Fallen

chapter 4

My talk with Sonder had left me wary, and I spent the next week putting out feelers, looking for signs of trouble. But for once, I didn’t find it. Rain told me that they’d dropped the case, and my other contacts confirmed that the Order of the Star was no longer investigating me or Anne. Sal Sarque still hated me, and Levistus still hated me, but the very next day after the inquiry, reports came in of Richard recruiting and training adepts in an organised force, and the Council met to discuss their response, and all of a sudden no one was talking about what had happened in San Vittore.

It was a weekday evening in Arachne’s lair, and Arachne and I were alone. Once upon a time it would have been common for all four of us to meet here, but now Variam was busy with his duties as a Keeper, and Luna spent mornings and afternoons at the shop. Anne still came from time to time, but most often, these days, when I saw Arachne, it would be just the two of us, me on one of her sofas and her crouched over a table working over some dress or other article of clothing. It reminded me of the old days, when Arachne was my only real friend.

“. . . so they haven’t made any progress towards locating Richard’s base, or this adept training camp either,” I was saying. “The war seems to be in another of its lulls.”

“Hmm,” Arachne said. “From past experience those tend to end quite abruptly.”

“It’s figuring out when that’s the hard part.”

Arachne is a giant spider, large enough to tower over any human, with eight long legs, eight eyes of varying sizes, and thick black hair highlighted in cobalt blue. She looks absolutely terrifying, and most people would expect her lair to be a dark cave with webs holding the decaying bodies of her victims. They’re right about the cave part, but the fact that it’s brightly lit, furnished as a very comfortable living room, and covered in drapes, tapestries, silks, bolts of cloth, and clothing makes it a bit less intimidating. Even so, one look at Arachne would still be enough to make most people run screaming.

Arachne made a tsking sound. “You know, I’ve been working on this style for so many years and I still can’t get it right. It’s such a simple thing but for some reason it’s never quite satisfactory. I really thought I’d get the hang of it someday.”

I looked curiously at Arachne. It was an odd thing for her to say, as much for the reference to her age as anything else. Arachne is very old—if I had to guess, I’d put her at two thousand years plus—but she doesn’t talk about her past.

Which isn’t to say that I haven’t wondered. I’m pretty sure that Arachne’s history is tied together with the dragon that lives in the tunnels deep below. Arachne referred to it as a “creator” once, which would explain a lot—I’ve met plenty of magical creatures in my life, but I’ve never heard of any other giant intelligent spiders with miscellaneous magical powers, which does raise the question of where Arachne came from. Arachne keeps her mouth shut on the subject, so wondering is as far as I’ve got.

“Oh, one bit of news,” I said. “Anne’s been checking on Karyos, and she says she seems to be regenerating just fine. In fact, it looks like she’s going to be coming out of her cocoon sooner than we expected.”

“That’s excellent.” Spiders can’t smile, but it was obvious from the warmth in Arachne’s voice that she was happy. “Do you have a date?”

“Two weeks to two months. The closer it gets, the more accurately she’ll be able to pin it down. You want to be there for when she comes out?”

“I’d love to.”

Karyos is a hamadryad, a magical creature bonded to a tree. When the tree grows too old, hamadryads undergo a ritual to rebond themselves to a new sapling, disappearing into a cocoon and reemerging sometime later. Unfortunately, in Karyos’s case, there had been complications. Long story short, by the time we met her she’d been insane and trying to kill us, and she hadn’t gone into her cocoon voluntarily. We still weren’t entirely sure whether the “insane and homicidal” part was going to carry over when she woke up.

“On that note, there’s a favour I’d like to ask,” Arachne said. “When Karyos is reborn, could you look after her?”

I looked at Arachne in surprise. “Me?”

“Would it be possible?”

“I suppose,” I said slowly. “With help. But I was assuming you’d want to be involved.”

“The world belongs to humans now, Alex,” Arachne said. “The time for my kind is passing. You’ll be able to teach Karyos more than I can.”

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought beyond wondering if she was going to wake up and go right back to trying to kill us.”

“If your friends used the seed successfully, that should not happen. And from speaking to Luna and Anne, I believe they did.” Arachne looked at me. “So?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll try my best.”

“Thank you. Now, other matters. How are you progressing with the dreamstone?”

“Well, I’ve been working on communication range. I still have a few issues with really long distances, but it seems to be getting better. I can use it to talk to Anne pretty much anywhere now. I can probably manage it with Luna and Vari too.”

