“The Liches!?” Sarah asked Ashfeather, aghast. “But from what the others told me they are truly evil! Why would you work with them?”
The ancient bird-machine stared down at her and tilted its head very slowly, letting out a creak of metal fatigue.
“They were less so then and this was before their transformation into what you see them as now.” It let out an exhalation which might have been a sigh. “Besides, we had very little choice.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Shadowsmoke observed solemnly.
“And the Makers were worse by far. If they are successful in returning to Shadow…” Ashfeather trailed off into the sound of gears clicking around idly. Its point was clear.
“Then how do we stop them?” Frostfire asked.
“That is why we have sought you,” added Rockspark.
“I fear,” the old mechanical bird said in an ancient creak, “it is
already too late.”
The world felt it like a great earthquake, only one where the pillars of reality shook, rather than any mere physical matter. All over Shadow, people stopped what they were doing, dropped things they were holding, paused mid-sentence, as they felt the nature of existence reorder itself around them. Some staggered, others fell. Some let out screams of horror and others were stunned into a profound silence. Everyone reacted in their own way and then, for just a moment, wanted what it was they had reacted to, for, to begin with at least, nothing seemed to have changed.
And then the ghosts appeared.
First, they appeared in ones and twos, misty shadows, figures veiled in light and dustmotes. They stepped out of the air and into living rooms, cafes, markets, forests; looking around them as if in wonder, terrifying those who saw them.
And then more came. Threes
and fours of them in some spaces, dozens in others and as the newer ones
appeared, so those who had been there a few moments longer became more solid,
more detailed, more real. The vaguely
humanoid shapes resolved into contorted mouths, coral-flanged heads, eyes as
deep as eternity. And as they gazed at
the fear-frozen humans and lithoderms that faced them, their unreadable
expressions changed. Wonder became
menace, until at last, with physical form, they stepped forward to assert their
dominance and reclaim their world.
In Ashfeather, the ghosts appeared like a crowd around and amongst them. Sarah took a step back as one materialised before her, only to pass through another with cold shiver and a tingle on the edge of pain. The Spiketails rose from their positions of reverence and backed towards the ancient Feather, seeking shelter. All Sarah could do, separated from them as she now was by even more of the slowly realised figures, was pray.
Oh, Father God, she thought and left the rest to silent fear.
As the ghostly figures slowly became physical, so too did the deathly waste of Ashfeather begin to fill with noise as the beings communicated with each other in sounds which resembled no human tongue. The air was alive with voices like wind, like pan pipes, like the buffeting of a storm.
And then they turned to face those who stood in their midst and
the towering creation which still stood against them, despite the millennia of
their absence and they screamed.
Franck was just tying up the little fishing boat in the rain-soaked harbour of Coldsolace when they appeared, though it was Emesha, still watching over the sleeping body of Gulliver, who first noticed.
“Oh, Franck,” she said, her voice hollow, somehow and he looked up from tying his knot to see the rain bouncing off their misty outlines.
“Oh dear,” he said, dropping the rope and leaping back into the boat to help Emesha lift Gulliver up. “We need to find somewhere to hide at once!”
They dragged the comatose pirate out of the boat and along the jetty, even as the Ancients began to solidify around them. Franck tried to pick up the pace, but the pain in his stomach was growing and growing and the crowd of alien beings seemed to grow thicker and thicker before him until-
“Franck!” Emesha shouted as the old man clutched at his abdomen and fell in agony onto the wooden planks beneath, Gulliver lolling between them.
“You need to run,” he gasped, though he knew there was no way that Emesha could carry the pirate alone. “Now!”
The city of Gihana appeared around Siren like the universe was enacting a scene change. Everything seemed to slide into place until it was just there, like it had always been. The difference between its appearance now and how they had left it what felt like just a few minutes ago, was tremendous, however, for now they were no longer alone. Between Siren and Nadiyya, surrounding the people she had seen in the other reality and spilling down the streets to throng in the unnatural plaza were hundreds, if not thousands of hooting Ancients.
“Ellis!” Siren called over the noise of the Ancients. “Ellis!”
But it was no good. The sound wasn’t carrying and the Ancients were all around them, staring at them.
There was a sudden silence and then the Ancients seemed to speak as one.
“We have returned-“
“-and all who have stood in our way shall feel our wrath-”
Sarah stared up at the face of Ashfeather and prayed to her God all the harder.
“-for there is no escape, now!”
Franck felt the pain in his stomach like a realisation of the
terror in his mind.
“Sleep and face the nightmares we have prepared for you!”
So, one by one, across the city, they fell into blackness and
despair was waiting for them.
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