Ferrian's Winter

A storm arrives; the Watcher wakes

An untold horror raises stakes.

The storm hit Watchroads an hour later.

The dust came first, sweeping through the streets in a wave that turned the air into a choking haze. The millers furled their sails. Merchants hurriedly packed away their stalls, and people on the edges of the crowded streets and squares sought shelter in the surrounding buildings. Those with open carts struggled with ropes and canvas to secure their goods, squinting against the stinging onslaught.

Then the sky darkened, like an angry frown, and the rain arrived.

It battered the dust from the air, turning it instantly to mud. More of the crowd fled indoors, into covered alleyways, or huddled in their wagons. All fights and arguments were abruptly decided, drowned out in the deluge. A fierce wind stripped the new-summer leaves from the trees, and rivers of brown water rippled across the cobblestones. Animals lowed pitifully.

The clouds overhead became deep, heavy and menacing, grumbling their displeasure. And they continued to darken by the minute, swallowing the heat, turning the warm, bright summer afternoon into cold, sodden twilight. Steam poured off the slate rooftops, turning to mist, and the whole town blurred into a murky, glistening gloom.

Something lurked in the sky, for anyone who dared glance upwards.

Something too black, too hard-edged to be rainclouds.

The shutters banged against the wall of the inn.

Carmine jerked awake. She had only closed her eyes for a moment, but she must have dozed off. Rain was splattering unchecked into the room; sunlight and heat had fled. A furious storm was blowing, the wind howling.

Leaping from her chair, she hastened to the window. As she leaned out into the drenching downpour to pull the shutters in, she was aware of a commotion in the square below – shouting, screaming, people running about – but she couldn't see the cause of it amid the whirling rain and fog.

Then the shutters were locked in place and the casement closed, and she stepped back, gasping, wiping water from her eyes. With the window closed, the room was suddenly very dark, like night, except for an eerie blue glow in one corner.

And two bright, round, cerulean lights gazing back at her.

Carmine jumped in fright.

Mekka was sitting up in bed, eyes open, staring intently in her direction. His dark, viridian eyes were strange, with blue rings encircling the irises. The winged headpiece swept up from the sides of his head, its light equally stark and alien.

For several seconds she stared back at him, not daring to move or breathe. Then she began to edge around the bed.

The Angel did not follow her movements. He continued staring straight ahead, unblinking, as though she weren't there.

Then she realised that he was speaking.

Words murmured from his lips, barely audible above the noise of the storm raging outside. But they were no words that she recognised; a language that she had never heard before. The complex sounds rolled into each other without inflection or emotion.

"Mekka?" she whispered.

He did not respond, or pause his strange chanting.

She hesitated to touch him, or try to rouse him from whatever dream or stupor he was in. Mekka generally did not react well to being touched unexpectedly. She had only risked it earlier because he had been sedated.

Slowly, Carmine reached up and unbuckled the Sword of Healing. With careful movements she brought it around in front of her and unwrapped it, letting the fine silver blade slip free of its covering. It wasn't a weapon, of course – at least, not against a living person – but she didn't care. The feel of a sword in her hands was reassuring.

She swallowed thickly. Water dripped from her hair and trickled down her face.

What was happening to him??

Nothing changed. The Angel continued to sit rigidly upright in the bed, muttering his creepy language.

Carmine looked around helplessly, as though the shadowy bedroom might offer up some insight as to what to do. The Sword gleamed brilliantly before her, reflecting the blue light.

Get help.

Whatever was going on here was far beyond her understanding.

She backed away, step by step, until she was up against the door.

Mekka remained as he was, oblivious to her presence. His shadow loomed large on the walls behind him, like a vast creature; his wings were dark arcs at his back. His eyes stared ahead, ringed with those mysterious blue lights, his lips continuing to utter unknown sinister sounds.

He seemed so strange and alien that she shivered.

Reaching behind her, she found the door handle and opened it, as quietly as she could, though the battering of the wind and rain outside masked almost all other sounds. She backed into the corridor and closed the door behind her, shutting her Angel friend and his terrible affliction out of sight.

