Episode XCVI - Another Fine Apocalypse

            The streets of Upper Shadedstreams were so different from their lower counterparts as to be hard to believe they were really part of the same district.  Long sunlit avenues fringed with lush courtyard gardens ran the length of the arch and every building was grand, made of whitewashed stone, or marble, or gold.  It was similar to the Hill of the Kahn in Searingsands, only more exclusive, more perfectly constructed and, eerily, more quiet.

As Nadiyya led the way along the smaller side-streets, crossing the avenues only when they had to, Ellis couldn't help but notice how few people there were.  The area on top of the arch was certainly smaller than that underneath it and given the nature of the houses it was always going to be more sparsely populated, but even so, it was like a small walled city unto itself and yet they barely saw more than two people on any given street and those they did see seemed to be hurrying from one place to another, avoiding eye contact and making as few sounds as possible.  Even the birds in the gardens seemed muted somehow, hopping from branches and onto arabesque walls with barely a chirp as if there were something in the very air which made them want to keep silent.

In truth, Ellis could feel it too, some oppressive atmosphere that lent a darker edge to the bright buildings and blinding sunlight, a sinister presence that only seemed to grow stronger as they made their way ever closer to the Khalif's palace.

"Is anyone sensing a Reek of Wrongness here?" he asked at one point, trying to break the tension, but everyone else just glared at him, as if by making noise he had broken some strange, unwritten rule; except it felt like it had been written, on the walls, in the sky, in their minds, and it couldn't be erased so easily.

The streets were not completely deserted however and there were a few occasions when they had to make a quick diversion, or hide in someone's garden, or run really, really fast, just to avoid a patrol of guards.  These soldier were better armed than the ones at the border, and wore golden helmets and silken, crimson capes.  There was something about the red of them that made them seem all the more unsettling; that and their unusually shaped, double-bladed swords which seemed all curved edges and cruel, barbarous hooks.

They only had to fight them once, when a group of guards stood impassively in their way - the only path left to reach the palace gardens, where they might sneak in without further confrontation.  They had gone around as much as they could, and came upon one of them from behind as he was relieving himself in a side alley.  Nadiyya had no compunctions about stepping up behind him and slitting his throat.  These are your own men, Ellis thought, and you treat them so cruelly!  It didn't bode well for their meeting with her father.

The rest of the guards had to be dispatched in a more traditional manner, and whilst Ellis did his best to knock them out with the hilt of his sword, there was still plenty of blood spilled, mostly by Nadiyya and the two porters, although Rockspark left the confrontation with a look of terrible remorse on his face after he had accidentally gored a guard with one of his species' namesake spikes.

"I misjudged," was all he would say, but it was clear to Ellis that the Stoneskin Shaman was deeply upset by the mistake.  He could sympathise.  The whole fight seemed like a flashback in miniature of the battle at the border and each guard who died was a reflection of the one he'd killed.  Never again, he tried to tell himself, but then added, more realistically, only if I have no other choice.

When all the guards were dead or unconscious they had a clear path to wall surrounding the palace gardens.  Nadiyya showed them all a secret way up, using hidden handholds and careless-looking branches and vines which, when navigated, suddenly seemed to have been arranged with just such an assault in mind.

"Why would such a path exist?" Ellis asked, once they landed on the soft lawn on the other side.

"The gardener and architect of this section of the palace was never a friend of my father, although he was a friend to me.  He built numerous passages and escape routes, ways in and ways out, in case the worst should happen and my father should demand his incarceration, or execution.  I found them by accident, but I never told.  It didn't matter though.  My father had him killed one day for a badly wilted rose and there had been no escape for so rash and sudden an order.  It was one of his bad days."

Ellis had never expected such a speech from the harsh princess, but there was something about the way she looked when she stood in the shade of the garden, a slight moment of relaxed nostalgia perhaps, or repressed memory, which made her seem almost human.

"Enough of this," she said suddenly, directing her sudden, angry glare at Ellis, "you're slowing us down!  No more questions."

            Ellis knew better than to complain and they made their way through the lush gardens of the Khalif as quickly and quietly as they possibly could, although it hardly mattered since there was no sign of anyone else there, not even the palace guards or whoever had replaced the executed gardener.  The whole palace seemed eerily silent, even more so than the rest of the upper district had been and though they did their best to keep out of sight hid in the undergrowth were possible, there was no sign of life at any of the windows.  And that terribly sense of impending doom, of endless despair  - drifting down on them like flakes of ash – only grew stronger as they drew nearer to the palace walls.

            They followed Nadiyya to a rather unassuming little door hidden away past a series of tool sheds, themselves artfully concealed behind the foliage.  She waited for the small group to gather behind her, then reached for the door handle.  She seemed to hesitate, taking it painfully slowly and when her hand touched the metal ring she almost swooned.

