The Pilgrims

15

Through the wide hallways Case went. Bright and busy the place seemed, well ordered as a hospital. The human traffic was heavy enough that his footsteps need not be silent, but he was careful to sidestep the men and women in their bland robes, with their bland faces showing not much, saying nothing. When they did speak, it was seldom loud enough to be overheard, seldom more than a word or two. Some had paper scrolls in hand, or little notebooks slung about their shoulders. Many ducked in or out of the doorways on either side, all steadily going about some incomprehensible business like ants in a stump. There seemed something very wrong with them which Case couldn’t quite pinpoint: something was missing. Maybe it was the way their mouths hung open a little, the dullness of their eyes. Maybe it was the place’s quiet despite so many going back and forth, with only the tap shuffle tap of footsteps on the stone floor.

Sometimes the doors on either side of the wide hallways were open. Case paused to look in, once finding a store room full of plain-looking objects: cups, plates, tools, simple jewellery like the silver beads around his neck. It was all valuable, since there were serious-looking men with swords sitting inside, silently watching over it all.

In other rooms, seated around tables, were people who by their manner discussed matters of grave importance. Something separated these people from the rest of these castle dwellers. They were dressed differently, but that wasn’t it … there was clearly some ‘on’ switch that had been flicked in them, or maybe the others had been switched off. Case passed several such meetings before he stopped in a doorway to listen, thinking that in here might be the man he was supposed to find:

‘… if I may, to me, this is … I won’t say paranoid, but I have not ever detected a scrap of further ambition in that general than the next course of dinner.’

The others at the table exchanged looks of grave alarm. Said one very slowly, ‘Perhaps others have better foresight than we.’

The first speaker, stricken: ‘Yes, of course. I did not mean to say I was questioning-’

‘You already have questioned. Already questioned.’ He grinned like someone who was very much looking forward to a drink of the other’s blood.

Case listened a while longer then left the worried-looking bunch to their troubles and secrets. Further along, an open door blasted freezing air and mist into the hall. Inside was a spacious chamber, and placed over its floor were many large lumps of blue ice. Shapes were frozen within each block and, if he didn’t know better — yes, there were people in the ice blocks, horned men, identical to that monster that had set itself on fire, back near the door. The chamber was full of them, all frozen solid, their eyes open. Were they alive or dead? He couldn’t tell.

A block of ice nearest the door had water running from it in little rivulets, slowly thawing. The war mage inside had its eyes pointed right at the doorway where Case stood. He shuddered then hurried away, soon as thoroughly lost as could be.

It was endless, this maze of hallways and arches and doors to secret chambers. When one passage branched off, winding upwards, Case followed its plush red carpet, recalling that Aziel had seemed to direct her mournful cries to a higher window. The top of the steps was guarded by sentries, heavily armed with shields and spears, but they didn’t react in the slightest as Case very carefully crept past them.

He found himself in a lofty hallway without the background sound of shuffling steps to shield his own. Tall glass windows double a man’s height were embedded at intervals down either side. Before each of these sat people taking careful notes on paper scrolls with pencils. The windows looked out, but Case assumed they were televisions or something similar, for they didn’t show the sky, nor the landscape he’d expect to see from this high up. The one nearest seemed to give the view from in the midst of a town; there were buildings in the background, and what might have been a pub. In the next window along, women in rags walked by a marketplace carting a wagon full of hay, which kept spilling out, and which a young boy kept trying to put back in.

Some of the windows showed grassy fields where nothing seemed to be happening at all, besides a little breeze. But the window-watchers stared at these just as avidly, taking as many notes as those monitoring the others. Case looked over their shoulders but couldn’t decipher anything … if he spoke their language now, he sure as shit couldn’t read it.

In another window was what looked like a big looming wall of glassy ice, its top too far above to see. In fact, many windows — Case counted thirty as he strolled along — viewed this looming wall, which seemed to stretch to the sky itself. It was either vastly long, or there were several of its kind, for some windows watched it from grassy plains, others from between the trees of a woodland, others from fields of dust and rubble. Before some of these were huge grey statues with round featureless faces, tall as buildings.

The views were so clear it looked as though one could step through the windows and go to wherever each place was. Every so often one of the note-takers touched a slab of rust-coloured stone set on tables before them, and the view of the window shifted left, right, or spun right around. Then they’d watch closely and take more notes.

The windows stretched as far ahead down the long hallway as Case could see. He didn’t bother to look closely at most of them — they all showed the same kind of stuff, seemingly random views of random places. Until, that was, he saw a window showing a busy road, with cars going past. He did a double take and went back. Cars? Trucks? And they weren’t alien cars either — that was a Ford! This was a city, a real city.