Then she sprinted along the corridor toward the stairs.

She bounded down them two at a time, swung around a landing and down another flight, until she came to the ground floor hallway, then barged along it into the common room.

The main room was full of people and the smell of wet clothing, and voices raised in fear. Many of them were pressed up against the windows, trying to get a look at something outside. Others huddled in corners clutching their pints to their chests, or pressed up against the bar. The lanterns around the walls flickered erratically, as though in a strong draught, and the hearthfire's glow was dim. The light was fading fast, even though dusk was still several hours away, and despite all the bodies crowding the room, the air was peculiarly chill.

Carmine edged her way over to the counter. The men there stepped quickly aside, eyebrows raised, at a glance at her Sword.

"Where is Lieutenant Raemint?" Carmine called to the bartender.

The innkeeper was a sturdy, no-nonsense looking woman with a tea towel draped over one shoulder and her hands on her hips. There was a troubled scowl on her face, as though expecting a fight to break out at any moment. "Outside, Gods save her!" the woman shouted back.

Carmine craned to see the windows over the crowd. A wave of sudden, fierce rain slashed against the panes, making the people gathered there jump back as though it were an attack. "What's going on outside?"

The man beside her snorted. "Go an' see fer yourself, lass," he said. "If you've got the—" he stopped abruptly at the look on her face. Going slightly pale, eyeing the Sword nervously, he shoved his face back into his ale and looked away.

Pushing herself off the bar, Carmine shoved her way across the room. A path opened up for her, a trail of mutters and whispers following in her wake. Everyone was impressed and frightened by her Sword.

She didn't care. She didn't have time to care.

She hurried through the doors, out into the storm.

There was movement everywhere, as though the square had come alive. People were scattering in all directions, fleeing for their lives, abandoning their wagons, animals and possessions. Screams and cries mingled with the whine of the wind. Fog drifted past in ragged streamers, and the rain washed with it in a thick, silvery curtain, making it difficult to see anything distinctly.

Thunder crashed overhead, rolling across the sky. Seconds later, a flash of lightning briefly illuminated the scene.

Something that looked like black, writhing tentacles had burst from the ground, lashing out at anyone within reach. They were all over the place, like a swarm of angry snakes, across the whole of the square.

Carmine clutched her hood over her head, blinking against the rain in her eyes, gone cold with horror at what she was seeing.

A young woman raced desperately towards her. Several of the gleaming tendrils whipped out of the stones at her feet, tightening themselves around her.

The woman screamed.

Jolted out of her shock, Carmine ran forward, swinging the Sword of Healing at the tentacles.

They vanished at a touch from the silver blade, dissolving instantly to black mist.

After a moment of stunned, gasping relief, the girl sobbed her thanks and stumbled towards the shelter of the tavern.

Carmine looked down at the Sword. Silver mist streamed off the blade, along with rivulets of water. But there was no sign of any blue light: no healing magic.

I can't use the Sword's real power, she thought. I'm not a sorcerer.

But the silvertine was reacting to the black tentacles…

All around her, people were vague shapes struggling and crying out in terror and pain as the tentacles snatched them, piercing them, strangling them…

Spinning around in panic, she caught sight of Raemint about twenty yards away, her spear sweeping in a flashing circle around her.

Carmine sprinted towards her, boots splashing through the water. Tentacles appeared on every side, rising up from the cobblestones without disturbing them, like nightmarish leeches made of darkness. Strangely, they did not strike at her but instead hesitated, wavering, uncertain…

Stolen novel; please report.

With a cry of fear and fury, Carmine slashed at those that got in her way.

She reached the Freeroamer Centaur. "Raemint!" she cried. "What's going on?!"

Raemint's spear scythed through a ring of tentacles, dissolving them. "I do not know!" she yelled back. "A demon-wraith, perhaps; or else a God descended to wreak vengeance upon us!" She gave a cry of fear and frustration. "I do not know!" Then suddenly she pointed. "Look!"

Carmine turned in the direction she indicated.