            “Gods, Father,” she muttered as she dropped her hand and regained her footing, “what have you done?”

            She yanked the door open in a swift, hard movement, as if she were pulling away a particularly well-stuck plaster as painlessly as possible.  The door clattered against the wall, the bang echoing around the garden so loudly and for so long that everyone cringed, almost shrinking back into the undergrowth, but when the echo died away there was only silence.  No one was coming.

Nadiyya gestured them all inside and that was when the found the first of the bodies.

            She had obviously been a serving girl, dressed up in silk and satin and sheer, a dented silver platter and a shattered bowl of apples by her side.  She had probably been quite young, judging by her height, but it was hard to tell for her skin was shrivelled in tight against her skeleton and she was as dry as ancient parchment.  Ellis was reminded of the mummies he had seen once on a school trip to the British museum in London, but they were thousands of years old, whereas this girl couldn’t have died more than a few hours ago.  The apples were still fresh.

            “I think…” Nadiyya began, holding her hands in front of her as if she were afraid one might rise to her face, “I think I knew her.  She was called Aminah, or Amani, or something like that.  She used to bring me flowers for the vase beside my bed…”

            The Former Baron knelt beside her and felt her papery skin.  “She’s been drained of all of her Hypostatick energy, I’m afraid, although how I could only begin to speculate.”

            “Do you think it could be some kind of Monster?”  Ellis asked.

            “Some kind,” the Former Baron replied sadly, “yes.  Humankind, most likely.”  He stood up, wiped his hands on his trousers and gazed down the service corridor towards a door at the end.  “The main hall is that way, I take it?”

            Nadiyya merely nodded.  No one had to ask how the Former Baron knew.  They could feel the malevolent atmosphere from that direction just as clearly as he could.

            “Then let us hurry,” he said and began marching purposefully down the corridor, “before anyone else has to die.”

            Ellis took a last glance at the serving girl, wondering who she had been and how it had felt, to have her life sucked away in the middle of her morning duties, then he shook his head and followed the others.

            There were many more bodies littering the corridors.  First they were servants, collapsed and shrivelled in the service corridors, or in the kitchens or laundry rooms, but once they reached the grander passageways of the main part of the palace there were noble men and women too and guards dried up at their posts.  There didn’t seem to be a single person left alive in the palace.  The evil aura continued to grow as they neared its source and Ellis felt a dull ache beginning to build at his temples, like his ‘Reek of Wrongness’ was pressing in on them, harder and harder.

            The doors to the main hall, the Khalif’s throne room, were thrown wide open, a pile of bodies heaped before it.  Some were guards, of course, but others appeared to be nobles, dressed in crimson cloaks and carrying black and twisted artefacts like the elements of some terrible religion.  Ellis thought back to the prophet in the slums and wondered how many converts Lakhma had gained up on the arch.  Were any of them still alive?

            And then he heard the voice from the far end of the throne room and he knew that at least a few were.

            “Ah, at last!” came the voice, clear and sharp and cold as ice, “I had been wondering if you were ever going to arrive on time.”

            “I told you they was comin’, didn’t I?”  The second voice was all too familiar, “So, can you let me go now?”

            “Silence Valter,” the first voice replied more softly, with just a hint of menace,  “I haven’t decided what to do with you, yet.”

            Ellis glanced at the Former Baron and was shocked to see that the old man’s already pale face had somehow turned a few shades paler still.  His hands were trembling and his eyes were wide with uncertainty.

            “It’s Tiberius, isn’t it?” The Former Baron didn’t respond, didn’t even look his way, but Ellis knew that he as right.

            “Come now,” came the current Baron Von Spektr’s voice, “let’s not stand on ceremony.  Come in, come in.  Join the party!”

            It was Nadiyya who made the first move, storming into the hall with a face like a looming thunder storm.  Ellis scurried in after her, the porters and Rockspark not far behind.

            “What have you done here?” she demanded as she approached the dais.  Tiberius was standing there, tall and dark with a widow’s peak that would make Dracula envious.  He was draped in a long red cloak, the Red Wizard of Shadedstreams and behind him stood an enormous throne of gold, obsidian and brass, its back larger than the end of a double-decker bus.  Valter Kerring sat nearby, hands and feet bound as two almost spectral guards watched over him.  “Where’s my father?” Nadiyya continued, “Bring him out at once!”

            “Did you hear that, Rasul?” Tiberius called out in the direction of the great throne, “Your daughter wants to see you.  Perhaps you can leave the machine for a little a while and come see her.  A reunion right now would be most… apposite.”

            There was silence for a moment, then the sound of shuffling footsteps and hooded figure in robes of crimson and gold emerged from behind the throne.  He moved slowly, shuffling along on a gnarled cane.  He was nearly bent double and as he turned towards them so that they could see his face he seemed impossibly old and thin.

