The Malice (27 page)

He tries to focus.

‘I have something to show you—’

He is cut off. The intention to display the events that took place in New Horizon is lost. He intends to show it the alliance between the Demagogue and Gutterface, to show how Hangnail was betrayed, but all of that, all of him, is swept up in other currents.

His essence is like a fragile bubble, held in the Backward Child’s grasp. It would be a simple matter to crush it. Instead, the Backwards Child begins to peel.

Samael is made to remember, to walk back through his life.

He stands with the Backwards Child.

He retreats, rejoining Vesper and Duet and taking Jem from them.

Together they chase Gutterface and it’s children north but they are not fast enough to catch them.

They encounter a body, on the floor, one leg broken. The shell of an infernal. Duet kicks it and it gets up again, then they chase it towards New Horizon.

From there he goes north, until he parts company with Vesper and Duet and returns to New Horizon, repairing a broken bridge with two swings of his sword and rushing back to install Jem as a piece of living artwork. He leaps into the Demagogue’s court in time to see Hangnail throwing off an army of infernals and re-skin a demon cat.

Briefly, a part of him stirs, remembering that this is what he wanted the Backwards Child to see. Before he can form a question, he is moved again, backwards, always backwards.

And on the memories go, passing faster and faster.

Years of watching the Breach.

His creator, rising from the Usurper’s deathgrip. Their life together, viewed in reverse, until he experiences his own birth. The moment when his creator’s essence mixed with his own, blending.

But the Backwards Child is not done. From the tangled mess of Samael’s essence, it finds two threads. One a simple fisherman, mortal, also called Samael. With hopes and dreams, regrets and secrets. The other, his creator, a tangle all its own.

For a moment, he remembers his old life in shocking clarity and then he is moving again, dragged into the infernal part of his heritage, submerged in memories not his own.

The present slips away, ever more distant. He knows that within him lies a fragment of his creator and within that fragment are fragments of other beings, last remnants of the Usurper and the Uncivil. He begins to panic, not wanting to go any further. Marshalling his will, Samael begs for release.

But the Backwards Child is not done.

Aged half-breeds face off with Gutterface’s children, neither side willing to act until their masters have spoken. Between them, trapped, knee deep in swamp, stand Vesper, Duet and Jem, who wakes up only to wish he hadn’t.

They watch the Backwards Child and Samael, leaning together, motionless, and hope for the best. Next to them, Scout throws back his head and howls, making the kid leap straight up into the air and prompting a fresh chorus of laughter from Gutterface’s brood.

While Scout continues to howl, the sword continues to hum, setting all of the infernals on edge. The two sides react in different ways. Those that follow the Backwards Child brace themselves, becoming rigid. By contrast, Gutterface’s children become agitated. They cannot take their frustrations out on their prey and so they begin jostling each other. Annoyed noises accompany increasingly violent shoves until one unfortunate is thrust towards Duet. A human infant with huge ears and a face full of teeth. It splashes forward, trying to get its balance, coming to a stop only a few feet from the Harmonised.

She looks down.

It looks up.

It smiles, or perhaps it bares its teeth. The expression is hard to judge.

Duet shrugs off Jem, and her sword arcs out as the infernal throws itself backwards, the thick gravy of the swamp hampering its movement.

An ear spins through the air and lands on the surface of the swamp with a wet plop. As one, Gutterface’s children watch the ear float for a moment, trembling, before the swamp swallows it. As one, they turn their beady eyes on Duet.

The air thickens and small bodies tense, ready to spring.

Duet starts towards them but Vesper puts a hand on her arm, gentle. ‘Hold on.’

She holds, and the infernals do too, drawn by something else. Their collective attention goes over Duet’s shoulder, past the waiting half-breeds to the two communing figures. Currents of essence change, barely felt by human or goat and Samael falls away from the Backwards Child like a dead weight.

Scout’s howl becomes a whine and he charges over to his fallen master.

The Backwards Child ignores the Dogspawn, moving forward with sudden speed, the little girl bouncing on green shoulders.

Vesper looks at Jem. ‘Can you stand?’

‘I think so.’

She steps away from him and prepares to draw the sword.

The excitement is too much for Gutterface’s children. They attack, arms waving about their heads, shrieking madly.

Duet prepares to meet them, the light from her visor intensifying. Vesper turns to face the Backwards Child. Jem produces a knife and tries to control his shaking body.

The Backwards Child moves around the group of humans and opens her mouths.

Invisible essence flows in the darkness.

And Gutterface’s children slow down, their shouts drawing out, deepening, the movement of their arms less violent, more like shrubs swaying in a light breeze.

They come to a complete stop, their cries dying out.

There is a moment of utter stillness.

Then arms begin to wave again, slow, becoming faster. Legs backpedal, carrying bodies away from the fight, gaining speed as they move towards the shallows of the swamp.

It is not long before the night swallows them. Cries of excitement sound in reverse, receding.

The Backwards Child closes its mouths.

