The Mirrored City (47 page)

“I’m sorry,” the archer whispered. “It had to be done.”

Shannon’s last word was “Mother?”

F
ORTY-
O
NE

Vessel

3.7. When Achelon unleashed the Fifth Harrow, it fell to Creation in a plume of golden splendor and became Elethant.

3.8. Elethant was a Prince, son of a weak emperor of the same name in a city called Nemethae. It is told that his features were horrific to gaze upon and that he wore a mask night and day.

3.9. It is told that Elethant had once been fair but was filled with envy over those whom Ohan had granted greater fairness, and he desired to become the most beautiful among men.

3.10. So Elethant took the faces of others and stitched them to his own. The more perfect he became, the more he saw his own ugliness until not even Ohan could gaze upon him.

3.11 The Harrower chose Elethant and became the embodiment of vanity.

—
EXCERPT FROM
THE DAWN, BOOK EIGHT, CANTO 4

KELTIS COULDN’T HELP
but stare at his ruined face in the mirrored chamber. The lavish room around him was all mirrors. The well-appointed furnishings, the walls, the table—even the fucking fruit. He couldn’t escape his reflection. It wasn’t so bad on the right side, but that almost made it worse—a reminder of his former perfection.

He was still alive and, as it turned out, the vessel for some cosmic being called Elethant. He knew the stories about the Harrowers. Every kid in Creation went to bed each night terrified they would be taken in their sleep by the horrible monsters. But having become one, he had to admit he wasn’t really all that scary.

Yes, he was nearly omnipotent and could indulge in any perversion he could invent (he was getting very inventive), but it brought him little comfort as he traced his fingers over the melted skin on the left half of his face. The skin had bubbled away, revealing the meat underneath. For all his supposed power, it was the one thing he couldn’t alter.

He poured himself a glass of wine, or some reflective version that looked like mercury, and swirled it around his glass. It tasted divine.

Keltis had always been keen to enjoy the finer things life had to offer. Up until recently, the height of his ambition had been to work his way into the patronage of Assemblyman by seduction or blackmail and spend his days basking in a rooftop garden or having decadent parties in a winter estate somewhere.

The whole Harrower thing was a bit of overkill, but he would adapt. He was nothing if not resourceful, and he had an entire city to play with. Currently they were still tearing themselves apart. He merely allowed them to do something they had wanted to do for generations. It was cathartic for them, and he had all the time in the world to make them do whatever
he
wanted.

He felt Soren and the mage, Maddox, burrowing deeper into his domain. They were nothing more than insects compared to the power he held. By the time they reached him, they would either be his slaves or his broken enemies. They were the ones who had ruined his face, and their payback would be an eternity of suffering.

There. A presence.

A man appeared from nothing in the center of the chamber. He had a forgettable face, handsome but not extraordinary. Serenely he addressed Keltis, “Do you know who I am?”

“Greetings, Emissary,” Keltis said. He had never met the man before, but he knew all sorts of things if he cared to recall them.

This was one of the First Mages, well known to the Harrowers. His body radiated theurgy. He wasn’t just a man, but a representative with the collective wyrd of the Travelers’ magic shielding him from Keltis.

The Emissary bowed his head slightly. “Greetings, Elethant… Or do you go by another name?”

“Keltis is fine. To what do I owe the honor of such an illustrious visit?”

He walked over to a chair and sat, making himself comfortable. “As is our duty, I have come to help release you from the shackles of this plane of existence. You do not belong in this world, and you know it.”

Keltis sat across from the Emissary. “I kind of like it here, Traveler.”

His face became a mask of false empathy. “Why do you subject yourself to this misery?”

“I could ask the same question of humanity.” Keltis’s voice became low and metallic. He wasn’t really sure it was him saying that, but whatever. “Why struggle to perpetuate something that is ephemeral and fleeting? Your existence serves no purpose other than to further your own existence. You are a chemical reaction. A slow decay of water and carbon, existing in a mere fraction of Creation.”

