They had only been a few days out from the settlement, but the return journey seemed to take longer; exhaustion and despair took their toll. Illiun was on edge, constantly scanning the sky as though expecting it to fall on him at any moment. A few times Silus heard him muttering about the entity, but when he tried to calm him down, he refused to talk. Shalim and Rosalind were less pragmatic in their approach, openly criticising Illiun, soliciting snide remarks from the rest of the expedition, fomenting anger.
“You mustn’t let your emotions run so high,” Silus said one evening. “This rage does nothing to help us, or the settlement itself. Let Illiun be.”
“He put our children at risk,” Shalim said. “He has put us all at risk, coming to this place.”
“He only meant to protect you, Shalim. I know what it’s like to be helpless in the face of danger to your loved ones, to be powerless to protect them when things go wrong. Illiun’s suffering is punishment enough, believe me.”
Even so, Shalim did little to mask his newfound distaste for their leader, and he and Illiun didn’t talk for the remainder of the journey.
When the dunes rising around them became familiar — though quite how he could distinguish between mounds of sand, he couldn’t quite fathom — Silus’s spirits began to lift. Indeed, the morale of the party seemed to be on the rise as the settlement grew near. Perhaps, some of them reasoned, the ship would be alright after all; perhaps they would now actually be able to leave this planet and escape the attentions of the entity.
The smell coming to them from over the next rise, however, soon put paid to any hopes they had. The odour was unmistakable. It was the same smell that had washed through Silus’s hometown of Nurn the night the Chadassa had slaughtered the populace. It was a smell he had become intimately familiar with on several occasions since.
When Silus and his companions had first discovered the settlement, a friendly crowd had greeted their arrival, open and delighted faces welcoming the strangers. But this time there were few to greet them, and those that limped towards them carried their injuries heavily, grief written deeply upon their faces. One woman clutched a hand to her shoulder, blood trickling between her fingers. A silver-eyed man held her aloft by her right arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. The sentinel had also been injured; his cheek torn, exposing his metal jaw, his artificial innards spilling from a hole in his side.
“You!” Shalim said, pointing at the sentinel. “You did this.”
“No!” yelled one of the men hobbling towards them. “The sentinels did not do this. Others came.”
“What others, Braden?” Illiun said.
“Humans. Wielding swords. Shouting about the… Lord of All.”
“Silus, do you know these people?” Illiun turned to him.
Acutely aware of the eyes upon him, Silus opened his mouth to answer, but for a moment nothing came. “I…”
“Yes,” Dunsany said. “We know of them. Trust me, they’re no friends of ours.” Turning to Braden, he said, “Where are they now?”
“Once they had their fill of killing, they forced their way onto the ship and sealed it. None of us have been able to get in since.”
“Could you not have fought back?” Katya said. “Did none of you think to stop them?”
“My people are not trained to fight,” Illiun said.
“Well, you may want to teach them that skill. This is the Final Faith,” Katya said, “and they’re as tenacious and violent as this ‘entity’ you keep talking about.”
“Perhaps they’ll be willing to speak to us,” Silus said. “We did sort of steal something from them.”
“And broke it,” Dunsany added.
“That’s a good point,” Kelos said. “I don’t think they’re going to want the Llothriall back now.”
“Let’s find out shall we?” Silus said. “Perhaps they can at least tell us where we are.”
As they made their way through the ruins of the settlement — those who had followed them back out of the desert now searching for loved ones, or sifting through the wreckage of their homes — Silus was shocked by the number of corpses they came across.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would they slaughter these people? How could they have possibly offended the Faith?”
“They have no god,” Dunsany said. “And you know full well how the Final Faith treat the godless.”
When killing was driven by religious zeal and the unshakeable certainty that what you were doing was right, then there was little that could be done to slake its hunger. Silus found himself sympathising with the beliefs of Illiun’s people. Living without a god was no bad thing, if all a deity brought with it was hate and destruction. For all its preaching on hope, love and the life to come, this was the truth of the Faith; the child’s corpse that lay at Silus’s feet as he stood amongst the ruins of a house spoke more clearly of the nature of the Lord of All than all the songs and prayers of the elect ever could.
The trail of destruction led all the way to the ship, and there Silus could see that at least one of the members of the settlement had fought back. Lying at the base of the ship, the crossed circle on his tabard marked by his own blood, was a member of the Order of the Swords of Dawn. Circling his neck was a collar of deep purple bruises, beaded with a scarlet dew. His sword lay broken by his side.
Illiun rolled the corpse over with his foot, so that it was facing down, and then, holding his hand out before him, he walked towards the ship. But instead of passing through into the interior of the vessel, he was brought up hard against the outer wall.
“I don’t understand. The ship’s protocols are programmed to my touch.”
