Deosil, page 6
“The Codex said Nephren-ka would walk at the head of an army of the dead,” I murmured. “For every one of our people he kills, he gains a new soldier.”
Rath looked ill. “So it would seem. From the shadows of the Isley Wing, behind Nephren-ka, I saw…things moving. A creature that was nothing more than a mismatch of disparate parts—crocodile and lion and I don’t even know what else. And things that had to be dead, because surely nothing could survive with so much dissected from it. Let alone walk, though walk they did.”
God. “And Mr. Quinn?”
The corner of Rath’s mouth lifted slightly. “He saved my life, I think. I would probably have stood there, frozen like a fool, until they noticed me. Mr. Quinn grabbed me from behind—one hand over my mouth, thank heavens, or I would have screamed my lungs out. We fled, back to the staff areas. Once there, he told me he meant to escape into the tunnels, with the Codex. But he wanted me to come here, to his sister’s house. To carry word outside of Widdershins.”
And to do the bidding of the prophetic children, no doubt. “I see.”
“He asked me to remind Mrs. Rodgers of her heritage. I believe he hoped his sister would help me get word to you.”
“What happened to your leg?” Griffin asked.
Rath’s lips thinned with remembered pain. “Mr. Quinn and I parted near the library. I made for the staff exit near the rear of the museum. I was shocked to find the streets outside were as chaotic as the interior of the Ladysmith. Fideles were everywhere, and there were terrible creatures in the sky. They reminded me of drawings I’ve seen of the umbrae, except these glowed from within with light.”
Iskander glanced at me. “The nereids are like warped ketoi. Could these creatures be some mockery of umbrae?”
“Lumina,” Christine suggested. “Lights rather than shadows.”
“I tried to blend in,” Rath said. “The police were trying to get people inside, to safety. I don’t know if the old families rallied, or if the attack was too unexpected. I stole a horse and almost made it to the coast road, when a cultist shot at me.” He reached toward his leg, as if to rub it, then caught himself. “Thank God he didn’t hit the horse, or I’d be dead. It took off at a gallop, and I clung to its back until it ran itself out. By the time I made it here, I’d taken a fever. Mrs. Rodgers hid me down here, and, well, here I am.” He hesitated, his eyes canting toward me, then away. “I executed the Head Librarian’s orders to the best of my abilities, Dr. Whyborne.”
I rubbed at my eyes. I wanted to collapse into sleep. To wake up at home, in Griffin’s arms, to find this had all been a dream.
“You did well, Mr. Rath,” I assured him.
“I’ll come with you to Widdershins, though with my leg in a splint, I don’t know how much good I’ll do.”
I dropped my hands. Rath’s eyes were wide behind the reflection of the lantern in his spectacles. Broken leg or not, he’d come with me if I asked it.
“Why?” I asked abruptly.
He frowned a little. “Why…?”
“Any of this!” I gestured vaguely to myself. “You sound as though you knew the librarians were some kind of-of cult devoted to the maelstrom, but you still wished to join their ranks. You saw horrors unleashed in the museum, in the very streets of our home, but you still offer to go back on nothing more than my say-so. Why?”
Why me? was what I really wanted to say. As I’d told Mrs. Rodgers, I’d never asked for an army of librarians. I’d never asked for any of this.
Confusion drew Rath’s brows together. “Widdershins always knows its own,” he quoted. “In blood and spirit, breath and bone.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Widdershins is my home. My family. That I’m there…that I’m a librarian…it isn’t a mistake.”
As an answer, it was spectacularly unsatisfying. But it was probably the best I’d get from him. “Very well, Mr. Rath,” I said resignedly. “You should get some rest. As for us, I suppose we’ll retire back upstairs and find our dinner.”
I glanced at Christine as I spoke. But for the first time in a while, the prospect of food didn’t seem to cheer her. I longed to say something to lift her spirits, but I couldn’t find the words. Instead, I trailed after her up the stairs and back into the house above.
