealed a breach in that bubble, the edges smoking and shifting. Whoever, or whatever, had set up this barrier might now be alerted. I needed to hurry.

One leap and I was on the porch; my intent worked on the door, which opened at the slightest touch. But my power did nothing to oil the hinges which shrieked like the dead. The smell of mold assaulted me. The light of the lantern revealed the source was an old couch that had collapsed under the weight of time.

Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust as well, but I spotted a trail through it leading deeper into the building. I followed it with quick steps, through one room after another. None were empty; all showed signs of habitation, then decades of neglect.

I stopped just outside a room that appeared empty save for a black thing spinning lazily in its center. It had a roughly diamond shape and appeared to be made up out of smaller spindly bits. Something liquid and dark coursed through its inner workings.

What was that? It didn't look like anything I'd seen or read about. I needed to know, though. If this was a trap or a security device, I might have already been caught.

Divine the Inner Workings

The mechanism opened up before my mind's eye. Its clicks told me the story. It's creators called it a Shadowcaster, for that is what it did. It cast a shadow on the world, and that area shifted ever so slightly out of sync with the rest of that world. This is what kept the house and its ground hidden.

But it was old. It had not been maintained in some time and it had been fueled with a substitute for even longer. Some shadow of death, an absence. I couldn't put that into word. But it wouldn't work for much longer, unless …

No, I had to move on. This wasn't a threat, and the Butcher had moved right past it. Gemiad still needed me.

The trail led me down stone stairs that kept going until it emerged into a vast, high-vaulted cellar that swallowed the light of my lantern without revealing any of its secrets. I stepped forward, already considering going back up. I heard something underneath all the flies buzzing about but couldn't make it out.

The smell down here was awful. I'd become acquainted with the smells of an abattoir since coming to Caemly, but this stench was far worse. I took that next step anyway and saw a soft pink glow to my right.

It had been blocked by the large pillar that I could now see the outline of thanks to that pink light.

The source was a rectangle resting on a pedestal or lectern and it illuminated the figure leaning over it. A bald man with skin as pale as milk in tattered black clothing. But not very human. His ears were too large and pointed, his chin jutted out like the prow of a trireme, and his fingers were too long.

Now what did I do? I didn't want to surrender the element of surprise but just attacking somebody who seemed to be doing nothing more sinister than studying didn't sit right with me either. I looked about for something else, and that movement of my lantern was enough to startle the figure who looked over his shoulder and right at me.

Getting a good look at his face didn't help. His eyes were large, but his pupils were pinpricks as they caught the light of my lantern. "Bedesh?" He shook his head and turned the rest of his body to face me. "How did you enter?"

"Ron," Gemiad exclaimed. "Run! He's too strong."

That came from my left. Somewhere beyond the light of my lantern. "I'm not leaving you behind."

"Quiet," Gemiad's kidnapper said. "He must answer first. How did you enter?"

"I followed your trail." I set down the lantern; I would need both hands for this. And I didn't know how much Gemiad could see.

"Sthrelleghu," the Butcher spat. I had a bad feeling about this. The way he spoke was odd; like he had to think of the words. And the lapses into what sounded like another language … "I wring the truth out of you."

I lost track of him when he plunged into the darkness, but he'd gone for the most direct route. It bought me the time to catch his arms as his fingers reached for me. I grunted as he strained against my hold. Stronger than a Trolloc, much stronger. But not stronger than me.

His rotten breath washed over my face while his eyes grew another size in surprise. "Bedeshka?" The Butcher recovered and twisted out of my grasp. I tried to kick him away, but he slid past it and punched me in the gut.

I grunted and stumbled back. He pounced, but I jumped over him and came down with an axe kick that only clipped Gemiad's kidnapper. Hissing like a tea kettle he stumbled back; his eyes narrowed as he studied me. "You master a lesser Zathu?" The frown turned into a smile. "Where did you enter?"

"I used the front door," I said as I brought up my weapons.

"No. Enough." He stepped out of the light and the darkness swallowed him. "Tell me. I must know."

I spun around slowly. I couldn't place where his voice came from. It only meant my back was turned when he came in. Wielding two short swords meant for chopping forged from shadow itself, he slashed at me.

One bit into my hip, the other I managed to deflect. My counterattack hit nothing but air as he slipped back into the darkness.

