The Mortal Knife (22 page)

Aron jerked his head in greeting but didn't talk, concentrating on his food. He'd only just come of age but he already looked older. Tired too. He swallowed a mouthful and slumped down at the table, resting his forehead on his arms.

Adam stared at his older brother. They weren't close. They were so different. Aron did everything right. He was a Luman through and through and didn't want to be anything else. He would be happy to follow the path laid out for him: betrothal, marriage, children and maybe someday stepping into Nathanial's shoes and becoming High Luman. Their parents were proud of Aron. He had never disappointed them. Adam wished they could be friends, the way some brothers were but he knew he was an embarrassment to Aron. He cleared his throat. ‘Do you want a drink?'

Aron's head lifted from the table and he blinked. ‘What?'

‘I could get you a drink. Or a cup of tea or something.'

Aron was staring at him like he'd lost the plot but he shook his head. ‘No, it's all right. I need to go and get some sleep. I just can't be arsed going upstairs.'

‘It's busy again, isn't it?' How could Aron not see it? How could he not
see
that Adam was responsible?

Aron gave a sharp, humourless laugh. ‘Yeah, you could say that. If I hadn't been Marked, Father would have dropped dead by now.'

Adam hesitated. ‘This morning  …  There was a girl died. Near Flip Street. My friend in school knew her. She worked in that shop Alter-Eden. She fell under a car.'

‘Yeah, I know. Father and I did that job. That girl was really upset. It wasn't good.' Aron's jaw clenched and Adam saw his eyes well up, before he lowered his head and made a show of fixing his hair. It was a few seconds before he spoke again. ‘Another girl died this afternoon, in Wales. Crossing a train line. About your age. We could have done with Luc there. He's good with the girls. Pity he'd buggered off.'

‘What do you mean buggered off?' There was a sharp edge to Adam's voice that startled them both.

Aron raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you think I mean? He pissed off out. Probably out with his mates. He was here a couple of hours ago but he wasn't here when we got all those call-outs at once. Little prick.'

Adam stared at Aron, feeling his stomach clench tighter. Luc loved going out – but there was no way he would go off and leave them in the lurch. Not when he knew they were so busy. ‘Did he say where he was going?'

Aron stood up and yawned. ‘Course he didn't say. He's probably off meeting some bird.' He shook his head, half admiring and half rueful. ‘One of these days he's going to get busted – and when he does he's dead. Mother will kill him.'

Not if someone else kills him first. Someone he was so desperate to meet that he walked out on the job.
Adam watched Aron leave the kitchen, frozen with panic. He tried to be rational about it all – tried to tell himself that Luc was just being Luc and messing about – but he knew what had happened. Some part of him
knew
.

Adam ran upstairs. When he found the note in his bedroom it wasn't even a shock.

Adam's first thought was how young Luc's handwriting was. Luc had left school at eleven and had probably barely picked up a pen since, hence the childish, scrawling words on the back of one of Adam's test papers. His brother always seemed so much older than him. Nothing phased him and he never seemed afraid. Maybe that was why girls liked him so much. He didn't seem scared of them. And now, not being scared of them – even the ones he
should
be scared of – was going to get him killed.

You know where I'm going. She sent me a ring – hope she doesn't think I'm the marrying kind. If you're reading this I'm not back but I've probably died happy ;-)

Adam crushed the paper in his hand, fighting down hysterical laughter. Only Luc could write a note like that. Only Luc could think it was a game or a dare to be Summoned by the thread-cutter and see it as a chance to pull. His brother was probably dead by now and no one could reach him. No one would ever see him again. And it was all Adam's fault.

Adam picked up his pillow, hit the wall with it and then screamed into the feathers, pressing the pillow against his mouth, trying to get the tornado of feelings out of him before he exploded. He flung it back onto the bed and slumped down to the floor with something between a laugh and a sob. He wanted to smash things. He wanted to kill someone. He wanted to die and put the world out of its misery. He had messed everything up. There was no way back from this. It was
all
his fault.

He held the clenched-up paper against his mouth. What hurt the most was knowing there was nothing anyone could do. There was no way into the Realm of the Fates without a token. Maybe Heinrich had a stash but by the time the alarm was raised it would be too late anyway. Time moved differently there. The minutes or hours that Luc had been missing in the physical world could be days or weeks in the Realm of the Fates.

She sent me a ring
. Adam leaned his head back on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes, desperate to come up with a plan. Colours danced behind his eyelids, then faded away into a dim greyness the colour of the Hinterland.
She sent me a ring.
There was no way to get into the Realm of the Fates without a token. What would happen if he just set off into the Hinterland and kept walking until he saw the doorway? Would it even appear? Or would he stand pushing it, shouting and screaming outside, unable to open it until the Hunter came and swallowed him? Maybe it would be a blessing, however futile.