Over at the next window, there was a similar view. The same place, or a different city? There was a bridge that looked familiar, some well-known foreign landmark, but he couldn’t place it. A whole bunch of these windows were looking out at places in the real world. The window-watchers here were excited, as though each sight was a rare one, and they crowded three or four per window.

Case nearly took off his necklace again, just to ask one of these people what the hell they thought they were doing. It felt like he’d found someone trespassing in his yard. So they know about us, he thought, but we don’t know about them. That can’t be real good.

He also noticed that the view from these windows was blurry, and often quickly faded to darkness, like eyes closing now and then. A minute or so later, all the Earth-watching windows suddenly blinked out. The note-takers didn’t seem surprised, but sighed in disappointment, set down their pens, and waited for the windows to open again.

Something caught his eye — the strange woman, standing right there in the hallway, her wings spread wide, completely naked but for beads, similar to his, around her neck. She looked the way Case’s reflection had in the sad girl’s mirror: an outline, mostly transparent inside it. No one else looked her way, and two of those robe-wearing zombies walked right past her.

Her face hadn’t changed its expression: watching. She waved an arm, this way. Finally, a little help. But a second later she’d vanished completely.

When he passed where she’d been, her voice said quietly, ‘Do not speak. You are taking so long! Follow the wall as it curves around to the right. There is a large chamber, with swords crossed atop the door. Go in there. Do not remove your charm again. Try not to touch it at all. I cannot help further. A mage comes. I flee.’ There was a feeling of rushing air, something moving past very quickly. A few heads by the windows turned, disturbed, then went back to their notes. Then a nightmare stepped into the hall.

As the war mages had horns, so did this, but this thing’s were thicker, longer, and curled down to its shoulders. But it was otherwise unlike them. Its head was far too large for the rest of its body, and hung forwards, a heavy weight on its neck. A third horn came from atop its burn-scarred scalp, spiralling back behind its neck. One side of its face had a horribly melted look, as if it had been gouged from cooling wax. Set in that eye socket was a square, gleaming gem, which swivelled around as the thing surveyed the hall.

If it was a man, Case could not imagine an uglier one. Not even mangling the ‘normal’ half of its face would make it much worse. One hand held a tall forked staff of dull silver. The other hand, of the same side as the melted face, looked incapable of holding much at all — like the corresponding leg, it was blackened and shrivelled, withered to a thin claw, twitching and shaking. It was a wonder the knotted bone-thin leg held the beast’s weight as it limped down the hall.

It went right past Case, who flattened himself against the wall. Clack, clack, its forked silver staff banged into the ground, helping it along when it had to step on that withered, burned leg. A long mane of feathers dragged behind its head, trailing like a cape on the floor behind it.

Its head turned to look at the windows it passed. The robed servants did not look at it, nor did they tremble as it reached them the way Case would if such a thing could see him. They just kept taking their notes, watching their windows.

When the mage was some way down the hall, it stopped and turned back. Its human eye swept past the line of robed people, past the doorway, and lingered for just a second, or so Case thought, on the very spot where he stood. From such a monster as this came the civil voice of a learned, wise man: ‘Tell me. Who among you carries a charm?’

The row of window-watchers ceased taking notes and turned their heads. ‘Not I, Arch Mage.’

‘Nor I.’

‘Nor I, Arch Mage.’

Each of them denied it. The Arch Mage’s lips gave a twitch on the more human side of his face. He waited patiently until each window-watcher had spoken, which took several minutes, then said, ‘No one? No one here carries a charm?’

There was no answer. The window-watchers turned like robots back to their task. The Arch Mage’s gem-eye gleamed with light and turned in its socket, wrinkling the flesh around it as his huge head swept about, gazing up and down the hall.

‘No matter,’ he said at last, drumming his fingers on his staff. ‘Many functions, such things have. Many uses.’ It was hard to translate the expression of such a face, but the Arch Mage seemed lost in thought and troubled. Abruptly he turned and limped away, more hurriedly than he’d moved before, and no longer interested in the windows to either side.

Case shut his eyes, breathed deep, then decided he’d had enough of this place and these people. He wanted out of here right now, to go find a tavern somewhere and beg for a sample of the local ale. After all this, he’d dance and sing for it if need be.

He turned his walk to a jog, no longer mindful of the robed people he passed, knocking several of them aside and leaving a trail of them perplexed behind him. The Hall of Windows ended at last, turning into yet another corridor, much narrower. ‘Where’s Vous?’ Case yelled, grabbing the only grey-robe in sight by the scruff of the neck. ‘Your king or president or whatever the fuck he is. Where is he?’