"Hmm. You like me. Not from this world. Tell me how you came in. I need know. We must leave."

"I'm nothing like you."

A snarl from my right. Then a stab from the left that shrieked along my scales, the blade sending glowing black sparks that left little pools of evaporating shadow. My steel club hit something, but the Butcher only laughed.

"Like you, we came here. We thought this was safe place." Every sentence came from a different direction. And he was getting better at speaking as if he'd been out of practice. "Stable. But this is not a world. It is a prison. And the prisoner rattles the bars. I cannot be here when it escapes. Even now it whispers in the deepest shadow. If it knows of me, that cannot happen. I am a survivor. The last."

I had an idea, but it meant revealing myself. At least partially. But I already had some things to explain, given the Butcher's words.

"But this Gate will not open. I have tried and tried," Gemiad's kidnapper hissed. "Give me the answer!" A dart hit me in the chest and I felt a wave of weakness wash over me.

I threw my weapons in the direction the darts had come from but hit nothing. Hadn't expected them to. My hands now free I pulled the bits and bobs in my coat out to shape several small, disc-shaped oil lamps that easily slid along the floor. The darkness fled as more and more of the room was revealed.

The light didn't reach far enough to reveal the ceiling above, but it did reveal the four large pillars holding it up and at the center of the room was an elaborate circle drawn in blood. Smaller circles on its edge held pieces of people while Gemiad had been tied to a yoke in the center by black ropes that, in turn, had sunk into the floor. Those ropes smoked and shivered as they were exposed to the light.

"Light will not save you," the Butcher said. I could see him coming now. A piece of rope became a short spear under my hands, and I went to deflect his attack. The first blade gave me no trouble, but the other hid in its shadow and I could only dodge most of it. "Lesser Strife will not save you. Tell me. And both you and the babayagh will live."

"Sorry, I got no idea how I got there."

"No. You know. You will tell me!"

I went for the attack, a feint drew one blade out of position and the tip of my spear slammed into the base of his throat. The metal screeched as the spearhead folded over. "Shit!"

I fell back, but the Butcher only smiled, exposing rows of sharp teeth. "Attacks like that don't work. You mastered a Lesser Strife; I follow a true path."

According to the rules of Godbound, a real supernatural opponent couldn't be hurt by mundane weapons. And none of my gifts turned my weapons into magical ones. My unarmed ones did, but against an armed opponent that was going to get my limbs chopped off. I had to make a choice. Fight for real, or leave Gemiad to die.

I hated myself for hesitating, then took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Dragon's Breath

A beam of liquid fire erupted from my lips. In its light, I could see the entire cellar clearly, including the rotting body parts piled up in the corners and the large snake biting its own tail on the far wall. Something dark interposed itself between the Butcher and my attack, but it shattered at the first lick of the flames.

The Butcher screamed as he threw himself out of the path of the attack, but not before getting caught in it. Much of his jacket turned to ash; red blisters covered his arm and shoulder. One of his blades had vanished and his eyes watered as he glared at me.

I needed a moment to recover from the smite. The Butcher used that moment to pull at the darkness underneath what remained of his coat with his free hand and drew it out into a new shortsword.

Running for one of the small oil lamps between us, I scooped it up and worked another Gift on it.

Lightbearer's Bones

The Butcher charged to meet me and I jumped back to stay out of range, throwing a lightning bolt in his direction. But he quickly blocked the bolt with one blade even as he pursued me. Again I jumped back; this time, I tossed the oil lamp at him.

He batted it out of the air with the other blade. It shattered, oil spilling over his front though the wick couldn't ignite the oil as it had missed the Butcher. I hadn't been counting on that.

I jumped back once more, but it wasn't his blades I wanted to stay away from now. At last, the white phosphorus came into contact with the air and it ignited. The oil went up as well, but it was the phosphorus that wrenched a horrific howl from the Butcher as it burned its way through his flesh.

He turned his shadow swords into a formfitting blanket with which to cover himself and smother the flames. I hurled another lightning bolt at him, which knocked him onto his back. The shadows evaporated and the phosphorus reignited.

The Butcher thrashed and screamed. I wanted to look away from what I had done to another person, however murderous he had been. But I'd still done it and there was one thing I could do for him. Jumping high, I came down with an axe kick that crushed the Butcher's neck.