“What about the subject of our previous discussion?” Arachne said. “Creating more general messages, rather than to a specific receiver?”

“Oh, right,” I said. The example Arachne had given was that of a general call for attention or for help, aimed at anyone able to listen. “I practised a little with Anne.”

“You need to be able to use it for people other than Anne.”

“Fair enough.”

“Have you been practising Elsewhere combat?”

“It’s kind of difficult to find anyone to practise with,” I said. “About the only two I can ask apart from you are Luna and Anne. Luna can handle Elsewhere, but she doesn’t like it, and I know it’s asking a lot from her to get her to keep going back there. And Anne, well, she’s got her own reasons to avoid the place.”

“And you’ve done everything you can to persuade them otherwise?” Arachne said. “You’ve pressed on them the urgency of the situation? Or, if that doesn’t convince them, you’ve searched for other teachers?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “No.”

“When I first met you, you’d spent days at a time mastering some new application of your magic,” Arachne said. “Or on researching a new magical item. The Alex I knew back then would have worked day and night to learn everything there was to know about the dreamstone.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “But back then I was pretty much a hermit. About the only people I’d spend time with were you and Starbreeze. And Helikaon, I guess, but eventually I pretty much stopped seeing him as well. Nowadays I have to be a politician.”

“Is it really your position on the Council that’s the issue?”

“It does take up a lot of time.”

“But back then, when you did have free time, you tended to spend it on training and study. These days, it seems to me that far more of your time and attention goes towards people. One person in particular.”

I threw up my hands. “Okay, fine. Look, this is the first time I’ve been in a really long-term relationship, okay? It takes up more of my attention than I’d expected.”

Arachne tilted her head, studying me.

“You think it’s a bad thing?” I asked.

“No,” Arachne said after a moment’s consideration. “While you were more focused on your work back when we first met, you’re mentally far healthier now. But that won’t do you any good if your enemies decide to have you killed.”

“I know it sounds weird to say it, but I feel less threatened than I did a year ago,” I said. “This war is actually pretty good for me. Levistus and the rest of the Council are too busy dealing with Richard, and Richard is too busy dealing with the Council.”

“Your enemies won’t stay busy with each other for ever,” Arachne said. “But on to other matters. It’s time we discussed the final use of the dreamstone: using it to enter Elsewhere physically.”

I leant forward in interest. Arachne had brought this up before, but she’d warned me off experimenting. “How?”

“The how is simple,” Arachne said. “Channel through the dreamstone, using it as a focus, as if it were a gate stone. Now that you’ve bonded with it, it should be easy. But before you attempt it, you must understand exactly what it entails.”

I nodded.

“We talk about ‘going’ or ‘travelling’ to Elsewhere, but when you visit Elsewhere in dreams, what you are actually doing is projecting,” Arachne said. “Your body lies sleeping, while your mind forms an image. This is why you do not suffer physical consequences for anything that happens there. It’s not safe, obviously, but it’s very difficult for anything you meet in Elsewhere to harm you. Most people who die in Elsewhere do so due to their own mistakes.”

“Because they get lost, or send too much of themselves, yeah. So—”

Arachne cut me off with a gesture. “Listen, Alex. You have a tendency to jump ahead when you think you know what’s coming. You need to understand this clearly.”

I looked at Arachne in surprise. I wasn’t used to her speaking to me this sharply. “Okay.”

“As you’ve become more skilled with Elsewhere, you’ve ceased to fear it,” Arachne said. “If asked, you would probably say that it’s dangerous, but not more so than some parts of our own world. You would be very wrong. Elsewhere is an incredibly hostile environment. You can visit in dreams in relative safety because only your consciousness is projected. Elsewhere is an immaterial realm, and it is utterly inhospitable to physical matter. If you travel there physically, your material form will react with the environment in a process that erodes both. Since there is much more of Elsewhere than there is of you, this does not end well from your perspective.”

“So . . . you get disintegrated?”

“More like dissolved. Imagine a sugar lump dropped into the ocean.”

“How fast?”

“Inanimate objects dissolve almost instantly,” Arachne said. “For living creatures, it depends on their level of consciousness. A plant would be gone in a minute. A dog or cat might last a quarter of an hour. With a sapient creature such as a human, it depends on their sense of self and their facility with Elsewhere. A strong-willed and practised visitor could in theory survive for hours. But no matter how skilled or strong, the sugar lump is still a sugar lump, and the ocean is still the ocean.”

“Shields?”

