Endfall (8 page)

              “I’m curious, Doctor,” Mr. Charlie began, “How is your fear of death?”

              Artimus looked directly into the enraged eyes of Mr. Charlie and replied. “I would not fear death, but what comes after.”

              Mr. Charlie took a step back. “And what do you suppose that is?” He motioned with his hand telling the assassin to come forwards. As he did so, Artimus answered.

              “I’m not certain, entirely.” He took a heavy breath, for the wind was cold. “But I can tell it will not be in your favor.”

              Mr. Charlie raised his chin, in thought. Moments later, he turned to the assassin and said, “Kill him,” and stepped back, towards his chariot. Edgar followed, and started the engine. The assassin nodded and began to walk forwards towards Artimus.

              Artimus gripped his dagger tighter and raised it. Suddenly, the assassin halted. His swift movements became rigid jerks, and he stood still in front of Artimus. The blade fell from his hand. The assassin was shaking now, uncontrollably, and Artimus could see a dark fluid deluging from parts of his face. Artimus took a step back, horrified. The assassin dropped dead in the dark red snow.

              Artimus was struck, frozen. He looked around him, and found that behind him in the snowy fog, the shape of a girl was coming forth. Soon after the blurred sight revealed Lyrah, standing in the snow beside the lynxes Abraham and Oslo, dressed in their vibrant metal armor.

              “In need of assistance, Doctor?” Oslo asked, leaping ahead.

              “Oslo! Abraham!” Artimus cried, dropping the dagger. He stood beside them, looking at the body. Mr. Charlie’s chariot had left. “Who’s this with us?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at this bizarre girl.

              “This is Lyrah,” Abraham said, “You should thank her. We need you for an important task, Artimus.”

              “Sorry, I am not prepared for-”Artimus stopped and looked at Lyrah. “Lyrah?” He asked. “Did you write me that letter?”

              “Yes,” she said, “I am a friend of Milo’s. I’m sorry, but we are in a bit of a rush; we will talk later.” She quickly turned to Abraham, “I will be back. I have to do something.” Abraham nodded and Lyrah started a feverish sprint down the dark road.

              “Abraham,” said Artimus, “I’m afraid it has begun.”

              Abraham nodded and looked to the sky. “They will depart on the march towards Havensheil soon.”

              Oslo strolled up to the dead, bloody body of the assassin. With his large paw, he lifted the side and flipped the body over, stomach-up on the ground. He pulled down the assassin’s cloak, revealing a small set of words imprinted on his neck. Oslo read the words out loud. “
TWENTY TWO
.”

              “I wonder what kind of a man he was before they gave him a number.” Artimus said, breathing heavily in the cold.

THE BURNING

Lyrah reached the Parker house quickly. The sound of his voice sent chills through her. She climbed through the front window of the house, which was broken open already. The smell of blood filled the inside of the house, and the place was disheveled. But Lyrah was only there for one particular interest, Milo’s room.

              She ran up the old wooden stairs and climbed through the awkwardly built second floor to Milo’s room. When she had reached it, she was stopped by what came to her ears. The sounds outside were frightening; the sounds of people calling in the distance, of screams from inside houses, of a thick wind; but it wasn’t wind. Lyrah stood shaking in the half-torn hallway before Milo’s door, and slowly turned to look out the window. Her stomach squawked.

              Outside, houses exploded into a fiery blaze, illuminating the neighborhood. They were just down the street from where she was. She looked away and advanced on the door to Milo’s room. She turned the bronze knob, entering with a slow, cautious move. The room was not as she had remembered it; it was torn apart. The lights were broken and various papers and books were scattered about the room on the old wooden floor. She knelt down and picked up a piece of notebook paper that was on the floor near her. The paper was old and somewhat wrinkled, and it was covered in writing from top to bottom.

              It was a story. Lyrah decided not to read and get what she needed before the house became victim to the burning. But as she began to look away, something on the paper caught her attention. It was her name.
Has he written about me?
She quickly put the paper into her bag and walked over to the desk in the corner, where she hoped to find the snow globe that she gave Milo.

              Lyrah searched the top of the desk, but to her astonishment, the snow globe was not there. She looked intensely around the room, finding nothing but papers and books.
Maybe I could ask him.
She did not know whether or not to try to communicate with him, for he seemed to not like it much when she was able to get into his mind. Then she heard again the sounds of Salem and she quickly decided that it didn't matter.

             
Milo! Milo, if you can understand this, please, you need to help me.
She was screaming in her head, as she looked out the frosted window. Outside, Salem was on fire. She could hear the screams of helpless people, the shouts of the Parliament, and the shouts of Mr. Charlie. Her gut was enclosed in a texture of grit and disgust.

             
Lyrah!
It was Milo, sounding worried but also delighted to hear from her.
Where are you? What’s happening? I can see the lights from Salem. Is that fire?

             
Where is the snow globe I gave you? Salem is in trouble, I’m trying to get out, but I need the snow globe!
Her screams echoed in Milo’s mind.

             
What kind of trouble?
Milo was struck with a hair-raising wave.
Lyrah, are you in danger?

             
Don’t worry about me,
she began,
where is the snow globe?

             
Where are you, exactly?

              Right by your desk. You have too many books here.

              Reading is fun.

              Where the hell is the snow globe?

              You’re by the desk? Take about three steps back.
Lyrah rolled her eyes and followed his directions.

             
Milo-

              Hey,
he said. Lyrah stood still.
Look up.