I shuddered as that sound ran up my leg and skittered along my spine. The smell of burned flesh drove me away from the body that continued to sizzle. I couldn't look away from what I'd done. I could only stare and fought desperately not to think about it.

The sound of wood clattering on stone broke the spell, I tore my eyes away. The ropes fastening Gemiad to the yoke and to the floor had evaporated. She looked at me with eyes twice as wide as my own.

"Are you alright?" I asked as I stepped towards her, but she scrambled to her feet and backed away. "I'll take that as a yes," I said as I came to a stop.

"You're a channeler," she said, glancing at the Butcher's corpse and then back at me. Her hand went to her knife.

I guffawed, before I realized that most people in this world didn't know anything about how the One Power worked. "Neither he nor I used the One Power tonight." I took another deep breath. I might as well come clean entirely. "Only people from this world can have that ability."

"This world?"

"You heard the Butcher. He, like me, came from another world." I shrugged. "I've never hidden that I was a foreigner."

"I betted you were from Mayene." Gemiad shook her head. "Not, not from another world. How is that even possible?"

"It's a long explanation, best held somewhere else," I said, waving my hand at the remains on the floor and in the corners. "Some place that smells better."

After giving them a disgusted look, Gemiad nodded. "Fine. You can lead the way."

I sighed. I didn't regret all of this. Not exactly. But maybe I should have gone on this investigation alone. Except, how would I have found this place then? The Butcher hadn't tried to take me. Convenience, or hadn't I matched his preferences?

But I first had to check something. Reaching out with my power, I tried to feel for a ward. For a door to unlock. It should be in front of me. It should lead out. Not out of this house, out of this world. But I felt nothing.

Had the Butcher made a mistake? Was there no Night Road here? It would make sense; they weren't supposed to form in places as densely populated as Caemlyn. Not until the fabric of reality had grown a lot thinner.

I led Gemiad up the stairs. On the ground floor, a look out a window confirmed that whatever field hid this place still functioned. Using some of the broken furniture to fashion a couple of chairs, I took a seat and invited Gemiad to do likewise.

She stood next to it instead, one hand on the backrest. "So you're not a channeler?"

"No. Only humans from this world have access to that power. But there are other paths to power and I walk some of those. The Butcher walked another."

"And what proof do you have? How do I know you're not a channeler who's gone mad already?"

I pointed at her chair. "Channelers can't just create new chairs in a couple of seconds from scrap wood with their bare hands."

Gemiad looked at the chair, took a deep breath, and sat down in it. "Fine. I'll accept that for now. But if you're not from this world. Where are you from?"

"Another world, as I said. Not that different from this one. We have one sun and one moon. Our seasons are similar, as are many of the plants and animals. But there are differences as well. Peaches aren't poisonous, for one. And there are a lot more people. You would have to look far and hard to find a strip of land not claimed by someone."

"And you've got better printing presses," Gemiad said. "That's how you knew how to make it. You didn't invent it."

"Yes and no. My world has far better printing presses. The one I introduced would be considered obsolete back home. I had to use my abilities to figure out how to make it." I dipped my head. "But I knew they had existed, so that gave me a leg up."

"That explains the newspaper as well." Gemiad nodded, then eyed the doorway leading down to the cellar. "What about the Butcher? Is he from your world too?"

"No. I think he's from a world that was dying."

"Dying? How can a world die?"

"As I said, there are other paths to power. Great power, even. But that power doesn't bring wisdom. People have fought entire wars over things you would think meaningless. Killed millions. And sometimes, the conflict grew so great that it enveloped multiple worlds. One way to win is to destroy the home of your opponent. The Butcher must have escaped one of those Corpse Worlds and thought he could find refuge here. Only to find out this world is a prison for the Dark One."

"That's what he was talking about? But … he talked as if the Dark One was escaping …" Gemiad turned pale. "Ron, was he speaking the truth?"

I pressed my lips together into a thin line as I gave her a reluctant nod. "Fraid so. But the Last Battle is still a few years away."

"A few years? The Last Battle?" She sank back into her chair as all the strength fled her body. "No," she said with a weak voice.

"I'm sorry," I told her.

Gemiad shook her head as if to clear it. "What for?"

"Getting you involved in all this. It's not what you signed on for when you joined the Caemlyn Times."

She slammed her right hand on the armrest and gripped it tight. "You don't get to apologize about that. Do you know why I wanted to be a reporter? Even though I'd never heard of it before?"