“Do nothing. Or perhaps a better way to put it is that your sense of self is your shield. Anything you bring with you and hold close enough to your person has some limited protection. Clothes, jewellery, anything held in your hands. It doesn’t last though. Don’t take anything into Elsewhere unless you’re prepared to lose it.”

I sat thinking for a minute. “I see why you told me not to experiment.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ve got a question,” I said. “If Elsewhere is so horrendously lethal, what’s the point of going there?”

Arachne nodded. “Several reasons. First, the ability to gate to Elsewhere can be used as a travel technique. There are limitations, but in theory it gives you the ability to go almost anywhere. It’s also extremely hard to trace.”

“You’ve pretty much just described gating. Which every elemental mage can do already.”

“You’re not an elemental mage.”

I shrugged.

“There is more,” Arachne said. “When you travel to Elsewhere, since you are physically present, you are subject to the principles of Elsewhere just like everything else in that realm.”

“So the rules you taught me about combat in Elsewhere wouldn’t apply?” I said. “You can be hurt or killed?”

“Yes, though it’s more difficult. Your material form gives you some protection.”

“But basically, if someone else dreams themselves into Elsewhere and picks a fight with me, they’re invulnerable and I’m not.”

“Yes.”

“You’re making this sound worse and worse.”

“You aren’t thinking through the implications, Alex,” Arachne said. “While in Elsewhere, you are subject to its laws. All of its laws. Just as you can be injured, you can also be changed.”

“So someone can . . . change me into someone else?”

“Or you can change you into someone else.”

I had to stop and think about that. “How would that even work?”

“You know that Elsewhere is fluid,” Arachne said. “While you are there, your mind and body can, to a certain extent, be reshaped just as the dream-constructs of Elsewhere can.”

I sat thinking. It was a big enough idea that it was hard to grapple with. “Healing?”

“Feasible but dangerous. Altering yourself in Elsewhere requires you to draw back the shield protecting you and allow the realm to touch you directly, which means you are walking a fine line between change and dissolution. I would consider it a last resort.”

“Shapeshifting?”

“Again, possible but dangerous. Bear in mind that the ability to create a body does not imply the ability to create a working body. While in Elsewhere, you can hold things together by force of will. Once you return to our world, any mistakes will make themselves felt very quickly.”

“Maybe body modification?” I said. I was thinking aloud now. “That’d be easier than creating a new form from scratch. Reinforcement or enhancement or . . . hm.” I remembered a conversation I’d had with Anne. She’d explained that the problem with those kinds of life magic changes wasn’t creating them, it was maintaining them. “Would I need to understand bodies as well as a shapeshifter or a life mage?”

“In all likelihood, yes.”

Arachne was still watching me, as if she was waiting for me to come to the right conclusion. “Wait,” I said. “You said mind and body. Does that include everything relating to your mind?”

“Yes.”

“Including your magic?”

“Yes.”

I sat back.

“It is the primary reason mages have travelled to Elsewhere,” Arachne said. “Enhancing their own power, deepening their command over their magic. Adding completely new capabilities, gaining the power of multiple mages. All the power of Harvesting, without the side effects.”

“And it works?”

“There’s no reason it shouldn’t.”

I looked sharply at Arachne. “In theory or in practice?”

“Yes, that’s the issue.”

“Mages know about this?”

“It’s not widely shared knowledge, but yes.”

“Okay, then that doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Let’s say it works, and you really can use Elsewhere to add on powers as you like. Then where are the mages who’ve done it? There should be a whole bunch of immortal invincible archmages running around. I’ve seen the mages at the head of the Council and the Dark leaders like Morden and Richard. They’re powerful, but they’re not gods.”

Arachne nodded. “I only know of a few cases where mages have attempted a transformation such as you describe. In every case, nothing was heard of them thereafter. It is possible that their transformation was a success, and in the process they chose to create a new identity. But as you say, one would expect beings of that kind to make their presence felt. In my judgement, the most likely probability is that they ceased to exist.”

“Because it’s impossible?”

“The opposite. Magic is an intrinsic part of its user. The kind of person you are determines the type of magic you can employ. So to change one’s magic . . .” Arachne shrugged. “I suspect it runs into the same issue. The ability to imagine is not the same as the ability to create a working model.”

I sat thinking for a minute. “It sounds like a trap,” I said at last. “Something that’s just appealing enough that no one can resist looking at it and which you can’t back out of once you start.”