The young man squinted ahead. ‘Is that you, Arch Mage?’

‘Sure. Whatever you like,’ said Case.

‘I cannot see you, Arch Mage.’

‘Of course not, I got powers.’

‘Mighty powers, Arch Mage. Is this a test, Arch Mage?’

‘Where’s this Vous?’

‘Our Friend and Lord is in his chambers. His meal has been served. None have since disturbed him, Arch Mage.’

‘Where’s that, you spud-faced bastard?’

The young man placidly raised an arm behind him. There stood the door the winged woman had described, with swords mounted above the door frame. It was open. Case marched to it, then held himself in check. OK, this is what she wanted. Get in, get the job done, then we’ll ask her for a drink and she can tell me what happened with Eric. Spent too long on this sordid business to blow it now. Get it right, Stuart Casey, for once in your life.

Through the door was a huge room with heavy bookshelves on one side and a thick carpet down the middle, rich with woven patterns of threaded gold. Pronged stands held gleaming candles, lending the room a soft golden light. A window at the far wall had its curtain drawn.

There was no one in the chamber, no guards or servants. The man seated on a throne by the far wall, not moving, Case had taken at first for a statue: one knee raised, an elbow resting upon it. He wore some kind of ceremonial gown of loose, shining silk.

Case took a deep breath and went inside.

Vous’s head was tilted forwards at an angle, and his eyes — glassy, pure blue, encased in slanted lids — didn’t blink once. He was slim, maybe Eric’s age, but somehow not young seeming. Short golden hair was cropped neatly over a head that seemed to slightly bulge. He was handsome in a sense, with features well defined, but also delicate-looking, as though one hard blow would smash his face like glass.

Case went closer, very careful to keep his steps silent. Jewellery hung over Vous’s neck, thick lengths of chain not unlike the charm Case wore, though much newer and fancier. Rings gleamed on his fingers. A small table was set some way before the throne; it held a plate of food and a goblet of wine. Case’s eye lingered on the wine and he felt a powerful urge to go ahead and swallow it down, whatever might happen to him.

Vous stirred at last: his head tilted Case’s way, listening for something. ‘She did not wail long, this morning,’ he said quietly. Case’s blood froze. ‘She did not wail for me. Perhaps, at last, she’s learning.’ Vous fell quiet. The hand resting on the throne’s arm was very tense, knuckles white, and its fingernails picked at the gold. Vous looked down at his hand, pale and stiff, scratching, and he blinked, seeming surprised by what it was doing.

Case couldn’t be certain Vous was talking to him. Looking around the room, he saw a tall, thin mirror mounted on the wall and approached it, just to double-check his reflection was still invisible. When he stood before the glass, he nearly cried out — there was no reflection, just a smoky swirl of light, and ghostly faces within it. Five of them. One was a woman’s, her hair flowing as though she lay in water. Another had sharp teeth and beast’s eyes, and seemed barely human. They were asleep but for one, its face almost featureless as a skull, with wide, dark eye sockets. That one’s mouth opened and it gasped in alarm. ‘Friend!’ it called. ‘Vous! Friend! Beware. I hear something. I hear steps-’

‘Shut up!’ the scream from the throne lashed out like a whip. Case jumped at the sound of it. Vous’s teeth were bared like an animal’s. The skull in the mirror whimpered and went quiet. All the others opened their eyes. They whispered quietly amongst themselves, then separated fast as fish darting away in different directions when water’s disturbed.

The smoky light faded when they’d gone, revealing Case’s reflection, almost invisible. He sighed, relieved, and tried to calm his heart before all these frights made it quit altogether. Boy, did he want a sip of that wine now.

He went back to the throne. Vous’s head was still turned towards the mirror, but his face had gone back to its previous expression, eyes still unblinking. ‘You’re here now, aren’t you?’ he whispered. ‘You’re here right now. Watching me again. Watching me.’

Case swallowed, and he tried to breathe without any sound at all. His mouth was very dry and the wine was calling to him, positively singing. He could almost taste it, sweet and strong.

‘Watching me,’ said Vous. ‘But, ah! You never speak. You … never … speak.’

And then he was up, prowling around his throne as though to catch someone hiding behind it. He looked suspiciously at the far doorway, through which Case had come, then turned to the curtained window and approached it like he was stalking prey.

