Jack of Ravens

5

Cold white marble chilled Church’s cheek. The room smelled sweet from perfumes thrown on hot coals. He forced his aching body into a sitting position and squinted around. Thick drapes hung on the walls and exquisitely constructed furniture made by the best local artisans stood all around. Church could see at a glance it was quarters for the wealthy.

An elderly man in a white toga held in place by a gold clasp talked with a quiet intensity to two guards near the door. He exuded power and prestige, but there was a weariness to his features, which had a greyish pallor. When he saw that Church was conscious, he motioned for the guards to leave and poured himself a goblet of wine, before sitting to look down on Church with a degree of suspicion.

‘I have nothing to do with the Ninth Legion-’ Church began.

The dignitary silenced him with a raised hand. ‘I know.’

‘Then why have you brought me here? I am a free man. And where is my comrade?’

‘He is a traitor who will face swift military justice.’ The dignitary took a sip of his wine. ‘I am Numerius Didius Agelastus, advisor to Emperor Constantius. At this moment, the Emperor lies on his sick bed, unable to govern. And so the task falls to me.’

‘Why have you brought me here?’

‘Why?’ Numerius’s eyes flickered with unease, as if the memory of his motivation was lost to him. He moistened his lips with a flick of a nervous tongue. ‘Because …’ Panic flared in his face. ‘Because-’

‘Because I told him to.’

Church started at the familiar voice. A man swathed in a thick cloak and hood had entered. The temperature dropped a couple of degrees as the Libertarian threw off his hood to reveal his glaring red eyes. ‘Brother of Dragons.’ The greeting was laced with sarcasm. ‘I never expected to see you again so soon.’

Church turned to Numerius. ‘You can’t work with him — he’s some kind of devil. Look at his eyes.’

Numerius shivered, but did not turn. The Libertarian came over and clapped one hand on Numerius’s shoulder before patting it in a patronising manner. Then he gently lifted the fold of Numerius’s toga that fell across his shoulder to reveal a black spider embedded into the skin.

‘My good friend Numerius Didius Agelastus may see the reason in your words, but I shall win the argument every time.’

‘You control him with that thing. How many others?’

The Libertarian pretended to count on his fingers, then gave up with a smile.

Church made the connection. ‘You tried to control me.’

‘You were doing so well at the Second Battle of Magh Tuireadh, lopping off heads and limbs like a fully trained butcher with that silly little sword-that-is-not-a-sword. One of those lumbering Fomorii cretins managed to impress a Gravix upon you. It removed you from the field of play, but sadly did not turn the course of battle. Nor did it weaken you enough to be slain.’

Church recalled Niamh telling him at their first meeting that he had fought in the battle between the Tuatha De Danann and their ancient enemies, but he had discounted it as one of her deceptions.

‘The Gravix tried its hardest to turn you, but that damnable fire burns too brightly inside you. Oh, if only we could have eliminated you at that point. Alas, it was not to be.’

‘So you control the Fomorii?’

The Libertarian laughed silently. ‘We work towards the same aims. You would not find us drinking in the same bar. Or even in the same town.’

Church saw his sheathed sword on a table across the room and weighed up whether he could reach it before the Libertarian intercepted him. The Libertarian saw his eye movement and divined his intentions.

‘Please,’ he said with world-weariness, ‘can we not have a simple conversation? It is very difficult to find in my line of business.’ He pushed Numerius out of the way and poured himself a goblet of wine. ‘Not the best I have tasted, but the best for this era.’

‘This era?’ Church repeated. He watched a spidery smile crawl across the Libertarian’s face, just as quickly removed. ‘Your language … it’s not archaic. You’re from the future, like me.’

‘The future?’ the Libertarian sneered. ‘Oh yes. The “future”. The “past”. The “present”. What a quaint way of seeing things.’

Church edged towards the sword. The Libertarian noticed, did nothing. Numerius moved his mouth in a sticky, troubled way as if he were paralysed.

‘Keep playing your games — I don’t care,’ Church said. ‘But if we are both from a different time, how can we operate here and now without changing what’s to come?’

The Libertarian mused. ‘Well, consider this, perhaps: time is a river. One may swim upstream, or downstream, if you like. Or: one throws a rock into that self-same river. The water hits it, flows around it, recovers its original course. There are eddies here and there, but it still continues to the sea.’

‘You’re saying we can make little changes around us, but nothing long-term.’

‘Or perhaps what your kind call reality changes all the time, but you are unaware of it because you change with it. You alter, and are reborn with new memories of your new reality so you presume it has always been that way. Yet ghosts invade your memories. Impressions of a different place, with a different you, fading even as they come. Dreams of other realities, so strange yet somehow real.’ His red, lidless stare grew more intense. ‘Everything is fluid. Nothing is fixed. Poor you! Poor Fragile Creatures! The curse of your existence.’

Church made his move for the sword. But instead of trying to intercept him, the Libertarian put one hand around Numerius’s throat. Church saw this from the corner of his eye and paused as he reached for the sword. Numerius’s eyes were wide and glistening beads of sweat stood out on his brow, but he did not move. The Libertarian’s jagged nails cut through soft skin, went deep and deeper still. And then, with one rapid twist of his wrist, he tore. The arterial spray of blood arced across the room. Church would always recall the sound of it hitting the marble, like a pot of paint being thrown at a canvas. One hot gush splashed against the side of his face, blinding one eye, rushing down his neck, soaking his clothes like a summer storm. In shock, he turned and saw the Libertarian gut Numerius with his other hand, letting the discorporated body slide to the floor, a discarded toy. The Libertarian was red from head to toe.

Fetch your silly little sword,’ he said. Enjoy the comfort it gives you, for now.’

Church was rooted in shock at the brutality he had witnessed.

‘You know I cannot touch you, not yet, not so far from the Source, when I am weaker and your ugly little fire burns so brightly. There is no point attempting to deny that. But we are many, and we are fanning out through all-time, all-reality, to dream things the way they should be. You will be hunted to the moment when you can no longer stem the flow.’

‘What are you?’ Church asked, sickened.

‘You ask for names, still?’ the Libertarian replied with complete contempt. ‘You expect me to tell you words of power? And Fragile Creatures are to be the next to climb the ladder to wonder? Truly the ways of Existence are baffling.’ He laughed. ‘Know this, then: we are the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders. We nest, we scurry from the shadows, we spin webs to catch little flies! No escape, little Fragile Creature! No escape for you.’

‘So you’re the reason why the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons exist. It’s not just about keeping the gods at bay.’

‘There is some truth in that, and also a great and devastating irony that you have yet to appreciate in its entirety. But you will, and soon.’

Church sloughed off the shock and grabbed his sword, but by the time he had drawn it, the Libertarian had gone, the door stood open and the guards without lay butchered in a widening pool of blood.