With a breath of air that carried the odour of burning oil, Ignacio appeared through the wall of the ship before them. He drew his sword, but his hand was stilled when his gaze took in Silus.
“Ignacio!” Silus said, stepping back to get a good look at his friend. “Gods, but what are you wearing?”
The tabard that Ignacio wore bore the crossed circle of the Final Faith, along with the tears and splatters of battle.
“It’s so good to see you, Ignacio,” Katya said, gathering him up in a warm embrace. “We had thought you lost with the rest of the Llothriall. Is Emuel with you?”
Ignacio didn’t return the hug. Instead, he looked at Katya as though he didn’t recognise her, before pushing her away with the flat of his blade.
“Silus Morlader,” he said. “You are to return with us to Scholten, there to come before the Anointed Lord.”
Silus laughed, until he saw that his friend was deadly serious. “What did they do to you?”
“I saw the light.”
“And are you responsible for this?” Dunsany said, gesturing behind them to the settlement.
“I was part of the skirmish that saw the heathens punished and their artificial men slaughtered, yes.”
“But you hate the Final Faith, Ignacio,” Dunsany said. “You and your brother were always going on about what scum they were. Do you not remember?”
“Things are different now, Dunsany.”
“Look,” Silus said. “Why don’t we talk this over?”
“I concur.”Ignacio gestured and more Faith soldiers appeared. “Divest them of their weapons and bring them inside.”
Seeing that they were outnumbered, Silus allowed Ignacio and his comrades to escort them into the ship.
Within, there was none of the frenetic activity and noisy chaos they had experienced the first time they had boarded the ship. Instead, the atmosphere was more like that of the cloisters of a cathedral: their footsteps echoing back from the high vaulted ceilings, someone chanting, a prayer repeated breathlessly and, behind that, the sounds of sobbing and the occasional muffled scream.
“Katherine Makennon must want the Llothriall back very badly to go to all the trouble of sending you guys,” Silus said.
“It is not just the ship the Anointed Lord wants,” Ignacio said. “She is also adamant that you return to Scholten.”
“So that I can answer for my supposed heresies, no doubt? Seriously, why go to all this trouble to punish just one man?”
“The Anointed Lord does not wish to punish you. She knows what you are and has need of your talents.”
“May I ask how you found us? We don’t even know how we came here ourselves.”
“Magic brought us here. And magic will return us.”
Kelos was clearly about to say something in response to that, but a glare from his escort pre-empted his words.
“What happened to Emuel?” Katya said.
“He was with our party before we left, but something went wrong with the ritual and we were separated,” Ignacio said. “More than likely he is dead. This is a savage place.”
“It is, indeed,” Silus said. “I don’t suppose you know where we are, for that matter?”
“That is not our concern. We are simply tasked with returning you to Scholten. Brother Sebastian is, at this moment, preparing the ceremony.”
A door dilated open with a hiss, and Ignacio and his companions ushered them into a long metal corridor. Lights placed at regular intervals within the floor flashed rapidly in sequence. A deep bass hum emanated from the walls and, just above that, Silus could hear voices raised in unison.
“Illiun, what’s beyond that door?” Silus said, gesturing towards the end of the passageway.
“The engine room. But… why are we being taken to the engine room?”
“Maybe the Faith are going to attempt to steer this ship for home,” Dunsany said, humourlessly.
“Without power, how could they?”
As they reached the end of the corridor, the door opened and they were bathed in light and warmth.
The chamber beyond was on a scale grander than anything Silus had ever seen. The engine room was bigger even than the nave of Scholten Cathedral, and though it shared some of that edifice’s architectural sensibilities, here there was no order and calm sanctuary but cluttered, noisy chaos. Before them, a procession of arches marched away into darkness, leading deep into the heart of the ship, towering over irregular mounds of machinery alive with movement and light. Far above, the ceiling was lost within a confusion of cables and wires, some of which swung free, sparking and filling the air with a smell like singed hair. Others dropped down to disappear into the machines or the black, corrugated floor. Amidst all this, dwarfed by the arches and shuddering metal devices, several members of the Order of the Swords of Dawn stood in a circle, stripped to the waist and holding hands as they maintained their chant.
“Once Brother Sebastian is ready,” Ignacio said, gesturing to the elderly man at the centre of the group, “the ritual can begin and we will return to Scholten. For the moment, stay exactly where you are.”
Ignacio and his comrades drew close around them, their naked blades a statement of exactly what would happen if any of them attempted to escape.
“Ignacio, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Kelos said, “but how do you expect this ritual to work when there is no magic to draw on? You can dress up sorcery in whatever fancy chants and arcane gestures you want, but without the threads we’re not going to get very far.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ignacio laughed (and was it Silus’s imagination or, even behind that cold sound, was there not the slightest remnant of the ex-smuggler left, the merest hint of his humanity?) “We’re surrounded by power. Here we have all we need.”
