Eventually the monotone of Ulryk’s chanting became loud.
The tree creatures began combusting, flames taking to the wood and leaves with brutal effect. Lan dropped back to where Ulryk stood chanting and forced a barrier around them both where the flames could not reach. Kneeling, she watched branches tumble to the forest floor, withering and crackling with heat, an alien wail rising from within — and from here it was obvious the woodland wasn’t quite real. The flames emitted a slight purple tinge; there were sparks spitting outwards, too.
A few moments later, once the flames had burned down, she released the forces surrounding them.
Foliage still smouldered, and Ulryk was panting.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
‘I have’, Ulryk observed, ‘felt better, but thank you.’ He was still shaking, and there was a burn mark across his robes.
‘There’s no logic to any of this,’ Lan said. ‘It doesn’t seem real. The weather doesn’t seem to exist, the forest seems to act abnormally. I could be in a dream for all I know.’
‘The same could be said for the world above.’
‘Don’t get meta with me. So, do you want your book then?’ Lan gestured to the tome that lay in the grass, untouched and unharmed.
Ulryk stood with a steady dignity and began hobbling towards the book. Something, though, didn’t seem right: half of the sky was black, half of it a distorted grey, and the forest canopy seemed to be… irregular. Instead of the natural curves and edges to the trees and leaves, things were comprised of hundreds of little squares, an abnormal, mosaic forest.
As soon as Ulryk lifted the book from the grass the world fell apart — quite literally. The squares multiplied, sweeping across the forest with a rush of wind, changing from dark browns and greens to the colour of rock, the images distorting.
They found themselves inside a large stone chamber: it had all happened so suddenly.
Ulryk turned around, gasping. He fumbled until the two books he was carrying were safely in his satchel, and then he hurriedly pointed to the hundreds of equations etched deep into the walls, whereupon he began to mouth things in a language she couldn’t quite recognize.
Confused, she turned her attention elsewhere. There was a square doorway, but nothing within the room itself, save for the numbers and letters and lines. Lan moved to the door and poked her head out, confirming that they were in the temple surrounded by skulls.
‘OK…’ Lan said, then back inside to Ulryk. ‘Hey, what the hell just happened?’
‘It was an artificial reality,’ Ulryk marvelled. ‘The lines on the wall, they’re a language that I’ve only seen in a few texts. If you look carefully, there are thousands of minute mirrors constructed within the brick. We passed through an artificial reality! You were quite right, Lan — it was a dream, more or less, but one created by Frater Mercury — who must have used his technology to store the book in a safe place.’
‘Why?’
‘So only those who deciphered his code could understand where he had hidden it? So it left a connection to him, but one almost impossible to find.’
‘What happened to the ghost, Adena, if it wasn’t real?’
‘I’m here,’ a voice said.
The priest moved around the room trying to locate where the voice came from. ‘Adena?’ he said. ‘Speak again.’
‘I’m in the mirrors this side now. Look closer.’
Faintly, in a cluster of the small mirrors, a shape took form, broken up by the stonework behind, and it began to resemble the girl who had guided them here.
‘So many mysteries,’ the priest muttered. ‘So little time.’
‘I’m fine now,’ the ghost said. ‘There’s more, so much more on this side…’ And with that, the form faded, leaving the room in utter calm.
‘So now what?’ Lan asked.
‘I need to return to the surface, reflect upon the texts and compare them, then I must conduct the rituals.’ Ulryk paused for a moment, as if the weight of expectation dawned on him. ‘Then I suppose I must see about bringing Frater Mercury into our world. I am ashamed to admit that I have not thought much about the realities of this: merely finding the other book. For years I thought it did not exist. And now…’
‘Let’s get back,’ Lan said. ‘There’s plenty of time for speculation later.’
PEOPLE’S OBSERVER
The Secret History of the Villjamur Knights
The famed heroes of the city of Villjamur are frauds. They are not what you think they are. They are weapons of the elite, trying to suppress the poor. Would you let these people protect your city?
Here be secrets:
The one called Lan — the female of the group — used to be a man! Cultists have turned her body from a man to a woman by using the evils of relic technology. Would you let your children roam the streets with such a monster claiming to be their protector? This is not right!
The one called Tane — he is famous for having huge amounts of wealth. Tane is the son of Lord Chattel, who owned the most vicious slave business in the Archipelago. Slavery, though frowned upon in this city, still goes on in the corners of the Empire, and Tane is an inheritor of a vast fortune. More! He has earned much of his wealth in his own lifetime. He is a man who trades in death and yet parades about the streets as if he has the moral upper hand. This is not right!
The one called Vuldon is no stranger to these streets: he is the Legend, the so-called hero from our city’s past. Those with long memories will remember the Legend as being responsible for a tragedy whereby many children were killed. He escaped into hiding, but deems himself now suitable to return to this city. A child-killer is loose and unpunished. This is not right! Would you let this brute see to the safety of your child?
Documents signed by cultists associated closely with the sinister Knights will be produced as proof in the next issue. People of the city, you have been fooled. These people are monsters. Do not let them get away with this. Reject them. We call for them to be harassed from the streets for the safety of ourselves and our children. Do not let these perverts and abusers roam free.
THIRTY-ONE
Fulcrom found the article in the afternoon, as it fluttered about the streets, and he picked it up only because he’d seen more than a few citizens eagerly reading their own copies.
Time stood still; even the snow seemed to linger hesitantly. He could feel his pulse quicken as the words filtered through his mind. Things connected there. He realized that the anarchists would have used the printing press stolen from the Inquisition to make this and that somewhere along the way, someone had betrayed them. But these were his final thoughts — his first concerns were for Lan.
Immediately he stormed back to the clifftop hideaway to find the other Knights, but they were out, and Lan was, of course, still with Ulryk. Fulcrom fumed and stomped about the complex, shouting at whoever was around. He ordered every available cultist and staff member into a brick-ceilinged antechamber, whereupon he held up the faked copy of People’s Observer, and read it aloud.
That was when Feror broke down in tears; all eyes turned towards him.
Fulcrom moved over to the cultist, and dragged him by his collar into the Knights’ quarters. He slammed him up against the cold stone wall. ‘Talk,’ he snarled into his face.
Feror slid down the wall, drew his knees to his chest and began to sob.
‘You have one minute to tell me why I shouldn’t kill you!’ Fulcrom shouted.
Feror was merely the sum of his emotions then, nothing more, nothing less. ‘They… they made me.’
‘You know,’ Fulcrom said, ‘we hear that excuse all the time. They made me. Who the fuck made you, and what did they make you do?’
‘They took my family — my daughters, they’ve got them hostage. Still have. What was I to do? It was my family, investigator… Y-you understand, don’t you?’