The White Fox (2 page)

Glass-like tower structures, each one engraved with a similar rose, formed a wide circumference around the central flooring. All but one was filled by another black-cloaked figure. There were thirteen altogether.

The man bowed briefly to the seat directly opposite him, which was also the tallest, and took his place at his own.

“What news, Archbishop Icarus?” the figure in the highest seat intoned. His voice was soft, yet it hung in the air seconds afterwards as if it had been shouted. It held concealed venom, like a snake waiting for a mouse in tall grass.

“It is done, Your Majesty,” Icarus replied. “No one will be seeing
that
planet for the foreseeable future. No mortal, at any rate.”

“Excellent. You have done well, despite your lateness.”

“I apologize, my liege, for the siege was almost complete when I received your message.”

“It matters not. Now to the issues of the moment.”

Every figure in the room turned towards the Emperor in the highest chair. Amidst this wraithlike throng, he was the only one who could be considered short. His robes and gloves were also black but laced with swirling silver on the edges. His throne was not carved with a rose but with a spiked crown.

“Through much toil, I have uncovered the location of one of the Doors.” The atmosphere in the room, already attentive, tautened.

“Two, in fact. Abject credit must go to Archbishop Iago for supplying us with our source.”

Another figure, a few seats down from the Emperor, nodded.

“Where are these Doors, master?” another figure asked.

“The first one we discovered is on the planet Rauthr in the Small Magellanic Cloud. It lies within a volcanic crater at the heart of Mount Fafnir, which falls under the jurisdiction of the kingdom of Thorin Salr. I feel that in this case little regard need be given to the ruling party.”

“The mining folk, Your Majesty?”

“Naturally. This is good. They are ignorant of our arts, and their stubbornness should ensure that they will not seek to learn more of them in an attempt at resistance.”

There was silence as all the figures contemplated the operation at hand.

“Who is to go?” voiced one.

“I think Archbishop Iago deserves that privilege,” the Emperor said slowly, turning towards one of the disembodied cloaks. “But you must understand the implications if you fail. It would
displease
me greatly if you were to not succeed.”

“Yes, master. I shall not fail.”

“And you know what must be done to release it?”

“A volcano? I have an idea already.”

The Emperor nodded, his lip, the only part of his face visible, curling in satisfaction.

I ago bowed his head solemnly and held his forearm out so that the back of his hand faced the Emperor. A rose pattern, the same one as engraved on the floor, traced itself around his veins in faint violet light. Beginning at his feet, his body unravelled into black smoke. The cloud of shapeless gas swirled for a moment before shooting upwards in an arc and disappearing through the high window.

There was a pause before the Emperor continued. “As for the second Door, it is on the planet Terra in the Senso Latteo galaxy. Another easy target. Fortune has indeed smiled upon us. Icarus, you are familiar with that world. You will go there and open the Door.”

“I would be honored, Your Majesty.”

“The same repercussions apply to you as to Iago. Do not fail me, Icarus. You know what is at stake here.”

“Of course, master. I will leave immediately.” Exactly mirroring Iago, Archbishop Icarus bowed his head and gave up his form to the Darkness. The wisps of black smoke trailed upwards through the roof and out into the freezing air. He hung for a moment, then, like a gigantic bird spreading its wings, dropped diagonally downwards. Despite the stratospheric gale, he maintained his course. He circled the tower once, then dived down to the east, towards the Garrison, to collect his Chapter.

The elf staggered up the end of the slope and collapsed onto the rock face, rasping heavily. Wind sliced around the mountain like a rapier snake, cutting into his body with glacial air. His breath made clouds of steam; they were instantly sucked from his chapped lips into linear arrows of brief warmth, then lost into the blackness. All around, the mountains extended, the sublime white peaks visible miles around in the clear night. Far below, an odd rock formation jutted out of the side of a cliff, overshadowing a small valley full of mining pits. A river, enclosed on all sides by the stone monoliths, slithered down to the sea to the east and broke out into an estuary of jagged rocks.

Gathering his strength and hugging the wall, the elf, bent double against the gale, moved over to the door. It was crafted of some heavy metal set into the rock face as if to force apart the small opening like a brace. A crimson glow wafted up the passage within, and by its light he saw the carvings around the edge. The ancient dwarves of these parts had used cuneiforms rather than runes to communicate. Here, the crude markings were of wicked, licking flames, howling people, and charred corpses.

The elf gazed at these for a moment longer, then slipped into the passage. A wall of unbearable heat blasted into him, and he stumbled backwards. He raised his arms, and a barrier, only distinguishable by a slight blurring of the air, formed around him. The heat subsided. A narrow, artificial passage barely tall enough for him stretched deep into the mountainside. The glow surged up here, harshly highlighting the crevasses and crannies of the tunnel. He began down it.

