The Book of Transformations (40 page)

‘You shouldn’t have stayed,’ he said.

‘I had to see it through, Fully,’ Adena muttered. She seemed to curl in on herself as the conversation continued. ‘I had to know if there was a chance of us ever getting back together.’

The emotions came from somewhere, and he found himself on the verge of tears. ‘There couldn’t be, Adena. You’re not alive. It was never possible.’ He knelt before her on the floor and tried to take her hand. It was colder than a frost and he released it in an instant. ‘We’ve been allowed a rare moment to see each other, but you have to realize that out here – in the real world again – time goes on. I can’t just stand still, though there was a time I contemplated . . . joining you. But that was long ago.’

Adena glanced up and gave him a deathly stare. She didn’t mean to frighten him though, and he knew it – it was just the way she was now.
When will the madness stop?
he thought, logic suddenly visiting him.
Get a grip on this, immediately
.

‘You know, it isn’t as bad as you think,’ she said. ‘Everything still hurts, but it’s . . . Look, I’ve had a few years to get used to coping without you, too. That makes it a little easier.’

‘What will you do now?’ he hinted.

‘You’ve made it clear there’s nothing for me here.’

‘There’s a world down there that you can make your own, surely?’

‘No. It’s pointless to have much ambition there, Fully. When you have all the time in the world, nothing seems to happen. Did you notice time dragged by so slowly while you were down there? Well, it’s the pressure of dying, I think, that makes you do things quickly up here, whether or not you lot realize.’

They talked a while longer, he didn’t know how long, didn’t bother looking at the clock. He was too drained to care any more. His eyes were sore, and he was exhausted, mentally and physically. This had been the most bizarre day of his life; and a healing one, too. Now old wounds were being poked at, but he forced himself to be mindful that he was more than a pile of emotions.

Adena spoke of wishing she could visit him, but she thought as soon as she crossed that river once again, that was that, she would never speak to him again. Awkward silences grew now, he suspected, because they were waiting to find something profound to share in that final moment, the last sentence they would breathe to each other.

He consciously tried to hold her again, but she flinched. ‘Just because I might move on, doesn’t mean I won’t think of you. The reason it’s taken me this long is because I couldn’t get over you.’

‘I know,’ she agreed miserably. ‘It’s just me being selfish and I should leave you alone. There were only a few of us up here, the dead, but a lot of those have gone back now. The fun wears off pretty quickly when you can’t feel much.’

‘I loved you. I just have to make the most of what time I have here.’

‘
Loved
,’ Adena whispered. ‘Look after her, Fully.’

I’ll do my best
, he thought, welling up again, feeling the lump in his throat becoming unbearable.

Adena stood up from the chair and again he noticed how similar she was to Lan, something about the face shapes, the body; and whether or not his subconscious had been at work, he didn’t care at all. Adena walked – drifted, almost – into a wall . . . and then the ghost of his wife was gone, just like that.

The fire in the grate sparked into life and he jumped. Warmth erupted, dissipating the chill her ghost had left.

Glancing over his shoulder, he climbed and then collapsed onto his bed, where he cried himself to sleep.

Ulryk’s Journal

For two days I walked among the dead.

Their city had no name, though there are several districts. Woe, Wailing, Fire, were the more palatable labels; Aaru and Duat being names with which I was unfamiliar. They were deserted places, though comprised of distinct cultures and architectures. Some were classical structures, other more elaborate and baroque; some utilize straight lines, others domes. These districts were vast and seemingly endless.

I spent some time in the district of Woe, where there seemed, ironically, to be large numbers of healthy specimens of the dead. Ragged clothes were washed and strung up to dry, draped over lines that extended betwixt high, grey-stone walls – it appeared that even the dead had codes of etiquette and cleanliness. There were crude irens that traded in colourless gemstones, faded metals and dreary items of Art; though I had not found anything that resembled a market in food, a common centre-point of surface world cities, and there were no bistros either. Thus the dead congregated around places of entertainment: crude board games, or impromptu poetry recitals.

Experimentally, I tried summoning Frater Mercury just the once down there, but was unsuccessful. The necessary elements in the text, or possibly even speech, simply did not work. As I suspected, in my very last transmission to him, in the real world, I must raise the other copy of the book to the surface, and there I shall continue my rituals.

What might I unleash when I summon him here? I often wonder. Still, if indeed creations are spilling into our own world, then it can only be a good thing to bring him back for our defence. I can see evidence in everything else he has done or said, enough to allow me to have faith in the things I cannot see.

*

The underworld beneath Villjamur does indeed fit with Jorsalir descriptions, what little there is, though the state of one’s soul after death is a complex business. There are hell realms, of course, where we are said to go if our lives have been conducted in an unfulfilling manner. There are realms of gods and demigods, who are said to bicker and fight constantly over status, wealth and power. But the dead here were in limbo, so it is said, souls who were trapped. Yet, they were not in stasis.

For instance, they were very helpful in my search. It seemed that several of them were utterly bored and my predicament gave meaning to their lives, a way to spend their endless days. I was, I suspected, of great amusement to them.

Whenever I managed to communicate with Frater Mercury, and I sought the precise location of the tome, he spoke only of the ‘House of the Dead’ and ‘artificial realities’ and up until now I thought that it meant the underworld, where the dead roam free, but what if he meant something else: a specific location. A house, indeed, within the house.

I spoke to some of the locals about this ‘House of the Dead’. I questioned them, but was met only with silence, faces that responded as if I was barely even there – as if I was the ghost.

*

Perhaps, I thought to myself, libraries were houses of the dead, with voices speaking from beyond the grave, throughout the centuries. I, too, know that when I am gone these words will linger.