“That’s probably accurate,” Arachne said. “A less sweeping but more feasible use of Elsewhere is in conjunction with imbued items. Since they’re alive, they can be brought into Elsewhere, at least temporarily. While there, they can be changed or shaped just as a person can.”

“So you could do . . . what?” I said. “Enhance them . . . No, that’d run into the same problems. Change them? Make them accept you as a master?”

“You’ve told me several times that you’ve always run up against the same problem with imbued items. You can resist their control, but you can’t make them do what you want them to. Elsewhere would give you the power to affect them directly.”

“And it works?”

“After a fashion. It’s been attempted, and survived. However, there is the obvious drawback.”

I sighed. “Of course there is.”

“As I said, imbued items function in Elsewhere just as a person does. Which means that any item you bring there is placed on the same footing as you.”

“Oh Jesus. So it could try to change or control me.”

“Weaker imbued items would probably not have enough strength of self to be a significant danger,” Arachne said. “On the other hand, the ones you would most likely be interested in are unlikely to be the weaker ones.”

I thought of the most powerful item I owned, the monkey’s paw. I’d got a look at what was inside it, just once. I imagined confronting that thing in Elsewhere and shuddered. “With some of the imbued items I’ve seen, that might actually be worse than the wiping-yourself-out-of-existence thing.”

“Quite possibly.”

“The more you tell me about this, the more it sounds like a trap,” I said. “You’ve just basically told me that if you go to Elsewhere, you can get literally anything you wish for. Except that when you look more closely, it’s got somewhere between a high chance and a one hundred percent chance of getting you killed.”

“If it were easy, everyone would have done it.”

I sat thinking for a little while. “So what’s your advice?”

“I’m sorry, Alex,” Arachne said. “I don’t have any.”

“But you’ve just told me—”

“This is not a choice I can make for you,” Arachne said. “If you take this path, it will lead you beyond the point where I can guide you. But there is one thing I can do. Here.”

Arachne reached behind her and picked something off one of her tables, manipulating it delicately with one foreleg. She handed it to me and I took it, looking at it curiously. It was a small wrapped package, about the size of a hardback book. “What is it?”

“If you ever reach the point where your situation is truly dire, open that,” Arachne said. “It may be of some help.”

I hefted the package. It wasn’t heavy—maybe the weight of an orange. “A new item?”

“You’ll see.”

“You could just tell me.”

“Should you ever open it, you will understand why I am not telling you.”

I eyed the package. It was neatly wrapped in red paper, tied with a ribbon.

“Yes, Alex, I know you can divine its contents. Please don’t.”

“Fine.” I set it down. There aren’t many people from whom I’d take that on faith, but Arachne is one of them. We talked for another half an hour, then I left. Once I was back in the Hollow, I put the parcel in a drawer.

The Saturday after my conversation with Arachne found me, Variam, Luna, and Anne all together in the Hollow. Officially it was a birthday party for Luna—she’d turned twenty-eight three days ago, but Anne and I had been called in all day to the War Rooms. But at last we’d been able to take a break, and it had been an enormous relief to finally relax. We’d spent the day under the spreading branches, laughing and telling stories. Anne had cooked on a barbecue, and we’d eaten and drunk as the afternoon turned into twilight, stars coming out above one by one as the sky faded from blue and green to purple and gold. At last Variam and Luna had left, Luna stifling her yawns and holding Vari’s hand, and the gate had closed behind them, leaving Anne and me alone.

I woke later that night, opening my eyes to look up at the ceiling. Moonlight slanted in through the windows, pale beams hanging in midair with dark shadows between. I turned my head to see that Anne was still asleep, her hair a black halo against the pillow. I propped myself up on one elbow and looked down at her for a little while, watching the slight movements as the covers rose and fell with her breath. Loving someone is a warm feeling, like having a small well-banked fire burning steadily inside you, and I’d been surprised at how strong it had grown. I leant over to kiss Anne lightly on her forehead, then slid off the futon, moving quietly so as not to disturb her. I dressed, and walked outside in silence, drawing the door closed behind me.

The Hollow feels magical at night. The moon that shines down from above is a mirror of Earth’s, but the stars are completely different, glowing clusters of blue and purple and gold. The only sound was the faint rustle of the leaves in the trees. The night air was cool but not unpleasant; I crossed the front clearing, grass whispering under my feet, and rounded the copse to Karyos’s cocoon.