Something like an immense black blade appeared, cutting through the fog. It was taller than the rooftops, seemingly attached to something enormous and black gliding through the clouds overhead.

Carmine cringed, feeling as though she wanted to shrink into the ground in terror.

The thing in the sky was huge!

What kind of a wraith was that?!

"Raemint," she gasped, almost sobbing. "It's… Mekka. Something is… happening to him!"

Raemint clutched her arm. "He is changing into a wraith?"

Carmine shook her head helplessly. "I… I don't…"

The Centaur did not wait for her to reply. She thundered back towards the tavern, like a dark storm herself.

Carmine hesitated, looking around. Strewn all about the square were seething black masses: scores of them, with people and animals ensnared inside. Inky vapours leaked off them, twirling and dancing in the wind.

Too many!

The black-bladed thing moved silently amidst it all, slicing through the rain, the point of it extending almost to the ground. Reflections of the town, the mist, lightning, the surrounding horror slid along its polished length, twisting and warped from more than just the sheen of water.

It was heading directly for the Guard House!

The Freeroamers stationed in Watchroads possessed no silvertine weapons or armour. Only Raemint and Carmine held an adequate means of defending themselves.

Her breath caught in her throat, almost choking her.

Reeves was trapped in the basement!

She almost started running in that direction, but terror for Mekka stopped her.

I can't leave him!!

Anguished, she turned and raced after Raemint, instead.

Deep within the darkness of his cell, an Angel sat upon his bed. Lightning illuminated the barred grille above his head. Water trickled through it from the street level above, shimmering down the grey stone, following a stain of green algae already growing there. It ran down beside his bed and underneath it, slowly pooling across the flagstones.

Reeves stared at it, his eyes burning.

His whole body felt raw with anger and grief.

Feathers, both black and white, littered the cell around him. His hand still gripped a fistful of them.

He had screamed and cursed until his throat hurt, torn the bandages off his head, ripped his bedding into rags, and shredded the black feathers out of his own wings. No Freeroamers had come to check on him, not even to tell him to shut up.

Now he was still and silent, his rage having burned itself down to a single, white-hot shard.

He would get out of this cell, and he would finish Mekka.

Thunder shook the Guard House.

Lightning flashed in searing bursts, throwing shadows and light across his cell.

He had no idea how much time had passed since he had been locked up, but the day outside had turned rapidly to night.

An unpleasant feeling began to creep up on him.

The darkness wasn't natural. The chill of the air washing into his cell wasn't right. It was freezing but musty, full of the scent of stagnant water, as though blowing out of the depths of a dank, long-sealed tomb…

For half a wild second he wondered if the Winter Sorcerer was somewhere nearby, but… no. This was different, this was… ugly, nauseating, and depressingly familiar…

The Black Pyramid.

"No!" he cried aloud, clutching his head as though to protect his thoughts from being ravaged again. "LEAVE ME ALONE!!"

The water leaking down his wall turned black.

It became viscous, oily, solidifying and shaping itself into something oozing, worm-like slithering down the stone.

Reeves leapt backwards off the bed. Gripped with rising panic, he whirled, throwing himself against the bars. "GUARDS!!" he screamed, as loud as he could. "GODS DAMN YOU, SOMEONE HELP—"

His voice died in his throat.

A massive black blade appeared, its forward, razor-sharp edge slicing through the wall directly opposite, passing through the solid stone as though it weren't there.

Reeves backed away, eyes wide, then spun again.

Behind him, ebony tendrils were spreading out, crawling like diseased veins over the walls and ceiling and floor of his cell, engulfing the bed. It was so dark now that he could only see their sinister advance in flashes of lightning.

When a crashing peal of thunder abated, he was left in pitch blackness with an invisible monster reaching inexorably for him and the drumming roar of the rain. He could feel his heart pounding frantically along with it, as though trying to get out of his chest.

Get out. Get out, GET OUT!!

Hurling himself against the bars again, he groped along them for the door to his cell. Yanking another of his feathers out, he crouched, feeling for the lock. He could pick it by touch, if he could just keep his hands steady…

Something cold curled around his ankles, making all his feathers stand on end.