Chapter 13
Griffin
“You’re fortunate my husband is out of town for the night,” Mrs. Rodgers said as she bustled about the table. “Otherwise, you’d have to stay in the basement with Mr. Rath.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” I said, taking the bowl of stew she ladled out for me. “I’m afraid we’ve put you to quite a bit of trouble.”
“Not as much trouble as the end of the world will put me to,” she replied grimly. “Now, if I’m not needed at the moment, I’m off to bed. After I make sure Lily and Rose have stayed put in theirs, of course.”
“We’ll wash up when we’re done,” Iskander offered.
She nodded and retreated up the stairs. “A fascinating woman,” I remarked when she was gone. “Though I suppose I would have expected nothing less of Mr. Quinn’s sister.”
Whyborne only grunted in response. No one else spoke, either, which made supper into a gloomy affair.
God knew, we had enough to be gloomy about. Niles captured; monsters openly roaming the streets of Widdershins; nereids battling ketoi; Nephren-ka risen from the dead.
When we’d stood together on the sands of Egypt, Christine had spoken of the curses inscribed on the tomb of Nephren-ka, threatening him should he dare to return to the land of the living. At the time, I’d questioned the wisdom of having removed him from their safeguards, but that seemingly small worry had been buried beneath so many more immediate concerns. I’d not thought of it in years, and I’d wager none of the others had, either.
Christine’s usual determination seemed to have faltered, and she ate mechanically. Whyborne stared at his stew, absently poking at it with his spoon without actually sampling it. Even Iskander was withdrawn, his brown eyes troubled. His family were monster-hunters, slayers of ghūls, and yet he’d helped Christine excavate Nephren-ka’s tomb. Did he feel he’d betrayed his legacy?
Enough wallowing. It was time to plan.
“We must leave for Widdershins as soon as possible.” I took a roll from the basket Mrs. Rodgers had left and began to butter it briskly. “The Fideles will certainly be keeping a watch on the roads and rail lines for Whyborne’s return. Therefore, I suggest we hire horses from the local livery stable and go cross-country, where we’re less likely to be spotted.”
“Must we?” Whyborne asked. He wasn’t much of a rider.
“At least it’s horses and not camels, my dear.”
Iskander roused himself. “A good suggestion. Mr. Rath said Mr. Quinn meant to take the Wisborg Codex into the tunnels. Does anyone know where these tunnels lead to?”
“They could join to the ones beneath Miss Lester’s house,” Whyborne suggested.
“Let’s hope not,” I said. “Miss Lester isn’t just one of the old families; she’s ghūl-blooded. Recall that Nephren-ka was none too fond of their kind. One way or another, she’ll surely be high on the Fideles’ list of people to capture or kill.”
Iskander looked faintly pained—it wasn’t easy for him to ally with the sort of creature his family had fought for centuries—but said, “Miss Lester is no fool. Likely she’ll have taken to the tunnels herself, when the attack began.”
“Possibly.” I toyed with my bread roll, ripping it into chunks rather than eating it. “I suggest we make for the Draakenwood. The umbrae won’t have surrendered it to the forces of the masters, no matter what. They can fit through tiny cracks and see—well, sense—in the dark. They could be our best bet when it comes to finding the librarians.”
“Assuming the Fideles haven’t discovered them already,” Whyborne said glumly. He buttered his own roll, then handed it to Christine without bothering to take a bite. “Mr. Quinn could be a prisoner alongside Father. Or dead, since I doubt Mrs. Creigh thinks he has much value as a hostage.”
“I have a question,” Christine said. “Mrs. Creigh originally tried to strike an alliance with Whyborne, but when he wouldn’t comply, she was more than happy to leave him for Marion to kill. Stanford and his Fideles allies certainly intended to murder both Whyborne and Persephone. So why are they, and Mrs. Creigh, suddenly so concerned about taking him captive instead?”
I nodded slowly. “You’d think they’d do the opposite. Trapping a powerful sorcerer must surely be dangerous in and of itself. Trapping a fragment of the maelstrom, created to thwart their plans, seems like self-defeating madness.” I turned to my husband. “Ival? Do you have any thoughts?”