The sapling linked to Karyos’s cocoon had grown by leaps and bounds. It had been only as high as my waist when I’d first seen it, and now it was nearly twice my height, its leaves and branches shooting upwards while the other plants around the clearing had barely changed. The cocoon itself was a hemisphere around the tree’s base. It had grown with the tree, to the point that, from a distance, the tree looked like it was sprouting out of a very large anthill.

I rested my fingers against the cocoon, feeling the roughness of the bark against my skin. Above, the wind stirred the trees, the branches shifting gently before settling back into silence. I looked up at the stars, my thoughts moving in circles in troubling paths.

Movement in the futures caught my attention and I looked up to see a white shape appear from behind the copse, bright in the moonlight. “Can’t sleep?” Anne asked softly.

“That lifesight of yours is hard to fool, isn’t it?”

“Not lifesight,” Anne said as she walked closer. She was wearing a silk robe, embroidered in flowers in Japanese designs. “Just old habits.” She nodded at the cocoon. “She’s growing quickly.”

“What’ll she look like when she comes out?”

“Like a seven- or eight-year-old.”

“No bark or roots this time?”

“Not that I can see.” Anne placed a hand flat on the cocoon. “I can’t read her mind, but her brain development seems healthy. When we fought her two years ago, her pattern looked twisted. No trace of that this time. I think she’s going to do well.”

I looked at Anne, slender and thoughtful, gazing down at the cocoon, and had to smile.

Anne looked at me curiously. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just imagining her coming out of her cocoon and calling you ‘mama.’”

Anne smiled. “Would that make you her father?”

“You’re the one who’s been checking on her every week. If anyone counts as her parent by now . . .”

“I’m not sure how good a mother figure I’d be.” Anne tilted her head. “What is wrong? Something’s worrying you.”

I sighed and walked to the edge of the copse, sitting on a fallen tree. “It’s that talk I had with Arachne.”

“About the dreamstone?” Anne came over. “I thought you’d decided not to use it.”

“I don’t want to use it. I’m worried I might not have a choice.”

Anne sat down next to me. Her figure cast a long shadow in the moonlight, stretching to merge with the darkness of the trees behind. “Why?”

“You remember last year when I went to see the dragon that lives under the Heath?”

Anne nodded.

“When I told Luna, she asked me about what it had said. You didn’t.”

“I suppose not.”

“You weren’t curious?”

“I knew you’d tell me if it was important. Besides, I had the feeling that whatever you’d learned, it hadn’t helped.”

“That’s true enough.” I sat in silence for a moment. “I asked the dragon three questions. One was about Rachel: I wanted to know how I could turn her away from Richard. The dragon told me I had to convince her of the ‘truth of her fears.’ The other two questions were about you.”

Anne didn’t reply, and after a moment I went on. “First I asked how I could break you free of the influence of the jinn. Then I asked how I could become powerful enough to stay alive and protect the people I cared about. The dragon gave me the same answer to both. It told me I couldn’t.”

“You . . . couldn’t?”

I nodded.

“But that’s wrong,” Anne said. “You did break me free. Last year, in Elsewhere.”

“That wasn’t really me,” I said. “When I asked, the dragon told me that the link between you and the jinn was a function of the jinn’s own power, and that I couldn’t break it. And that was exactly what happened. I didn’t drive it out—you did.”

“I suppose . . .”

“The dragon explained its answer to the other question as well. It told me I could stay alive, or protect the people I cared about. Not ‘and,’ ‘or.’ And it told me that the person in question was you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’ve been feeling for a long time that sooner or later, if I want to have a chance against mages like Richard and Levistus, I’m going to have to do something drastic,” I said. “The more I think about it, the more it feels like this Elsewhere thing might be it.”

“But you said it would probably kill you.”

“And now you know what’s worrying me.”

“No.” Anne put a hand to my shoulder; I looked up to see that her expression was unhappy. “I don’t want you sacrificing yourself.”

“I don’t exactly want to either.”

“Then don’t. How would it even help? You disintegrating yourself in Elsewhere isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Just because I can’t see how it could happen . . .”

“I don’t care,” Anne said. “You aren’t allowed to travel physically to Elsewhere without talking to me first. Okay?”

“I guess.”

“No, not ‘I guess.’ Promise me.”

I hesitated. Anne was looking straight into my eyes, her expression set. “Okay. I promise.”

I felt Anne relax and lean back. “Doesn’t it worry you?” I asked.

“What?”

“It’s a draconic prophecy. From what I understand, they’re never wrong. In fact, they can’t be wrong.”

“Well, maybe this one is.”

I gave Anne a look.