Without a word, its half-breed followers create a gap in their ranks, allowing Vesper, Duet and Jem to pass. The kid follows, hopping across slime-coated rocks.

It takes all three of them to get Samael on his feet again.

‘Are you …? How are you?’ asks Vesper.

Samael shakes his head.

Vesper pauses, takes his hand. ‘Thank you.’ She looks over her shoulder to the Backwards Child. ‘And, thank you. I won’t forget.’

The Backwards Child says nothing.

Not sure if it can understand her, Vesper bows, aware of the sword shifting on her back, uncomfortable. She turns and hurries after the others, going deeper into the swamp.

Gutterface reaches the edge of the swamp, limping slowly, doggedly. Shapes appear from the gloom, accelerating towards it, scampering backwards. Its children.

They show no sign of slowing down and Gutterface is forced to scoop up the small infernals as they race by, gathering clumps of them with every sweep of its arms.

Its essence reaches out smartly, slapping them back to their senses.

It tastes the work of the Backwards Child and is displeased.

Shaken by their ordeal, the smaller infernals crawl into familiar nooks and hollows in Gutterface’s frame, snuggling close.

Catching them all takes time but the infernal works tirelessly until all of its spawn are united and whole again. Then it interrogates them, drawing essences together within its shell, a cacophony of souls.

‘What happened?’

They respond at once, answers jumping over one another. ‘We chased the Malice. Yes! We caught it. Caught it, we did. I was the fastest! No, I was! To the hungry grounds, with the sucking sounds, there we found the Malice. Yes, there! I found it there first! And the Backwards Child was there. Waiting. Like it knew we would come. It wants the Malice, too. There was a fight.’

‘Who fought?’

‘It wasn’t our fault! Not my fault! Nor mine. Nor mine. Nor mine. We knew to wait for you, but wanted to taste them so badly. To play. Just a little. Nothing broken not for good. Soften them up for you. Make you happy.’

‘Who fought you? The Malice?’

‘No fighting. Just a little play, then the Backwards Child spoilt it all. Breathed into our innards, filled them with wrongness. Made us run. Then you found us. You found me first!’

Gutterface withdraws from contact. It can sense the Backwards Child now, a complicating factor, and pauses to consider its options. Perhaps the Backwards Child could be persuaded, perhaps it could be defeated. Either way, the result would be far from certain. Better to withdraw, restore itself and think.

But it must think fast. The Malice is here, the chance for a new dominion with it. Gutterface wants to win, to spread its superior love and bask in its reflected warmth. And if that is not possible then it must at least be on the right side when the fighting is done.

The Fallen Palace looms ahead, a jagged silhouette of slanting structures and teetering towers. Behind it, distant, strange lights flicker on the horizon as if, just out of sight, the world is burning.

This far south, reality begins to bend towards the alien. Air remains air, just less so than it was. Other things are mixed in, unclassified, most too small to detect. Human lungs work a little harder to get what they need, and a primal urge to leave sparks deep in the heart.

An eye at Vesper’s shoulder studies its surroundings, seeing hidden depths. Shortly after, the sword hums soft, purifying. Silvered wings stretch and a gentle wind swirls around Vesper, shrouding her in a bubble of normalcy.

‘Those lights, are they coming from the Breach?’ she asks, pointing past the Fallen Palace.

Samael nods, speaking for the first time since his communion with the Backwards Child. ‘You can see them?’

‘Yes.’

‘How could you miss them?’ adds Jem.

‘The lights you see are made by the Yearning. It is growing.’

Vesper’s eyes widen. ‘How big is it?’

‘I lack the words. It is like an ocean.’

‘I thought it was just a really big demon, not … this.’

‘It is bigger and it does not seem to need a shell.’

Jem shakes his head. ‘You can’t fight that.’ Nobody argues and he continues. ‘We should go north, leave this behind us. Live our lives.’

‘Coward!’ spits Duet. ‘Gamma sent us here to end this demon. It is a sacred duty.’

The young man glances at the sword and lowers his voice. ‘Gamma was defeated by the Usurper and that was when she was whole. And from what I heard even the Usurper wasn’t as big as an ocean.’

‘We must trust in The Seven.’

‘Why? Why must we?’

‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand.’

‘Yeah? Well I wouldn’t expect you to—’

Vesper holds up a hand. ‘Please don’t. Don’t fight.’ She stops walking and the others do the same. ‘We can’t go back to our lives, not now we’ve seen this. I’m sorry, Jem. If we don’t do something now, then things are going to get even worse. In time, the Yearning would catch us up. And then there’ll be nowhere to run.’

‘A few years is better than nothing.’

‘Is it? How could you live knowing what’s coming? I couldn’t. The sword can’t. It’s up to us, we have to find a way. There’s nobody else. Everyone’s afraid of it, even the other demons. Even The Seven.’ She sighs. ‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want. But I think I have to go on.’

Duet nods along as Vesper speaks, the gesture unconscious.