Aker has enlisted Pana and Ran, two frail-looking fellows with strange gaits, and who seemed more insane than useful, to help my search. They sauntered off throughout the Unnamed City to locate any libraries in which the other copy of The Book of Transformations may reside.

But there were great challenges. We knew that there are obstacles, buildings in which there are traps that even the dead fear. Why? I did not know – they seemed ethereal things that could even ensnare spirits. The dead did not fear dying – they feared only an eternity of nothingness.

I felt certain that the agents of the church could not hunt me down. They did not know what I was doing, but were merely trying to stop my knowledge from reaching far places, though of course it was too late. The church had propped up their own myths and I could wait no longer.

*

Back in Villjamur, it was still daylight and I breathed the air of the living. Only when I returned did I realize how oppressive it is to walk among them, the countless faces that have died through the ages. I became mindful of life. Even in a troubled city such as Villjamur, I realized there was much to be appreciated.

Stand still and look around. Be conscious of one’s breathing. Come back to oneself and new worlds are revealed: the smile on a young child as it picked up a tundra flower growing between two cobbles; two old men contentedly watching the world go by; a girl handing her lover a cake she had just purchased from the bakery.

Sometimes I felt I was ignoring real beauty.

*

My room had been ransacked! What little belongings I carried were cast about the floor. Lanterns lay on their sides, books sat open on the bed – clearly someone had been reading these, though there was nothing too sacred. After a quick analysis, nothing of value had been taken.

By the door were two scratches in the wood, not caused by a sword, nor as a result of the door being kicked open. Creatures had clearly found my whereabouts.

Was I being watched still? I will need the investigator’s protection more than I thou—

From a bridge spanning between a church and a dancehall, the two Knights looked across the evening cityscape, regarding the gentle ambience of a calm, cold night in Villjamur. A pterodette skimmed the edge of the bridge before disappearing somewhere.

‘I don’t like it,’ Vuldon grunted. ‘Not even the dance is making that much racket. It shouldn’t be this quiet.’

‘Why ever not?’ Tane replied. ‘There is a lot less work for us to do on a quiet night. Even criminals take time off from time to time.’

‘Maybe.’

A well-to-do couple walked by, the man in a very regal purple cape, the woman wearing a beautiful gown. They nodded their greetings to the Knights as they went on their way, their footsteps echoing. In the distance he could see the warm light of the dancehall and the heads of people busy mingling.

‘Don’t you ever feel just a bit of a fool out here?’ Tane said. ‘Not that I’m complaining, ultimately.’

Vuldon turned to look at him. ‘What d’you mean?’

The cat-man gripped the brickwork as he regarded the empty streets below. ‘I know that the Emperor wants us to be visible, to be seen by people, and I’m fine with that, really. But should the time come – and we’re required for some major operation against the anarchists, say – would people genuinely look to us, and could we cope?’

‘I could,’ Vuldon replied. ‘I get what you’re saying though. But what else would you do in the Freeze? I don’t relish getting drunk in a darkened room again. My rep is good these days. I’m happy to give a little hope. This lot up here don’t think beyond their own lives, so there’s no point in wanting more from things.’

‘A little cynical, but I see your point.’

A harsh screeching noise suddenly shattered the calm. Tane placed his hands to his ears, cringing as he crouched down behind the wall.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Vuldon scanned the city but could see nothing out of the ordinary. Then to Tane he said, ‘Get up.’

‘Blimey,’ Tane replied, ‘that hurt my head.’

‘Which direction did it come from?’ Vuldon once again looked around the city and after a moment Tane leaned forward next to him.

‘A few streets to the east,’ Tane said.

‘Are you sure?’

He shrugged. ‘As much as I ever am.’

*

They ran along the bridge and through the empty streets, taking side routes and down crumbling stairwells, all the while checking around them for any signs of where the scream had come from.

‘Do you have . . . any idea . . . what it could be?’ Vuldon spluttered through huge intakes of breath.

‘Possibly a fight, I can’t really tell.’

They sprinted down-city, using Tane’s senses to guide them, and being careful not to skid on the cobbles.

Eventually they reached a tiny viewing platform that overlooked a small stone courtyard between closed shopfronts.

‘There,’ Vuldon snapped, and the two paused. ‘What the hell is that?’

Down below a huge, skeletal creature in a hooded cape was towering over an elderly man. The thing held up a huge iron morningstar, a bulbous, spiked weapon. Two blue eyes glowed from within the hood, and its movements were eerily fluid. The old man managed to scurry out of the way of the blows, which sounded like those of a blacksmith’s workshop.

Vuldon heard a word hissed loudly between the high stone walls: ‘Heretic.’

The old man seemed to pause for a moment and chant something. Vuldon watched in disbelief as a sword materialized in the air before the man who, gripping it firmly, commenced sparring feebly with the creature.

There was no quick way down, and the fall would likely injure Vuldon, so the two Knights were forced to run around the perimeter path, then down a stairway that led to the courtyard. Luckily, Vuldon saw that a member of the city guard was already moving to the aid of the old man. That would buy them some time.

As they navigated past the detritus in front of a bistro, Vuldon looked at the scene in annoyance. The young soldier was of no use: he pissed himself as he stood before the monster. Paralysed with fear, he meekly held his sword forward, muttering something to himself. The bony creature with perverse and unlikely musculature and tendons flaring underneath its crude brown outfit pulled back the morningstar behind its shoulders and with one swing smashed the soldier’s head. The man’s body remained upright for a moment longer before crumpling in a heap.