In fury he tried to kick them away, but the tentacles only grasped tighter, hard as shackles. Quickly they wound around his legs, then his waist.

Straightening, he fought like a mad animal to break free, tearing at the tentacles with a despairing cry, but his fingers tingled and went numb as he touched them. They snatched his wrists, coiling around his arms, then his chest and throat and head…

Reeves could feel the life being leached out of him, as the black tentacles constricted him like snakes, the cold of them burning into him. His struggles weakened, and he found himself bound immovably in place. The tentacles slowly tightened around his neck, cutting off his breath.

Everything he had done in his life, everything he had tried to accomplish spun before his eyes in vivid detail, as though his entire existence was nothing more than a satirical play for the entertainment of the Gods.

For the amusement of the Watcher.

To think it has come to this! Reeves thought in despair, choking on a gurgling sob.

But his death did not arrive swiftly.

The Watcher seemed intent on inflicting torture.

The tentacles stabbed into him, burning with icy heat, burrowing through his skin and flesh, searing pain travelling all through his body.

His limbs convulsed. He tried to scream, but managed only a gargling whimper. His vision wavered, his eyelids flickering. He tried to sink into oblivion, but the tentacles held fast not only to his head, but his mind, forcing him to remain conscious.

Through the red sheen of agony before his eyes, Reeves became aware of a dim illumination, a dark blue glow that enabled him to see the monstrous shadowy shapes that had captured him. Through a small gap between the tentacles that pressed against his face, he saw the edge of the black blade halted only inches from his nose.

Why… doesn't it… kill me… he thought weakly. What… does it want…?

The blade turned, then, smoothly and silently, pivoting so that its flat side faced towards the tortured Angel. He was presented with his own tentacle-entwined, ragged-winged, bleeding image, reflected in the blade's black, glistening surface.

Then something else appeared there, overlaid on his reflection.

It was a symbol, blacker than the dark metal it was etching itself into, so black that it stood out starkly. It was made of interconnected lines, curves and shapes, forming a word or sentence in some ancient language that Reeves did not understand.

Until suddenly, he did.

The meaning of the symbol appeared quite suddenly in his mind, as clearly as though he had known it since birth.

YOUR SUFFERING, it said. Then the symbol faded away, and another started forming in its place.

IS BEAUTIFUL.

The symbol faded, and there was a brief pause. Then:

YOU

ARE BEAUTIFUL

CHILD

OF THE SERAPHIM.

Blood welled up in Reeves' restricted throat, causing him to choke and splutter. It leaked from his lips. "Go…" he managed to rasp, with great effort, "… back to… the Pit. Where you… belong…!"

There was a long pause. Then:

WE

THE WATCHER

OF THE IRIPHIM

THANK YOU

FOR REVEALING

THE LOCATION

OF THE HOLY CITY

EXCELSIOR.

The symbol for 'Excelsior' was not black, but outlined in brilliant white light. When it faded, it left an after-image before Reeves' eyes, as though he had stared into the sun. This was a symbol that needed no translation, for he was very familiar with it:

An upside-down half-sun with a winged sword laid over the top.

The emblem he had chosen for his cult, the Golden Dawn.

Reeves closed his eyes. He wanted to die.

"Just… kill me… you—" he could no longer speak. His body shivered with pain.

YOU

ARE BEAUTIFUL, it repeated.

SUFFERING

IS BEAUTIFUL

PAIN

IS DIVINE.

There was another long pause.

WE

THE WATCHER

OF THE IRIPHIM

INTEND THAT

YOU BECOME

ONE

OF US

CHILD

OF THE SERAPHIM.

Reeves tried to laugh.

TO DO SO

YOU

MUST SUBMIT

TO US

YOU

MUST WATCH

YOUR BEAUTY

BE DESTROYED.

The last word faded away, and there were no more.

I will submit to nothing! Reeves thought viciously. If these are my last thoughts… then hear them! I SUBMIT TO NOTHING!!

And then his wings burst aflame.