Above, the snow globe was fixed to the ceiling. “He found it,” she whispered, a bit surprised. Lyrah leapt up on Milo’s bed and reached up to grab it, but found she was too short. She jumped and grabbed it. The floor creaked and she froze; it was far too quiet.

What is happening?
Milo asked.
Is my father okay?

             
Okay, if you can hear me, just know that I am okay and that I will see you-
a crack of fire and wind came from behind her, whipping debris everywhere and pushing her aside. The Parliament had reached the Parker house. Screams from the streets soared through the night like sharp arrows. Lyrah stood, covered in black smoke and dirt, and she saw that the fire was advancing into the room. The desk caught fire soon after. The door to the hallway was no option; it was already on fire along with everything else. Her second thought was the window.

              A sudden, sharp noise startled Lyrah. At first she didn’t know what it was, but then came the familiar sounds of someone’s footsteps, coming from the roof. Then came the clash of metal against cold steel, and following was an eruption of glass. When she looked, the window was completely shattered.

              She already knew who it was; Rezzifer. She stood, and his familiar voice came quickly, “Hurry!” She leaped up to the window, climbing out in a quick motion. Rezzifer was there, fitted in steel, and already at the edge of the rooftop waiting for her.

              “Are the others alright?” She asked. Rezzifer nodded and leaped down into the street. Lyrah climbed down the side of the house. The sight on the ground was surreal; Salem was burning in every direction.

              Mr. Charlie’s voice broke through the snow and fire, “
GIRL!
”

It was a disgusting sound. Lyrah slowed her running to a stop and turned. “We have to go,” said Rezzifer. But Lyrah was already advancing at Mr. Charlie.

              She did not speak, but she raised her hand Mr. Charlie. They all felt it; the dark, twisted contortion of air. In a shaken moment, Mr. Charlie fell to his knees and spattered vomit into the snow. Rezzifer stood staring as Lyrah took another step forward, but then she collapsed. Rezzifer rushed forward.

              Mr. Charlie began to rise again, grimacing and spurting horrid sounds. “Now,” he said, “You’ve made a mistake.”

              Rezzifer snarled and viscously leapt forwards. His nimble body soared across the distance between them, and in the air Rezzifer drew his claws. But the sound of metal came through the blackness of night, and something stopped Rezzifer from his attack, putting him back in the snow on all four paws. A pain was in his side, he noticed, and he looked. A metal arrow had penetrated his armor. Somebody in the dark had shot at him. He looked around the scene for the shooter. Standing to the side of Mr. Charlie was Edgar, the Parliament member, dropping his bow and drawing a silver blade.

              Rezzifer, ignoring the pain, burst into a sudden sprint towards Edgar, who swung his blade down heavily. Rezzifer dodged the slash and circled Edgar, and then turned to leap onto his back. Edgar swung his blade wildly in the air as his back was being pierced by Rezzifer’s reinforced, metal claws. Edgar reversed his grip on the blade and briskly thrust it behind him in hopes of hitting something. Rezzifer leapt off of Edgar’s back as the blade came near, snagging his claws on Edgar’s face on the way to the ground. Edgar let out a painful cry and dropped his blade. He fell, covering his bloody face with his hands. Rezzifer halted to catch his breath, and then stepped in front of Edgar.

              “Creature! I’ve had enough!” Edgar pleaded.

              Rezzifer stared coldly at him. He glanced up at Mr. Charlie, who was simply watching from a distance. He looked back at Edgar and raised a paw in the air.

“It’s necessary,” he said. Rezzifer swung his paw down at Edgar’s face in a harrowing strike. The weight of the impact shattered his skull and spattered blood across the snow. Lyrah was standing again now. They both looked up at Mr. Charlie, who was now standing next to his chariot with a smirk on his face. He silently opened the door and stepped inside.

Watching as the chariot drove away, Lyrah said, “We
need
to get to Artimus.”

-----

              Abraham spotted Rezzifer and Lyrah approaching. He turned to the others. Artimus rested on a large rock, beside Oslo. They were just South of the Bay, outside Salem. The burning was becoming nothing more than sparks, dying away quicker than they had expected.

              “Doctor Artimus,” Lyrah said as she came near, out of breath, “I need to speak with you.”

              He stood. “I’m afraid that is what I was most curious about,” said Artimus. “I am sorry, but how do you know me? We haven’t met before.”

              Lyrah was quiet for a moment, while her eyes roamed the scene, as if searching for the right response. “Will you help us?” she asked.

              “Help you with what?”

              “Mr. Charlie is planning something. It’s going to be awful and it’s all starting soon,” she said. “Your knowledge is what we need.”

              “I’m afraid I have a different agenda than you,” he said, walking back to the rock. “I am traveling elsewhere. Sorry.” As he walked past, a bitter look came to Lyrah’s face. “This must be goodbye,” he said. “But before I depart,” he paused, thinking. “I want to thank you for the message you gave me.” He walked with staggering feet. Lyrah looked at Abraham, who shook his head and turned towards the Bay.

              “Alright,” said Abraham, “Rezzifer and Lyrah, go find Milo. I didn’t think he would be this extreme this soon. Meet us back at Havensheil.” He began to walk along the edge of the frozen water, towards Havensheil. Oslo followed. Lyrah stood still, watching as Artimus left.

“Artimus, wait,” she said.

              To her surprise, the doctor turned and replied, “Yes?” He was half lost in the fog and smoke already.

              Lyrah took two small steps towards him. “Won’t you need any help?”

              Artimus said, “Not where I’m going. I’ll be alright.”

Lyrah said nothing. As Artimus turned away again and began to walk, he called out, “You’ll hear from me soon.” And within a moment or two he had disappeared in the night.