The Emissary smiled, a smug little quirk of the lips. “And you’re a mindless force of nature trapped in the personal hell of a callow young man with a ruined face.”

“
Half
ruined,” Keltis corrected sharply. “And as far as personal hells go, this is a pretty sweet setup. I have everything I could ever want. I just have to think it and it happens.”

“As you like.”

Keltis looked around, as if sniffing the air. “You’re trying to bind my power.” He could sense them, scattered across Creation, pouring everything they had into the most obscure magics their minds could comprehend.

“We are,” the Emissary admitted. He folded his hands on his lap and stared with his watery gray eyes.

Keltis leaned forward, a wicked grin plastered on his face. “That’s adorable. It won’t make me go anywhere.”

“I’m aware of that.”

Keltis let out a long, exasperated sigh as he examined his manicure. He glanced up at the Emissary, who was still there, sitting patiently, a smug look plastered over his face. He didn’t seem scared in the least.

Keltis lunged, knocking over the table and wine bottle and glass. They exploded into shards as they crashed against the floor.

The Emissary moved faster than Keltis thought possible, catching his wrist before his blow connected. His fist was inches from the Traveler’s cheek. Keltis could see his snarling, disfigured reflection in the other man’s placid gaze.

The Traveler cocked his head slightly. “That wasn’t nice.”

Keltis suppressed a chuckle. “I’m barely trying. How are you holding up?”

A bead of sweat formed on the Emissary’s brow. “Just dandy.”

Keltis pushed his fist closer to the man’s head. The Emissary grunted with exertion as his strength gave out and the blow made its way inexorably toward his face.

The floor shook as the men struggled. The shattered remains of the table jiggled with the vibration, a musical chorus of dancing glass. A crack formed on the mirrored floor between them, spiderweb-like fractures radiating outward through the chamber, racing up the walls and through the furniture. Trails of glittery dust fell from the ceiling where the cracks spread.

The Emissary began chanting under his breath, a glossolalia of the old words strung together with some new. His eyes showed the slightest glint of terror.

Keltis leaned in so he was inches from the Emissary’s nose. “You Travelers think you’re so smart. You’ve got it all covered—a whole plan of attack for the next Incursion. Between you, the fucking Eye of Ohan, and your mortal instruments, you think you can contain us. But we can adapt, too…”

The Traveler lashed out with his other hand, but Keltis caught it just as easily as the Emissary had caught his own. They were locked. Shards of glass peeled from the walls and ceiling of the chamber.

“Nice try, Preston, but you can’t smack me around like your fiancée. What was her name? Julia?” Keltis glanced at the Emissary’s clenched fist.

The Emissary grunted, continuing his incantation. A line of red dripped from his nose.

“That’s right, Preston. I know all about your little temper tantrums and how daddy covered it up. They sent you halfway across the universe so you wouldn’t sully the good name of the esteemed Godfrey family. You’re a disappointment to everyone. You’re nothing.”

The Emissary snapped his head forward into Keltis’s nose. His vision exploded in white stars as he reeled back.

The room collapsed in a shower of broken mirrors, and the two of them fell into an Abyss of nothingness below.

The thing inside Keltis wailed in indignation as they tumbled through the void. Shards of glass and mirror spun through the air, plummeting alongside them. Keltis grappled the Emissary, scratching at his face and kicking him.

The pieces of the shattered room shot down faster, knitting together into larger pieces. Below them, a new room formed as each of the shards fell perfectly into place, rebuilding the room from the ground up.

It met them as they fell, and the two men hit the hard mirrored floor as the chamber reconstructed itself around them.

Keltis sprang to his feet. “I hope you’re happy. You may have weakened me temporarily but at the expense of weakening yourself even more. I think I should still have more than enough power to dispatch you.”

The Emissary did not get up. He rolled to the side, his arm draped across his ribs. He was hurt—and weak.