Case knew he would not get a better chance. He grabbed the wine goblet, and he’d have sworn on his life afterwards that he only intended a quick little sip, just to wet his parched tongue. But when he tasted it — so very sweet, fizzing across his tongue, unlike any wine he’d sipped before — he was startled to find the goblet seemed to have drained itself down his throat. Panicked, he set it back, and very nearly ran away. But oh, his head spun so pleasantly, almost coaxing away the fear of what he’d just done.

Vous stepped away from the window. He’d been catlike and tense a moment ago, but now his head slumped forwards and a tear crept down his cheek. ‘Watch,’ he whispered. ‘Watch, if you must.’ He slumped back on the throne, chin on his chest, glassy blue eyes staring at nothing.

It took a minute for him to see the empty wine goblet. When he did, he stared at it hard for a long while, not moving, not saying a thing. Slowly, he nodded. ‘Yes! You are here.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘I knew you were here. But I grow so tired … so tired.’ Vous shut his eyes as more tears rolled down his face. ‘Why, Shadow? What more can I give you? You have seen all my forms, splayed and bare. To the pits of pain with your hideous judging eyes! Shadow! What more can I give …?’ He choked up, a knuckle in his mouth, then stood, grabbed the plate and with an echoing scream of rage threw it hard at the far wall, where it shattered. He took the wine goblet and did the same. Then he stalked towards the door, his gown rippling. Case followed. Only now, as Vous passed the candles and the light of the open doorway, did Case notice something peculiar: Vous’s body cast no shadow on the thick red carpet.

Back out in the hall the drab grey-robes shuffled on their way, though a few heads turned to watch Vous pass. He stopped in their midst, seeming undecided. ‘You,’ he said, pointing to an older man. The man came forwards, head inclined. ‘Take that girl’s clothes off. Rip them off.’

The older man inclined his head further, and did as he was asked, clumsily pulling at a young woman’s grey robe. It took a while before her slender pale body was exposed. She watched Vous, waiting without expression.

‘Fuck her,’ said Vous. ‘Now.’

The older man shoved the woman over and began removing his own clothes. The other grey-robes didn’t react, just waited patiently in case they too were called upon.

‘Hurt her,’ said Vous distractedly, his lip curled in a look of distaste.

The man clumsily struggled to do as he was asked, with little slaps or half-hearted tugs at the woman’s hair.

‘Harder. Make her cry out, whimper.’

Soon Vous turned away, seemingly bored by it all. He stalked up the hall the way he’d been going before. Behind him, both servants stood and began fixing their clothes, without a word to each other, without any apparent effect at all. A passing grey-robe paused to help them, businesslike and impersonal, like they were bits of equipment to be put back in place.

Vous stopped again, some way further up the passage. He ordered two male servants to do the same thing, and watched this performance a while longer, before walking off in boredom after instructing them to continue for the rest of the day.

‘Shadow!’ cried Vous, suddenly pausing, arms raised high. He peered around with flinty eyes. ‘I still … feel you. More tokens, for you to collect. Are you pleased? There shall be others. For I still … feel you.’ Behind him, the two naked men clambered over one another. Passing servants calmly stepped around them.

The longer Case trailed the obviously insane ruler, the more he could have sworn ‘Shadow’ was he himself, that his footsteps had given him away. But he kept following, and Vous ranted about ‘Shadow’ every few minutes, in between ordering more staff to do more humiliating things: sex acts, often as not, or beatings. He seemed especially intent on seeing the older men do sexual things and asking the women to fight. He ordered one female grey-robe sent away to be lashed, muttering he thought she’d scream beautifully, and that he envied those who would hear it.

Whatever the Invia had wanted Case to overhear, he somehow doubted he’d heard it yet. And although this whole business made him feel ill, Case had to wonder if these were really people at all, suffering this abuse, for it was like watching a sadistic child play games with dolls who could not actually be hurt. He wondered: should he feel sorry for them? The more he saw them endure, mutely and obediently, the more he doubted it. And he had just decided that he’d seen and heard enough, and had begun to turn on his heel to find a way out, when up the other end of the hall, there again was the Arch Mage.

Case ducked behind Vous, fearful that the Arch Mage could see through his charm’s spell of invisibility. A long silence stretched out as Vous watched the Arch Mage without a word. When he strode fast towards the Arch Mage, the latter backed away. ‘What is it?’ demanded Vous. ‘Why do you cower?’

‘Your charms. Anki Kala especially. It burns me.’

Vous paused, absentmindedly removed a bracelet from his wrist and put it in a pocket of his gown. ‘Come closer,’ he said.

The Arch Mage approached slowly, his large head bowed as if he were a dog afraid of its owner. He groped the air before him. ‘Vous. Could you be so kind as to remove Tapishuk also?’