“You’ve already said that you don’t understand what dragons can do or how their prophecies work,” Anne said. “Doesn’t that mean that you shouldn’t be counting on it? I mean, if you’d really believed you couldn’t do anything to help me against the jinn, you wouldn’t have come to Elsewhere. But you did, and it worked. Maybe this prophecy will turn out to be a technicality too.”

“Doesn’t it bother you, having something like this hanging over your head?”

“I’ve never not had something like this hanging over my head.” Anne turned her palms upwards. “Sagash. Crystal. The Council and the Crusaders. Lightbringer, Zilean, Morden, Richard. And now the jinn and her. Every single day, I wake up knowing at the back of my mind that it’s only going to take one thing for my whole world to come apart. Maybe Crystal and Sagash will come back and they won’t make any mistakes this time. Maybe the Council will figure out what really happened at San Vittore. Maybe it’ll be Morden, or Richard, or someone completely new. I used to lie awake worrying about it. I’d stay up for hours and I’d finally fall asleep wondering if someone was going to come for me in the night.”

“How did you deal with it?”

Anne shrugged. “I suppose I just decided that what happens, happens.”

“But we can change what’s going to happen. We can prepare. Head things off.”

“How am I supposed to prepare against all of that?”

“It’s not like we’ve done nothing,” I said. “You’re far better protected now than you were a few years ago. Something like that kidnap attempt back when you lived in Honor Oak wouldn’t work if they tried it again.”

“I suppose.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I . . .” Anne hesitated. “I suppose . . . deep down, I don’t think it makes a difference.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Any of it. Wards, plans . . .” Anne looked down at her clasped hands. “It feels as though in the end, if something like that is going to happen . . . then there’s no point fighting it.”

I frowned at Anne. “You really think that?”

“Sometimes,” Anne said. She shook her head and stood. “Come to bed.”

An hour later found me back on the futon, staring up at the ceiling. I needed to rest—I had an early appointment tomorrow—but the conversation with Anne had bothered me, and when I finally drifted off, it wasn’t to sleep.

I wandered the landscapes of Elsewhere, feeling the world shift and change. Before this year I never would have come here so casually, but with the dreamstone and Arachne’s tuition, I’d become almost as comfortable in Elsewhere as outside it. I walked through halls of marble, gleaming pillars reaching to arching ceilings. The marble halls became a ruined city, the city became a mountaintop, the mountaintop a castle, the castle a forest, the forest . . .

. . . stayed a forest. Oak and beech trees stretched up above, birds singing in the branches. It took me a moment to realise where I was, and when I did, my first instinct was to turn away.

Usually when you visit someone else’s version of Elsewhere, it’s because they’re in Elsewhere too. Either that or you can find them in their dreams and lead them here. But it’s possible, with a delicate enough touch, to travel to a part of Elsewhere shaped by someone else’s sleeping mind without waking or disturbing them. There’s little reason to do it, since in most cases you’ll find something vague and unfinished, like an artist’s sketchbook. But Anne’s Elsewhere is more real and more defined than anyone else’s that I’ve ever met, for reasons that are both good and bad. I hesitated, on the verge of stepping back into my own dreams. There was only one other person to talk to here, and the thought of that conversation made me uncomfortable.

But what’s comfortable and what’s necessary are usually different things.

I followed the path until the trees fell away to reveal black glass walls, looming up to block out the sunlight. Absentmindedly I created an opening large enough for me to pass, letting it disappear again once I was through. Inside the walls was a bare flat plaza, broken by a black tower reaching up to a cloudy sky. I walked to the tower, opened a door that took form at my hand, and descended.

The spiral staircase wound its way down around a central well. White spheres glowed from the walls, set at even intervals, but the black materials of the tower soaked up the light. I kept descending until I reached a landing. There was only one door, made out of solid metal, thick and heavy. Three bolts held it shut. I slid them back one after another, then opened the door.

Inside the room was a young woman, with black shoulder-length hair and reddish brown eyes, wearing a black dress that left her arms bare. She was seated on an iron throne, though not by choice. Manacles of black metal were fastened at her ankles, knees, elbows, and wrists, holding her legs to the side of the throne and her arms behind its back. Chains disappeared from the manacles into holes in the throne, with only a link or two visible at each. A collar at her neck kept her back straight and her head against the headrest, but her eyes were open and turned towards me. “Oh, look,” she said. “Visiting hours at the prison.”