He emerged at the bottom onto a small platform of rock. Hundreds of feet below him, boiling as if the basin were a gigantic wok, was a lake of magma. The bright crimson and orange mass bubbled and seethed, and here and there patches of black froth collected on the surface, dissolving in a wave of superheated liquid. Wreaths of steaming atmosphere rose hypnotically, some disappearing into the darkness above the summit to be blasted away into the midnight sky. There was apparently no way forward; on the edge of this platform, a bluestone bridge could be seen, but after a meter or so it crumbled away into nothing. The opposite end of the crater was distorted and blurred, and there too the edge of a bridge was broken off like the other one. A thick chain was slung across its diameter, high above the platform; a large, charred birdcage suspended from its apex.

The elf knelt down and brushed the rock below him. A trace of black powder came off onto his glove. He sniffed at it and recoiled. Not volcanic sulphur. Something else. Something that stank far worse.

He stood and lifted his arm, moving it through the air slowly and methodically. One by one, symbols flickered into life around him, oddly transparent in the steam. They hummed slightly, the full five making a strange chorus of vibrations. He flicked his arm, expecting them to flash over to the broken bridge and reconstruct a replica.

Nothing happened.

He moved his hand over them again, and again they did not respond. He reached out and touched one. It shuddered and liquefied, the droplets of black liquid splattering over the rock like melted metal. Like blood.

The elf backed away as the remaining symbols dissolved.

A column of dark fire blasted upwards from the pit with a horrific roar, the vertical streaks of flame rocketing the cage on its chain.

The elf’s eyes widened in shock, he turned to run, but before he even lifted his foot, a tendril of darkness extended out of the chaotic tornado and passed through him. His eyes widened even further for a moment, then glazed over. He sagged and fell forward, hitting the rock hard. The powder and droplets sprayed over his face. A few bones crunched.

More tendrils extruded from the darkness, wrapping around him and raising him high into the air. They lifted him in a high arch and flicked him into the cage, the door bouncing off the frame after him. The tendrils retreated back into the tornado, and it swirled back into the magma, now ready to take shape.

“Fragments. Fragments in the dark.”

The man was seated by the hearth, his gaze fixed into the middle distance. The last embers of the fire pulsated from under its shroud of ash and charred wood, edging one half of the man’s face with an orangey glow. The wooden pieces scattered over the chessboard in front of him were half-etched with amber, half-dissolved into shadows that flickered over the black and chestnut squared board. The room was dark—the arch of soft moonlight from the window and the cold rectangle of laptop screen the only other sources of light. The only sound came from outside: the soft rustling of the evergreens in the breeze and the call of a tawny owl.

“Fragments?” the second man asked. He was using the laptop and sat at the ornate oak desk underneath the bookcase across the room. He tapped a few more keys.

“Yes,” the first replied, his gaze remaining fixed upon the fire. “Loose pieces to a puzzle. What do these events have in common?”

The second man did not speak, still tapping, so the first continued. “One: in November, Isaac goes missing, presumed dead, in Chthonia. A month later we get his last letter, and it’s the writings of a madman. We presume he committed suicide. Two: in February, a schoolgirl abducted in Khălese on a hiking trip. Six friends with her murdered, and the crime made to look like a rock slide in a botched cover-up. But she was taken. No sign of her since. Three: in the space of a month, four stars in completely different positions in the sky disappear. All should have been visible at this point in our orbit. All entries taken on clear nights. All gone.” The man paused, now gazing into the hearth.

“What if they’re unconnected?” the second ventured after a few seconds.

“You know as well as I do that they’re not. We know who’s behind this. But we’re blind. We’re seeing the edges of a master plan—only the teeth of a behemoth that’s coming out of the dark to swallow us whole. Something’s changing here, and it’s for the worse.” He fell silent again.

The second man finished typing and closed the laptop. “That’s sorted. The others are asleep. We should be too.” He waited a moment, then made to leave the room.

“‘If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back into you.’”

“
Thus Spake Zarathustra
?”

“
Beyond Good and Evil
.”

The second man did not reply. He paused for a moment longer to examine the chess game. Only the two kings remained in stalemate, one space apart from each other in the center of the board. Then he left the room, the door creaking shut behind him.

There are several things that Jack would have liked to be awoken to—some of which are probably not suitable to write down. However, the simultaneous slamming of an extremely hefty chemistry textbook and the well-strained vocal cords of an obese middle-aged man were not amongst them.

“Lawson!” roared the obese middle-aged man.

Jack lurched off the desk, rocked back on his chair, and regained balance just in time to dodge the extremely hefty chemistry textbook. He stared up at the man with the usual mix of awkwardness and apprehension. To say that Dr. Orpheus’s face was fortunate would be like saying a skunk had a mildly pleasant odor.