And he’s still prettier than I am. We can’t have that.

Keltis stepped toward the Emissary, but he vanished. “You fucking cowards!” Keltis shouted to the empty air.

A woman’s voice came from behind him. “Vanity. I should have guessed.”

He turned to see a dark-skinned woman holding a long gleaming sword. Not just any sword,
the
Sword.

Keltis smiled. “It’s been a long time, old friend.”

F
ORTY-
T
WO

Sacrifice

S
WORD

Fuck proverbs.

—
THE ICONOCLAST,
TRAVELER’S PROVERBS

“YOUR FACE LOOKS
like melted cheese. Not a good look for the avatar of vanity,” Sword said, readying her blade. Having a joined consciousness, the Sword hadn’t had any problems passing deeper into the Cyst. Her friends would be along shortly. She just needed to distract the Harrower.

Keltis scoffed. “You’re a fifty-year-old woman in skin-tight black leather. Forgive me if I don’t take fashion advice from you.”

“Touché,” Sword said.

“Are you going to try to kill me now?”

“You could always kill yourself. It would save me a lot of time.”

Keltis reached his hand out, and shards of glass spread from his palm, growing like branches of a crystalline tree until he held something resembling a sword crowned with gleaming points and razor sharp dendrites.

The Harrower launched himself at Sword. He was incredibly strong and quick, and Sword stumbled back a step when their blades clashed. The Harrower was clumsy, however. Like Sword, it used the body and memories it had, but it didn’t seem to hold onto knowledge between hosts.

Keltis lunged, and Sword brought her pommel down on the blade, shattering the Harrower’s glass sword before it struck.

The pieces reassembled quickly, and Keltis pressed the attack. He was poised with one hand behind his back, like some pretentious dandy in a court duel. Awkward flourishes and effeminate slashes.

Sword batted them aside easily but still kept giving ground, leading the pretentious fuck on a merry chase around the mirrored room.

One of the walls rippled, and Heath stumbled out, eyes glowing with silver. He looked like shit but was still standing. He wasted no time unleashing a torrent of lightning into Keltis.

The Harrower raised his palm and caught the stream of energy. His arm trembled as he fought it back. “You brought a Stormlord. That’s hardly sporting.”

Sword brought her blade in a low wide slash while Keltis was distracted, landing a blow in the man’s side. Black ichor dripped from the wound. “I’ve always been a bit of a bastard.” Sword whirled her blade and moved to flank.

Keltis was caught between them: Heath on one side with lightning, Sword on the other sparring against the glass blade.

Keltis grinned. On the ruined half of his face, teeth showed through the cheek. “I think the Stormlord has his own problems to deal with.”

Heath fell to his hands and knees, dry heaves wracking his gut. It pained Sword to see her friend in agony, but she pressed her attack, shattering the Harrower’s blade and striking him in the chest. Keltis reeled back but recovered and launched a counterattack, the riposte slashing Sword’s leg. It stung like a motherfucker, and she could feel broken shards of mirror grinding in the open cut.

Heath moaned. “You… have… to… sacrifice… me… I’m dead anyway.”

Keltis pouted. “I think your friend misunderstands. I’m curing him of his affliction. Look.”

Heath gagged on blood and convulsed with nausea. Sword tried to go to him, but Keltis blocked her attempt with a series of well-executed thrusts. He was improving by the minute.

Something purple and covered in throbbing veins came out of Heath’s mouth. It had tentacles and what looked like beady black eyes dotting its flesh. As it crawled out of his mouth, it thrashed and emitted a high-pitched noise. Keltis giggled.

The wall rippled again, and Lyta stepped out. Her eyes fell on Heath, and she charged to his side. Keltis sliced at her with his sword, bringing the sharp edges up through her face. Lyta didn’t stop, even as the blade broke into millions of pieces. She was already healing when she got to Heath. The thing emerging from his throat lunged at her and wrapped around her neck.