The girl in the chair had many names. Dr. Shirland called her Anne’s shadow. Anne didn’t use a name at all, just “her.” I’d thought of her as not-Anne, but after the events of last year I’d started thinking that “Dark Anne” might be more accurate. I’d asked her once what she wanted to be called, and she’d told me just to call her Anne. There was a message there.

“How are you doing?” I said.

“Oh, fine, fine.” Dark Anne tilted her head with the small amount of movement she was allowed. “Sitting down here chained alone in the dark has really been a positive experience for me. I feel like I’ve grown as a person, you know?”

I walked across the room towards her. “Well, your sense of sarcasm seems in good shape.”

“Yeah, because there’s so much else to do. So what made you finally show up?”

“I figured I was due.”

“Or because your last chat with real-world me didn’t go the way you wanted?”

“If you already knew, why did you ask?”

“I wanted to see what bullshit excuse you’d come up with. And yes, I heard all of it. Funny thing about being stuck here—I can hear what’s going on outside just fine. Can’t talk, can’t feel, but I can sit around and watch everything my other self gets to do to enjoy herself.” Dark Anne raised her eyebrows. “And yes, in case you’re wondering, that does mean everything.”

I looked at her.

“By the way, you really ought to be more aggressive about—”

“You can stop there.”

Dark Anne smirked at me. “Suit yourself.” The chains clinked as she shifted on the throne. “So let me guess. Her whole ‘que será, será’ attitude didn’t make you very happy, huh?”

“Not really.”

“Aww. What’s the problem? Feel like you know what’s best for her? She’s not being a good little girl and doing as she’s told?”

I looked back.

“I know, I know. You diviners are all about preparation and planning. Must be really annoying for someone to point out how useless it is, right?”

“Do you have anything useful to say, or are you just going to take cheap shots?”

Dark Anne shrugged. “I don’t know, what’s in it for me?”

“Well, there’s the little detail that anything that happens to Anne happens to you,” I said. “So I’d say you’ve got a personal stake in this. Unless you think Anne’s wait-and-see plan is a good one.”

“No, her plan’s dumb as shit. Here’s the bad news: you aren’t going to change her mind.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You really haven’t figured it out?” Dark Anne cocked her head. “Let’s put it another way. Who do you think I am?”

“You’re the side of Anne that Anne can’t or won’t deal with. Aggressive, ruthless, self-centred. You told me you were born in Sagash’s shadow realm, but that wasn’t really true. You were always there.”

“Well, well. Someone’s been talking with Dr. Shirland.”

“I answered your question,” I said. “Now answer mine. Why do you think Anne won’t change her mind?”

“Not won’t, can’t,” Dark Anne said. “Think about it. According to you, I’m the evil side of Anne that’s all nasty and ruthless, not like the real Anne, who’s all sweetness and light. So here’s a question for you. Which one of us do you think’s better at fighting to stay alive?”

“You think it’s you.”

“Of course it’s me, you frigging idiot. I am the side of her personality that got split off specifically to handle life-and-death situations. Except that instead of doing that, I’m chained up down here in the dark where I can’t reach anyone or do anything, while Little Miss Perfect gets to run the show. And now you’re like, gosh, her decision-making when it comes to all this dark and scary stuff doesn’t seem all that good anymore. Hey, I wonder whose fault it is. What do you think, Alex? Who’s the reason things ended up this way?”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re blaming me?”

“You and her.” Dark Anne leant forward. “When I get out of here, she’s first on the list. You? You’re number two.”

“Yeah, with an attitude like that, I can’t think why she’d want you locked up,” I said. “You played the poor-little-me act last year too. Remind me, what was the first thing you did when you got free?”

Dark Anne shrugged as best she could. “So I cut loose a little.”

“Do you even understand how much damage you did in those few hours?” I asked her. “It’s been a year and we are still trying to deal with the consequences. And when I say trying, there’s a really good chance it’s not going to work. The instant they find out who was really responsible for those murders, what do you think’s going to happen?”

“Stop whining.”

I stared at Dark Anne. “You know how many people died because of what you did in San Vittore?”

Dark Anne didn’t answer.

“Eighteen. It would have been more but for the response team.”

“Not like I did anything to them.”

“Oh, don’t even start,” I said in disgust. “You were the one who summoned those jinn. Not Morden, not Richard. You. If you’re seriously going to say that’s not your responsibility, then I’m done talking.”

“That one was the jinn’s idea, actually. I guess all those lesser ones used to be his servants or something.”

“Which means they did what you told them.”

“Yeah, and the men there all worked for the Council, and they did what they told them. I’d given them the chance, they’d have shot me just as fast.”