He drew in a long breath, as though he meant to speak. Then it escaped him in a sigh, and his shoulders slumped. “Nyarlathotep didn’t want to kill me, either. Not at first.”
This was something I hadn’t known. Though it did explain why he’d still been alive for us to rescue atop Balefire. “Why?”
Whyborne bit his lip. Then his dark eyes darted up to meet mine from across the table. “It seemed to believe that, in order for the masters to be defeated…Persephone and I have to die.”
* * *
“Ridiculous,” I said automatically. “It was lying to you, in order to get you to cooperate with it.”
“It certainly lied to Justinian,” Whyborne agreed. “It tried to convince me that the maelstrom had created us to be sacrificed in some fashion. It said joining forces with the masters was the only way for us to survive.”
My palms went clammy, and my heart pulsed at the base of my throat. “That’s absurd. Surely you didn’t believe it.”
He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “It didn’t matter what I believed. I wasn’t going to throw away the entire world just so I could live.”
Christine watched him closely. “But you did—you do—believe. Honestly, Whyborne, use your head. Nyarlathotep only wanted you to work with it, so it could use you to control the maelstrom. Just as it meant to use Stanford in the Draakenwood.”
“It was quite clear on that point, actually.” Whyborne sat back, staring down at his hands. The black pearl on his wedding ring gleamed with hidden color in the light. “But with Nyarlathotep gone, no one remains to use me, or Persephone, to control the maelstrom. The Fideles certainly can’t manipulate arcane energy in such a fashion.”
I shuddered at the memory of Nyarlathotep’s many limbs plucking at the arcane lines themselves. “So we have no need to worry about that, at least.”
“And yet the Fideles are still trying to take me alive.” He slid his hands back and off the table, into his lap. “Maybe they mean to torture me into working for them, I don’t know. But I can’t help but think Nyarlathotep wasn’t lying, or if it was, it told them the same untruth. They don’t want to kill me, because they don’t want to risk fulfilling the destiny the maelstrom had planned.”
No. No, I would not believe the maelstrom—the entity, the consciousness—that had brought Ival and I together would be so cruel. “It hasn’t done all of this work, all of this planning, just to-to throw you away!”
“I’m sure it has no intention of throwing me away,” Whyborne replied, an edge to his voice. “It isn’t human, Griffin. It collected Blackbyrne as much as it collected you. Whatever morality, whatever plans, it has, we can’t count on them being kind to us.”
“I’ve heard enough.” Christine pushed back from the table. “Whyborne, you are not going to die, do you hear me? My child needs its godfather, so you’re just going to have to find some other way of defeating the masters, one that doesn’t require some absurd sacrifice on your part.”
Though her words were bold, I detected in them the same feeling that squeezed my own lungs and thickened the blood in my veins.
Fear.
If winning against the masters came at the price of losing my dear, my love, my husband, my Ival, how could I bear to pay it?
“The Wisborg Codex,” Iskander said. “That’s where the answers lie. It will tell us how to defeat the masters and keep Whyborne and Persephone safe.”
He was right, of course. “We have to focus on getting back to Widdershins and finding Mr. Quinn,” I said. “Nyarlathotep’s lies, the Fideles’ actions, are just a distraction from the only goal that matters.”
I spoke with as much certainty as I could, as if my words alone could bend the universe to my will. But I was no sorcerer.
“You’re right, all of you. There’s no sense in worrying about any of this now,” Whyborne said. But the faint smile he gave me failed to reach his eyes.
Chapter 14
Whyborne
I was alone.
Utterly alone. Where once there had been voices singing to me, a great bustle of life enveloping me, now there was nothing. Silence. Darkness. Cold.
Flickers traveled to me, borne from distant lands. There was life out there, and the more I became aware of it, the more I ached to be a part of it.
I opened my eyes and found myself in a wild river valley. Dimly, I recognized the river and the coast line where it emptied into the sea. This was the Cranch, which ran through the very heart of Widdershins.
Only there was no Widdershins here. Only trees, and birds, and wind, and silence. Overgrown fields, and empty houses, their inhabitants slain decades ago by the diseases that swept through like wildfire.