She sent me a ring.
The phrase looped and repeated through Adam's mind, incessant and irritating, a mosquito whine over and over. A ring: a symbol of love. How ironic a psychopath like Morta would send a ring to the Luman she planned to kill.
A ring  …  a ring  … 
What token did she send to Darian when they met to hatch their plans? Did he get a ring too?
A ring  …  a ring  …  she sent me a ring  …  a ring  …  a ring  …  earring  …  a ring  …  earring  … 

Adam's eyes opened. His whole body went rigid for a split second as the shock tracked through him, freezing him, making his breath stop. An earring. A token. Something from her realm. He remembered the faint sensation of it clipping the toe of his shoe. He could see it – black, polished, a tiny sphere on a metal spike, shoved into a pocket to avoid drawing attention to himself. He remembered his desperation to get home safely, unnoticed after Morta's warning to the Concilium and the Mortsons. An earring. His passport into Morta's realm.

Something shifted, allowing him to move. He hurled himself towards the wardrobe, half crawling, half staggering, reaching for the handle, opening the door and rising in one movement, hands pushing clothes aside until he found his suit. The jacket pockets were empty, so he threw it to the floor and pulled the trousers from their hanger. He remembered. He remembered the feeling of his hand sliding against the cool lining as he pushed the earring out of sight. He searched with his fingertips, waiting to feel the smooth stone or the sharp jag of the earring mount – but there was nothing.

It had to be there. Adam stopped, his heart thudding. He
knew
it had to be there. He tried to think.
The trousers were hanging there, undisturbed. The waistband and the hems were facing the ground. The pockets were upside down, so maybe the earring
 … 
‘Fell, it fell on the ground,' he whispered aloud. He dropped on his knees and pulled clothes from the base of the wardrobe, flinging them behind him, his palms roaming over the soft grain of the wood until – there. His fingers scrabbled against the back corner of the wardrobe and then  …  he was holding it.

The black stone glimmered. He was looking at his key.

Adam kept his preparations to the minimum. He pulled on his coat over his blazer, out of some ancient impulse to stay warm, even though he wasn't going to need it. A crushed cereal bar at the bottom of his bag wasn't exactly survival rations but it would do in an emergency. Even as he was putting things together he knew a small voice at the back of his mind was telling him he was crazy. This wasn't going to be a long visit. Either he would get in and do what had to be done quickly – or he would die. It was that simple.

The note was the hardest bit. There wasn't time to go into detail, so he took Luc's note and scribbled the main details underneath. Where they were, why they were there – and what had happened if they didn't come back. Maybe it would act as a confession too: proving that his family hadn't known that he was a Seer. At first he just signed it ‘Adam' but as he set it on his desk he realised it might be the last time he would speak to his family on this side of his Light, so he added ‘love' before the Adam. And after a moment's hesitation, he scribbled a PS:
Tell Auntie Jo to stop drinking.
He allowed himself a brief grin. He'd probably get a clip on the ear for that when they met again on the Unknown Roads.

His smile faded. There was no more time. He looked around his bedroom, wondering if he would ever see it again. His reflection in the mirror was pale but he could just see the crest on his blazer, peeking out from beneath his coat. The little scrap of silvery-grey stitching gave him a burst of courage, just enough to get him through the bedroom door and down the stairs. He slipped out of the front door, veering away from his father's study window. Sam and Morty were roaming free and they ran over to greet him. He petted them roughly and muttered, ‘Bye, boys,' pushing them away and stepping into the Hinterland. He could hear them whimpering.

Adam ran then. He had to get away from the house and everything that was so painfully familiar. Once the house and garden were out of sight it got easier. He unzipped the inside pocket of his blazer and carefully pulled out the precious earring, mentally rehearsing the steps.
Let the physical world fall away. See the true Hinterland. Find the doorway.
And as an afterthought:
Don't get eaten.

Too quickly, the world went dim. Adam looked down at his feet and the way he seemed to be hovering in nothingness. It didn't freak him out this time. It was a pity he hadn't enjoyed himself more in the Hinterland but there was no time for regrets. He clenched the earring tightly in his hand and let his eyes roam through the grey half-light ahead. The Hunter crept into his thoughts but he gave that image a firm push away.

The doorway appeared – and Adam grimaced. Of course it wasn't going to be like the simple wooden doorway into Clotho's realm – that wasn't ostentatious enough for Morta. This doorway was black and highly polished, surrounded by an ornate lintel and carved pillars. It hinted at luxury and beauty on the other side. The handle was striking: a snarling leopard head with flat, obsidian eyes. Adam's fingers prickled as he reached for it, some primitive part of his brain screaming that it would bite him, but the handle turned smoothly. He took a deep breath and eased the door open.

He was back in the hallway of Morta's realm. There was the same marble floor, a cold sheen glimmering beneath the crystal chandelier. The last time Adam had been here there had been music in the air and tables covered in food, their hostess moving among them, laughing while her eyes flashed fire. Today the hallway felt cold and dead. There was no sign of Morta but the same velvet couches were dotted around and on one of them was his brother.