“They’re still human beings. You know the Council has an entire department for coming up with stories to tell the families of the men that die in their service? I went down there after the attack. Copies and copies of letters to relatives. I don’t even know what kind of explanation they had to come up with for that many deaths at the same time.”

“They knew the risks, didn’t they?” Dark Anne said. “They were prison guards. Not exactly a goody-two-shoes kind of job.”

“I don’t understand you,” I said. “Anne will work for hours with her healing magic to save the life of someone she doesn’t even know. Meanwhile, you’re personally responsible for nearly twenty deaths in as many minutes, and you just shrug it off. I know she’s the empathic one, but don’t you have any of it?”

“So what about you?” Dark Anne said. “Because the way I remember it, you’ve killed way more people than that. What about the Nightstalkers? Or that raid you did on that Light mage in Scotland, Belthas or whatever his name was? We weren’t there but Luna told us the story. What was the body count on that again?”

“There’s a difference between fighting because you have to and fighting because you want to. Both of those times you’re talking about, I was pushed to my limits. Last year in San Vittore, you weren’t. You could easily have neutralised them without having to—”

Dark Anne gave a loud sigh and rolled her eyes.

I broke off. “I’m sorry. Am I not holding your attention?”

“Bored.”

“You have something better to be doing?”

“No, which should just emphasise how boring this is.” Anne leant forward slightly, the chains clinking as she shifted. “Why do you do this?”

“What, talk to you?”

“No, turn conversations into some kind of ethics lecture. I mean, I actually like you, and when you start on this I still want to beat my head against a wall because it hurts less. Blah blah right and wrong blah responsibility blah. Okay, Alex, harsh truth time, you listening? You’ve never changed anyone’s mind with this stuff. Ever.”

“I’ve—”

“No, not even then. Either it’s someone like Luna, and she’s already going to do what you tell her, or it’s everyone else, and they don’t care what you say. Think about it. When have you managed to argue someone into thinking you’re right and they’re wrong?”

“It’s not like I keep records.”

“You haven’t! Because no one cares! Yes, people listen to you, but they listen because they think you’re scary and competent. The times you’ve made some Dark mage or adept punk back down, you think it was because you convinced them? They back off because they think you’re dangerous. And that’s the only reason anyone ever pays attention to the words coming out of your mouth.”

I looked back at her. “Well,” I said after a moment, “you’re making me realise one thing. Anne is right to keep you locked up down here.”

Dark Anne narrowed her eyes. “For now.”

“For now?” I asked. “I hate to break this to you, but Anne’s stronger than you are. The reason you were able to overpower her back then was because you had the jinn backing you up. One-on-one, for all your tough-girl talk? You can’t match her.”

“Like I said,” Dark Anne said. “For now. Someday she’ll need me.”

“Seems to me she’s doing pretty well on her own.”

“Please. You only think that because you’ve forgotten what I can do. If I’d been in that research facility, I’d have taken them all down solo. “

“Which isn’t going to happen, because of how badly you screwed up last year,” I said. “Anne is not giving you control again. Ever. Long term, you want to get out of here, you have exactly one way to do it.”

“Which is?”

“Merge with her,” I said. “Become one person again. Seriously, do you realise how insane you sound? You can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later the two of you are going to have to work something out that doesn’t come down to locking the other in a dungeon.”

“I don’t know. Sticking her in here and seeing how she likes it seems pretty good to me.”

“Which you can’t do without the jinn,” I said. “Which you can’t call back.”

“She can.”

“Right, Anne’s going to go to the super-powerful eldritch entity that’s already possessed her three times and invite it back for another try. Are you really that stupid?”

“Maybe not now,” Dark Anne said. “But like she was saying, we’ve got a lot of enemies, haven’t we? Sagash and Crystal, Morden and Richard, all those Light Guardians and Crusaders. Not to mention all of your new best friends on the Council. Someday things will get bad enough and she’ll be desperate enough. Maybe not this month, maybe not this year, but it’ll happen. You think Anne’s so pure and innocent, but you don’t know her like I do. When things really go to hell, she’ll do whatever it takes to survive. Until then? I can wait.”

I gave Dark Anne a look, then turned and walked away.

“I’m not going anywhere, Alex,” Dark Anne called after me. “Someday we’ll be face-to-face again. And I won’t be so nice next time.”

There was more, but the closing door cut off her voice. I started the long climb up the spiral staircase, alone with my thoughts.