I had not really understood loneliness until now. I hadn’t understood anything at first, but gradually concepts had built one atop the other. Purpose. Home. Need.
Grief.
Fear.
I didn’t want to be alone any more.
Those flickers of life, some almost too distant to feel, drew me. Some of them were cruel and hard, though not all. I sensed their jumbled desires, most of them so very alien to my own, but one I recognized all too well.
They wanted a tool, just as the masters had wanted a tool. I could be that tool. And if I was…
No matter what the outcome, I wouldn’t be alone anymore.
“Come to me,” I said.
* * *
I blinked awake and found a pair of identical faces staring down at me.
I let out a muffled shriek, my sleep-fogged mind scrambling to remember where I was and what was happening. An instant later, recall returned: I was lying flat on my back on the couch of Mrs. Rodger’s parlor. Only the faintest dawn light showed around the curtains, but it was enough to illuminate Lily and Rose’s curious features.
“Uncle Xanthius says you’re part of something very old,” one said. I hadn’t the first clue which was which, and wouldn’t have even if both girls hadn’t had their hair in braids and worn identical white dresses.
“Er, yes,” I said. “Does your mother know you’re up at this hour?”
They ignored my question, perhaps considering the answer too obvious to bother verbalizing. “Do you know what I think?” one asked the other.
Her sister nodded. “They didn’t know what they were making.”
“They didn’t know with the ketoi, either. Or the shadows.”
“They knew,” the other objected. “They merely underestimated.” She peered down at me. “They had no place in their plans for you, though. I wonder what they’ll do?”
Good heavens. Surely all children weren’t this odd, were they? I’d been sickly at their age, my world largely confined to Whyborne House, and my only society with those close to my own age had been with my sibling’s friends. Stanford’s had joined in his torment of me, and Guinevere’s with her mockery, so I’d been more likely to hide than socialize. What if Christine’s child proved to be this inscrutable?
“You mean the masters?” I sat up cautiously, and they stepped back in unison. “Not to disparage your mother, but none of this seems at all an appropriate subject for such young children.”
“Mother doesn’t know how much the bones tell us,” the one on the right explained.
I started to ask what she meant, then decided I was likely better off not knowing. “Er, of course.” I cast about, looking for rescue, but the chair where Griffin had slept was empty. Christine and Iskander had taken the spare room with its bed. “Even so, perhaps you should concern yourselves with…” I tried to remember what I’d done for pleasure at their age “…translating the classics from Greek? Or building altars in the garden?”
“Oh, that does sound like fun,” said the one on my left. “Let’s build an altar beneath the roses, where Mother won’t see it.”
The two girls scampered off, and I relaxed. At least they now had an ordinary, wholesome childhood activity to occupy their minds. Perhaps I’d be a better godfather to Christine’s child than I’d thought. Assuming I survived, anyway.
The front door opened, and Griffin entered. “You know,” I said, “it seems to me, the key to handling children is to distract them.”
He eyed me curiously. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Just thinking about the future.” I stood up and retrieved my coat from where it hung over the back of a chair. I’d brushed it before retiring last night, but the stains would likely never come out. “About Christine’s baby.”
Griffin’s expression softened. “How so?”
“What it might be like. Do you imagine it will be similar to Lily and Rose?”
“I doubt anyone is quite like them,” Griffin said with a smile.
Perhaps that was for the best. Still, I hadn’t given much thought to the fact Christine’s offspring would eventually be, well, a person. One who might look to me, as I’d once looked to my own godfather, Addison Somerby.
Of course, Addison had ultimately betrayed us all and almost brought about the end of the world. Even if I died in the upcoming battle, I’d do a better job than him.
My hands tightened on my coat. Last night, everyone had been determined to assure me I’d survive, that Nyarlathotep had been lying.
I hoped they were right. But I’d made my choice atop Carn Moreth, when I realized it wasn’t enough anymore to simply fight to keep what I had. The world would go on without me, one way or another. It was my duty to secure the best possible world for Christine’s child, and my young nephews, and everyone else who would have to live in it.