‘What do you say, will you come?’

‘It’s a poor choice, you know? Die here or somewhere else.’ He shrugs. ‘But I never thought I’d trust anyone again. For the longest time I thought I’d die alone.’ He looks at Samael, then at Vesper. ‘That thought, the thought of having nobody, still scares me even more than all of this.’ He shrugs again. ‘I’ll come.’

Vesper’s smile is both tired and bright. ‘Good.’

They help each other out of the swamp and onto the angled floor of the Fallen Palace. There is no sign of anyone, the usual denizens of the Palace scared away by the presence of the Malice and so the group pauses. Food is eaten, weary bones rested. The kid hops with excitement, eager to climb. He bleats at the group, urging them to continue but having sat down, Jem is unable to get up again. He tries several times before giving up. In the end Samael carries him and the young man quickly falls asleep.

Part walking, part climbing, the group make their way towards the Man-shape’s tower in eerie silence, uncontested. Even the clouds of flies keep a respectful distance.

Fungus grows over gleaming walls, covering old battle scars and past glories alike. The kid pauses to tear off a spongy strip then trots onward on happy hooves. Eventually, they reach a tower where the walls turn bronze in places, green in others.

‘This is it,’ says Samael, his voice echoing along abandoned streets.

Vesper cranes her neck trying to see its tip. ‘It looks a long way up. Duet, you should wait here with Jem.’

‘Is that supposed to be a joke?’

‘No. You need to rest and we can’t leave Jem here alone.’

‘You think I’m going to let you go up there alone?’

‘I won’t be alone.’

Duet leans closer. ‘I still don’t trust Samael.’

‘I wasn’t talking about Samael.’

An eye watches Duet through a half-closed lid. She swallows, kneels. ‘I’ll be here when you need me.’

‘Thanks.’ Vesper puts her hand on Duet’s shoulder. ‘I am going to need you.’

Leaving Jem, Duet and Scout behind, they climb into the base of the tower, ducking under the diagonal doorframe, propping themselves between wall and floor. As they work their way up the spiral staircase, surfaces swap roles, walls sometimes walked on, sometimes leaned on. The kid races ahead, immune to the unbalancing aesthetics. More than once, Vesper slips. Elbows and knees knock on hard surfaces, echoing, adding new bruises to an already impressive collection.

The Man-shape waits for them at the top, standing by an empty window.

While Vesper pauses to catch her breath, the kid scampers about, looking for furniture to climb.

Dried mud muffles Samael’s boots as he moves forward to join the Man-shape. He removes his helm and the two touch heads.

Vesper waits, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling, nervous.

A few seconds pass and the two figures withdraw.

Samael steps back further, removing himself from the conversation. The Man-shape catches Vesper’s eye, then turns its back. Muscles work in its jaw, bones popping into the position required for speech.

‘When I asked Samael to bring the Malice here, I did not expect it to come willingly.’

‘Hello,’ says the girl, clearing her throat. ‘My name is Vesper. Are you the one they call the Man-shape?’

‘Yes. And you are making an introduction, identifying yourself in order to facilitate discussion. I plucked the idea a long time ago and had almost lost it. My kind have no need for such things you see. We know who each other are even before we make contact.’

She begins to move forward but it holds up a hand, careful to keep its back to her. ‘Do not come closer. I am not yet ready to face the Malice again and I cannot speak as you do and maintain the correct composition with my face.’

‘You fought the sword before?’

‘Not fought, no. But I watched it fight my master.’

‘You were there when Gamma died?’

‘Yes. I saw the Usurper end her, and later, much later, I saw her revenge.’

‘What happened?’

‘Come, I will show you.’

The light in the room is poor and Vesper has to use her Navpack to make sense of its contents. She sees webs strung across the ceiling, their patterns strange and drunken, peppered with ancient flies. She sees vines pushing through cracks in the floor, their purple leaves knife edged, garish. They grow everywhere except for a space at the back of the room where two figures recline, embracing, an alien parent and full grown child, dead.

Vesper moves quietly towards them, placing each foot with care. The Man-shape and Samael enter the room behind her but do not follow. The kid does not even enter the room.

The smaller of the two figures is covered from head to toe in armour. Originally fashioned in the proud tradition of the Seraph, it, like its wearer, was twisted by the Usurper and remade. Once the metal lived, breathed, but now it is silent, captured in a last spasm of death. To Vesper it looks as if the plates were superheated and then frozen mid melt. In places the armour is stretched thin, like saliva over a screaming mouth. In others it collects in thick lumps. The figure inside the armour is shrivelled away, a collection of too-thin bones.

Both of its arms are missing below the elbow.

The larger of the two figures is a statue, bloated, silver skin tarnished with green which in turn gives way to brownish rust. Tracks of scars run the length of its body, weaving across each other, a litany of repairs. Two wings sprout from its back. Unlike the other features these remain their original size, vestigial reminders of a more graceful past.