Pinned in place by the tentacles, he was forced to watch his own reflection as his feathers went up in fire, shrivelling and falling away in burning embers. The acrid smell of them wafted into his nostrils; he could feel the terrible heat upon his back…

The scream that tore up from his chest burst out of him, somehow.

At the same time, the tentacles released him, slithering back into the shadows, disappearing from whence they came.

Reeves fell to his knees with a splash onto the flooded flagstones, gasping for breath, shuddering as his wings smouldered, reduced to charred, skeletal frames hanging from his back. The whole, horrific incident happened in seconds; then the fire went out, as abruptly as it had ignited. He hunched over, blood leaking from his mouth and wounds, staining his white coat red, tinting the water with a crimson hue.

His consciousness flickered between life and death. This was the end of him… the end of everything…

He had blamed Mekka for the potential downfall of the Angel race, but he might as well have blamed himself.

The Watcher knew that Excelsior still existed, and where it was, thanks to no one but Reeves.

Tears streamed down his face, dripping onto his blood-streaked reflection. He found himself thinking of Lieutenant Tander, of the promises he had made…

I will never see him again. I have betrayed him…

Not just Tander. He had betrayed the entire Sky Legion, the Golden Dawn, the Twin Emperors… Seducing them all with grand, lofty plans he was so certain he could fulfil… only to fail; utterly, miserably.

Weakly, he lifted his head. The blade had turned again, so that its edge was once again pointing towards him.

Reeves was certain that it was going to cut him down, that it would move forward and cleave him in two.

He poured all of his remaining spite and bitterness into his gaze. Do it.

But it did not.

Instead, the blade withdrew backwards; slowly, silently. As it did so, a cool cerulean light bloomed all over Reeves' body.

He lowered his head to see light spearing from all of his puncture wounds. Turning his confused gaze aside, he saw light racing along his ruined wings, filling the spaces where the feathers had been with a rippling, sparkling sheen of luminescence.

The light was soothing. His pain eased; his bleeding stopped. He felt his strength beginning to return; his mind to clear.

The Watcher was… healing him?!

The huge black blade vanished through the wall. It took the blue light with it, plunging the astonished Angel into darkness.

Reeves remained where he was for long minutes, kneeling in the cold, bloody water, listening to the rain. The wind had reduced to occasional mournful gusts, though thunder still grumbled overhead. Gingerly, he felt his body.

The wounds were all gone; repaired. Not a sore spot remained, as though nothing had ever happened. Hesitating a moment more, he reached for a wing.

Soft, smooth feathers slid beneath his fingers.

He let out an involuntary sob of relief.

It was so dark that he couldn't see what colour they were, but he could hazard a guess.

Getting to his feet, he took deep breaths, spitting out blood. He rubbed at his neck, where the tentacles had almost squeezed the life out of him, but the ache had gone, and he could breathe freely again.

He pushed forward until he came up against the bars. "This changes NOTHING!" he yelled after the retreating Pyramid. "I am NOT one of you, and never will be! I shall never do your bidding! I will not subm—"

His body convulsed so violently that he staggered backwards against the wall.

Pain returned, in a sudden, shocking blow that ripped through every muscle and bone in his body.

The tentacles had not returned, but something else was happening.

Something was terribly wrong…

He could feel his bones move horribly beneath his skin. His muscles bulged. His wings wrenched at his back. His torso contorted, his hands stiffened.

Reeves shrieked again, but it petered out into a pitiful whispering whine.

He staggered about his cell thrashing, tearing at himself in agony before finally falling to the floor again, where he lay still in the water.

Gradually, the darkness receded from the dungeon of the Guard House, leaving it in grey gloom. Wan light filtered through the grille. Rain drifted past, having softened into a light drizzle.

Something black was revealed, lying in a heap on the flooded floor.

It twitched, sending ripples through the water, disturbing the floating feathers. Then it stirred.

A hand thrust out, snatching one of the iron bars.

A hand covered in onyx, scaly skin, its long, bony fingers ending in wicked, raven-black talons.

A bright yellow, triangular eye burned in the watery shadows.