‘Why?’ Vous said quietly.

‘It blinds me, Friend and Lord. As you well know.’

Vous’s lip curled back in a silent snarl, but his voice remained quiet. ‘We are talking. You have ears and tongue. What need have you for sight?’

‘Please, Vous. I perceived a charm in the Hall of Windows. I would like to keep my senses free. Even without those two wardens I am withered to nothing. You are well guarded by the others, which I do not beg you to remove.’

Vous watched him for at least a full minute with no reaction. The Arch Mage groped his way ahead, then stood gasping for breath. ‘I must sit, Vous. Your wardens drain me so.’

‘What kind of charm?’ Vous said. He took a ring from his finger and put it in the same pocket as the bracelet, but kept his hand in that pocket.

The Arch Mage blinked, rubbing his human eye, which watered. ‘Do not be worried. I think a stray one escaped storage. But it is best to be careful, for I did not see its wearer, and he or she did not step forwards when asked. It will be dealt with. Vous, if I may? Have you been troubled by … by your suspicions again?’

Something in Vous seemed to soften, a touch. ‘He … he has been here again.’

The Arch Mage nodded. ‘Shadow, Vous? Or another?’

A long pause. ‘I have felt him all morning.’

‘Do you feel him now?’

‘Yes.’ His head hung forwards forlornly.

‘Would it help, Vous, if I removed the enchantment banishing your shadow?’

‘No!’

‘Do consider it, Friend and Lord. Are you sure?’

Tears ran down the lord’s face. ‘I don’t need it … catching my eye every time I walk past a light … No! There are times in the day, where I have peace now. Before, it was … relentless. It was cruel. So cruel.’

‘If you are sure, Lord. But please. Call on me if you wish. Not just as a subject, but as a friend.’

Vous eyed the Arch Mage, his face ambiguous and still as a carving. A long silence stretched out. ‘Your business?’

‘A plot has emerged, Vous, and I am concerned.’

Vous scoffed. ‘A plot on my life? They may have it.’

‘You mean to shock me, Lord, and you do succeed. But I will tell you what I know. Someone seeks to break down the Wall.’

‘Which wall?’

‘The Wall, Vous. The barrier at World’s End.’

Vous laughed. The Arch Mage said nothing. ‘That cannot be done,’ said Vous.

‘There are ways. The Mayors are resourceful and becoming desperate. They may try.’

Vous began pacing. ‘What about Glint?’

The Arch Mage shrugged, showing perhaps as much irritation as he dared. ‘We have discussed him. I feel that particular general remains loyal but I watch him closely.’

Vous laughed bitterly. ‘A wolf snarling at another that the meat is his.’

The Arch Mage’s hideous face looked up, his voice gentle with concern. ‘I do not aspire to your place, Friend and Lord, though of course my assurance will ring hollow. Your fear is a natural consequence of power. All history’s lords and rulers would agree. For your health, I advise you: let your suspicion sit in you easier.’

Vous shut his eyes like someone very tired. ‘Who else?’

The Arch Mage gave more names until Vous snarled, ‘Enough of this!’ and put back on the ring he’d removed. Case saw nothing happen, but the Arch Mage cringed away, hand over his human eye. Vous crouched beside him, his expression venomous. ‘You have never mentioned World’s End before this moment. Never as it relates to the Project, as a threat or otherwise, in all the miserable years. Not from our earliest days planning coups in darkened rooms with wax-eared brats watching the doors. You have never raised the possibility of its being destroyed, by anyone or anything, enemy of ours or not. Why now?’

The Arch Mage seemed to fight to keep his voice even under immense strain. ‘It is more a potential combination of forces, Friend and Lord. It has worn on my mind for a time, but only as a distant chance. You laugh when I mention it — so did I, until I learned of the plot. Then I gave it some thought and grew afraid. It is not likely, but possible, with a determined, resourceful enemy. We will always have enemies until the Project succeeds and they no longer matter. Until then, I am forever nervous of them, Friend and Lord. As is my duty.’

Vous licked his lips and leaned very close to the Arch Mage, watching him writhe and squirm. Then as though convinced of his vulnerability the lord’s face softened and he stood. ‘I am sorry. I … I am sorry.’

‘It is fine, Vous. It is fine.’

The lord hastily walked away, his knuckle between his teeth and tears in his eyes. Panting for breath, the Arch Mage watched him go, then struggled to his feet, sweating and shaken. No emotion was translatable from that face.

And that’s quite enough for me, Case thought, backing quietly away.