"You said you wanted people to rely more on facts and less on rumors. I'd thought there was a story there, but I didn't want to press. Not my business."

Gemiad looked down at the floor, then met my gaze. "I grew up in Jornhill; it's a small village in the Braem Wood. I'd heard of other places, but my world ended at the forest. My mother would often go into that forest to gather herbs and the like. She was the closest thing to a Wisewoman we had. If someone got sick, they'd turn to her. Didn't really charge for it," Gemiad said with a watery smile.

"My father did well enough with his farm that we didn't need it, and mother always said that profiting off the misery of others was no way to live." She started to rub the armrest. "Then my dad got sick. Mother did everything she could, but nothing worked. We buried him a month later, he was so light at the end …"

I had to blink away some tears, I didn't want to think about home right now. They'd be fine. They were fine. "I'm very sorry."

"Thank you, but it-it wasn't the worst. The worst came after. He had a cousin, and he wanted the farm. So he accused my mother of killing my father. Poisoning him so she could marry someone else. And then the accusations started. Every child she couldn't save wasn't a tragedy anymore; it was on purpose."

Gemiad pushed herself out of the chair and paced around the room, hand back on her dagger. "Those bloody bastards would rather die than accept my mother's help after that. She had to scrub the Dragon's Fang off our door every week. And I got it from all the children. The apple couldn't fall far from the tree after all."

She stopped and hung her head, her back to me. "She held out for a year," Gemiad said in a soft voice. "A whole year of that. But nobody would help us bring the harvest in. So she sold the farm to that weasel for a pittance and got us out of there. We came here to Caemlyn, but her heart couldn't leave the place."

"What happened to this cousin of yours?"

Gemiad turned around and took a deep breath, tears dripping down her cheeks. "If you're thinking about taking revenge on my behalf or something, you needn't bother. I went back there two years ago, right after I buried my mother. I—I don't know what I was thinking, but it turned out not to matter. Cousin Jefol had died of fever not six months after we'd left. Might have lived if not for his greed. Or if people heard a bit more truth instead of gossip."

"I see." I stood up as well. My limbs still felt weak; I would need more than a few minutes rest to restore what those swords had cut away. "What now, then?"

"I…" Gemiad looked away. "I don't know. I wanted the truth. I didn't consider if I could handle it. I didn't think that could be in question."

"Take the day off. I'll square it with Hagaidhrin," I said.

She blinked. "Just like that? You tell me all this and you don't even warn me to keep quiet?"

"I would prefer if you didn't. But I won't order you or threaten you. I guess I'm extending some trust. And I've told you before; a reporter must have evidence for the things she reports."

Something slipped past her lips that was too tired to be a laugh. "And I don't have evidence." She looked out the window. "Where even are we?"

"We're still in Caemlyn. This part of it, however has been hidden by the Butcher. I think for centuries. The current New City actually grew up around this place."

She shook her head. "The New City was built nearly 2,000 years ago. This has been here all that time?"

"The buildings aren't 2,000 years old, though. Neighborhoods change and so do building styles. I think this neighborhood was once filled with houses like these. Space must not have been so much of a concern at the time."

"And how do we get out?"

"Oh, the same way as we got in. Come on; I'll show you." We retraced my steps and found ourselves outside after a minute or two. The garden path was more hazardous; there were a few traps here, including a pit with sharpened stakes. All of it looked old, the rope so rotten it broke at the slightest touch.

Gemiad eyed the frayed rupture in the barrier. "Is it safe to walk through?"

"Oh yes, perfectly safe. The problem is going to be closing it," I said, studying the opening. Though I thought I knew how to. And with the fight well behind me, some of the effort I'd expended had flowed back into the pool.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't have random people walk into my new home curious about the hole in reality."

"New home? You want to live here?" She threw her hands out as if it encompassed the entire mess.

"Why not? Can't buy a home like this in Caemlyn." I turned around to look at the house again. "Oh, it needs some love and care, I grant you. But give me a week, and you won't recognize the place."

"Do I want to know?"

"I don't know, do you?"

Gemiad looked at the house, then at the exit, before returning her gaze to scrutinize me. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes. I want the truth."

"I can't promise that." I smiled. "But I can show you a little more." And I called upon my power to get me the help I needed to get this place in order. I'd handle the Shadowcaster myself.

Wind Up the Clockwork Workers