Adam sucked in a sharp breath. It was tempting to rush straight over but he forced himself to wait, listening carefully for any sign of movement. The silence was empty and terrible. He pulled the door closed, mindful of the Hunter and the Hinterland behind him. Only then did he move swiftly across the marble floor, his footsteps sounding horribly loud.

Luc was lying on a velvet-covered couch. The fabric was the colour of fresh blood; rich and dark like wine. Luc seemed terribly pale in contrast, the colour drained out of his face. His eyes were closed beneath his tousled mop of dark hair. He was wearing jeans and a white shirt that had been torn open. He might have been dead, but for the faint rise and fall of his chest. His torso was the same pale alabaster as his face – with one exception. There was a wound on his chest, right over the breastbone, just where a Luman would be Marked. It looked like someone had used a fine blade to draw a crude heart shape. It was crusted with dried blood.

At the sight of this all of Adam's rage flooded back, threatening to overwhelm him. It was the casual cruelty of it that got under his skin. His brother always seemed so confident and in control; more alive than anyone else he knew. Luc moved through life with a hint of a swagger and a smirk on the corner of his lips. To see him lying here so vulnerable hurt Adam in a way that took him by surprise. He had never really known how much he looked up to his brother until now. Seeing him like this was awful – as if he was an abandoned rag doll.

‘Luc!' Adam hissed in his brother's ear, shaking his shoulder. ‘Wake up!' There was no response. His first impulse was to drag Luc into the Hinterland and swoop them both home. Two things changed his mind. First of all, it would only be a temporary measure. When Morta realised Luc was gone all she had to do was cut his thread and he would be dead anyway. She could carry on her killing spree indefinitely. Adam didn't even know why she had brought Luc here, other than to toy with him. Maybe she was hoping he would confess something for Darian's benefit. Either way, the end results for his brother wouldn't be good.

Secondly – and more pressingly – Luc's keystone was missing. Adam slipped his hand beneath his brother's neck, hoping the chain had just snapped. He knew he was clutching at straws. There was no way Morta would leave her prisoner there with a way to escape. She had taken the keystone as a precaution. Adam's heart sank. With Luc's keystone he might have been able to swoop them both home, even with Luc unconscious. Without it he didn't stand a chance. There was no escaping what needed to be done. He had to go and confront Morta.

The worst bit was leaving Luc there. He looked small and pale and broken. Adam clenched his fist around the earring, welcoming the sharp stab of the metal spike digging into his palm. It helped him to focus.
One step at a time
,
he thought.
Find Morta first. She won't be expecting me. I'll have the advantage of surprise.
But another voice kicked in. This one was mocking.
And what will you do then, Adam? Are you going to kill her? Do you actually think you have what it takes to
kill
someone? Right there, while they stand in front of you? You, the one who wants to be a doctor and save lives. How ironic!

Adam slammed an imaginary door in his head, shutting the voice up. It wasn't helping his concentration. He took a last look at his brother's prone form and forced himself to move. There were three doorways he could see. The first led into an enormous bedchamber. The bed was swathed in white sheets, like a vast slab of ice in the centre of the room. It was the only furniture. The walls were hung with tapestries, most of them dark with sinuous threads of colour shot through.

The room next door had nothing but a deep, marble bath sunk into the floor. Along the back edge there were glass bottles filled with oils and a single orchid bloomed in a stone pot. It was all rich and beautiful and cold. Clotho had managed to create a cosy space but it was obvious that Morta wasn't interested in making her realm homely. Luxurious, yes – but a den to rest in only briefly before she went back to work.

Adam returned to the hallway, miserably aware of Luc's prone form. There was only one double doorway left and he knew where it led to. In his heart of hearts he had known from the minute he got here where he would find Morta. She would be in the place she loved the best; the place where she got to revel in her own power. She would be in the vast circular chamber above, facing the Tapestry of Lights.

Adam stepped through the open door. In the darkness ahead he could just see the gleam of the metal steps spiralling upwards. Last time, Morta had illuminated torches along the wall – but Adam didn't want a welcoming party waiting for him. Instead, he raised his hand and imagined light coming from it. A second later his palms and fingertips lit up and a soft, golden glow radiated out from his hands, just enough to light the steps ahead of him. He grasped the handrail and began to climb, fast at first then slowing as he rose higher and higher. His head spun a little with the turns and this time there was no Nathanial behind him to break his fall. His trainers were quiet and sure on the steps and after a long time he had a sense that the stairway was coming to an end. There was a feeling above as if the air was opening up around him.

The first time he had seen the Tapestry of Lights the chamber had been in darkness until the Lumen reached the top of the stairs. This time Adam knew that Morta was already there: the glow from the billions of souls filled the chamber with light, which was now spilling down the staircase. There was no more need for the light in his hands and Adam allowed it to die away, missing the firefly comfort of it as soon as it was gone. He paused, feeling sick and afraid, then forced himself to lift one foot and then another. He crept up the last few stairs, bent double, keeping his head down until he was almost at the top. When he dared to raise his head he was confronted with an extraordinary sight.