            “Father?”

            “You ran away,” the old man croaked.  Despite the frailty of his voice his anger was still clear.  “You left just when everything was starting to fall into place.  Why did you do that Nadiyya?  Why?”

            “I… I was trying to help you, Father.  This man,” she pointed toward Tiberius, “this monster has been poisoning your mind and-” her voice cracked and she turned towards the ‘wizard’, “What have you done to him?  He was in the prime of his life, strong and healthy!”

            “I have done nothing,” Tiberius replied with a cruel smile, “but it’s fair to say that the machine has been less than kind.  Still, Rasul knew what he was doing, didn’t you Rasul?”

            “I have been chosen, Nadiyya,” the Khalif continued, “The Khalifs of Shadedstreams have always been ready to serve and I have given my strength that all my dreams may come true.  Lakhma must return.  If you cannot see that then you are no daughter of mine.”

            “This… this is madness!  Listen to yourself, Father!  How can wasting away on some machine get you anything you want?  Tiberius has been using you!”

            “But Lakhma will restore my strength.  She will see my sacrifice and put me first in his kingdom.  I will be her chosen one, his high priest, her first lieutenant.”

            “See, princess, your father knows what he is doing.”

            “These are all lies,” Nadiyya screamed and suddenly her sword was in her hand and she was charging towards Tiberius.  Ellis didn’t really see what happened next, only there was a flash of light and the Ameera of Shadedstreams shot through the air to bounce off the side wall of the hall and land in a graceless heap.

            “Enough of this,” Tiberius said, turning back to the Khalif, “it’s time to proceed.”  Rasul turned away and began to shuffle off behind the throne again.  “Where’s my uncle, anyway,” Tiberius continued, “he should be here to see this.”

            The Former Baron appeared in the doorway of the hall, walking forwards as if every step hurt him.

            “Tiberius,” he growled, “this is too much.  The Noble Society has gone too far this time!”

            “Oh, not really,” the younger Von Spektr replied with a smile. “As far as the Noble Society is concerned, this is only a side project.  Rosetta’s so obsessed with her Breakthrough that she really doesn’t care what I get up to in my spare time.  As far as she’s concerned we’re all out looking for your little construct friend over there,” he gestured vaguely in Ellis’ direction, and the word construct seemed to reverberate inside his head, “she’s far too single-minded to realise that most of the Noble Society is working for me.  And you know how long I’ve been building up to this, Uncle.  I know you’ve had spies watching me from time to time and adventurers digging about beneath my castle.  It never mattered to me.  I knew that when the time came you wouldn’t be able to stop me anyway.”

            “And yet here I am,” the Former Baron said, still walking slowly forwards, “and it is not too late.”

            “Oh but it is Uncle,” Tiberius wrinkled his forehead in mock sadness, “it’s far, far too late for you all.”  He pulled a device out from underneath his robes, pressed a switch and then the dais began to rotate.  The throne, Kerring, the guards, everything began to move around ninety degrees as Tiberius kept pace and as the massive throne slid out of the way the machine Tiberius had alluded to was finally able to be seen.

            It wasn’t all that large, nor was it really very impressive, just a few boilers, pipes and flywheels around a central ring of brass, but in the centre of that ring was the star attraction – not a machine at all, but a hole, a widening point of light and dark, of colour and sound, of deep, terrible emotion, pain and despair, the source of the oppressive sense of foreboding that had led them all here in the first place.

            “A hole into the Aether,” the Former Baron said, clearly as astonished as he was horrified, “but how could you?”

            “I wouldn’t say that working with Rosetta has been a complete waste of time.  Her unorthodox techniques have given me a few ideas of my own.  I had my own construct to send into the darkest reaches of the Aether, to find Lakhma before coming back out and ripping this hole.  It was ever so tiny to begin with, but the machine has been widening it, drawing on the energies of this palace, this district and of course on Rasul himself and very soon now, very soon it will open enough for Lakhma to do the rest.”

            Ellis head was pounding from the force of the evil pouring through that hole and his mind was still full of the word Tiberius had spoken twice now.  Construct?  Am I a construct?  What does that even mean?  But despite his confusion, despite the many things that happened in the moments to follow, as Rasul stepped towards the machine for the very last time, as Nadiyya roused from her unconsciousness just enough to scream, as Tiberius smiled and laughed and the Former Baron recoiled in horror – despite all of that, there was one thing that caught his attention, that focused his entire being:

As Rasul’s life drained away into the awful machine and the hole into the Aether widened, a single tentacular limb snaked through into Shadow, tearing reality as it did so.  Ellis’ eyes opened wide, his mouth shaped an ‘O’ of terror and Shadedstreams went black.

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