“This is not magic,” Illiun said. “What you call sorcery, we call technology. However, I must admit that what you have done here is impressive. How did you restart the engines?”
“Engines?” Ignacio said. “I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”
“Look. I know that this may sound strange,” Illiun continued. “But if the engines are working, it’s of paramount importance that we leave this world right away. Something dreadful is coming, and it will be the end of us all.”
“Oh, you’ll leave this world, alright. Wait until Makennon hears of what a godless, blasphemous bunch you are.”
“Ignacio, listen to me. You can interrogate us, do whatever you like to us, later, but if we have the chance, we should leave now. Don’t you understand, all of us will die!”
The chanting came to an end. The elderly man within the circle of celebrants stepped forward and said in a voice that belied his frail frame, “Brother Ignacio. The preparation is complete. When you are ready, we shall begin.”
Ignacio and his comrades ushered the party forward.
Silus gripped Katya’s hand. Zac struggled in her arms, his squeal seeming to pierce through to every corner of the vast room. Silus tried to soothe his son, but when he saw the intense fear that filled the small boy’s eyes, he realised that any gesture he could make would be futile. A similar tired fear lined the faces of Dunsany and Kelos as they, too, joined hands, walking towards whatever doom awaited them, united in defiance and acceptance. Bestion was quietly praying to himself, searching one last time for his god in this godless world, his fingers entangling the wooden beads hanging around his neck. Illiun looked frantically about him, as though searching for an escape route, while Shalim, Rosalind and Hannah brought up the rear, silent and pale with shock.
The ritual circle parted and they were ushered within, along with Ignacio and several soldiers of the Swords. Brother Sebastian took a small bottle of oil from a pocket and uncorked it. The stench that rose from the vessel was stomach-churning.
“Gods,” Kelos said. “I’ve encountered Chadassa with a more pleasing odour.”
“Silence!” Ignacio shouted, prodding Kelos with the point of his sword.
Brother Sebastian gestured for Kelos to step forward, before drawing a circle on his forehead in the pungent oil. He did the same for the rest of the party, the ritual circle closing behind them once he had made the last mark.
“Brother Sebastian, this is pointless,” Kelos said. “Trust me on this. Reach for the threads. Go on, see what you find.”
“I do not need to reach for the threads,” the Final Faith sorcerer said, throwing up his arms to encompass the room. “We are surrounded by power. I, Brother Sebastian, will be the first person to channel raw magic. The power of this ritual will make me amongst the most favoured of Katherine Makennon’s mages.”
“Really, this so-called power is not what you think. Brother Sebastian, there is no magic on this world. Your spell will fail.”
“Silence him,” the mage said, and one of the Faith’s soldiers held his sword to Kelos’s throat. “Ignacio, are we ready?”
“We are ready, Brother Sebastian. Take us home.”
The sorcerer took hold of one of the cables running into the floor and tugged with all his might. For a moment it appeared that his strength wouldn’t be up to the task, but eventually, with a fizzing pop, the cable came free, sparks cascading from its end, filling the chamber with the smell of ozone.
“Behold, my children. Raw magic. The very clay the Lord of All moulded in shaping the universe.”
Silus didn’t know a great deal about the workings of sorcery, but he was fairly sure that whatever was running through the cable in Brother Sebastian’s hand, it wasn’t magic. What the sorcerer planned to do with such energy, he dreaded to think.
Brother Sebastian took his place in the ritual circle, holding onto the left hand of the man to his right, while the woman to the sorcerer’s left laid her hand on his shoulder.
“The circle is complete. The ritual can begin.”
Brother Sebastian threw back his head as the rest of the circle bowed theirs. “Lord of All, channel through me your eternal glory, so that we may return home and bring these heretics, criminals and usurpers into your just and merciful care. Lord, I am your vessel. Fill me with your power!”
And with that, Brother Sebastian pushed the sparking cable against the exposed flesh of his chest.
There was a blinding flash and the lights in the vast chamber went out, only for the scene before them to be illuminated by a strange, ethereal glow. Silus blinked away the purple blotches swimming in his vision as he tried to understand what he was seeing.
The ritual circle twitched and danced as tongues of lightning sparked between them. The shock of hair rising from each celebrant’s head would have been comical were they not quite clearly dead, their flesh cooking where they stood. The only thing that prevented them from falling to the floor was the brilliant energy that bound them together, encasing each of them in a fine web of living fire. More sickening than this strange sight was the smell rising from the bodies. If you closed your eyes it could be mistaken for roasting pork, and Silus was appalled to find his stomach responding with a hungry gurgle.
“Zac, don’t look,” he shouted. But it was too late, and there was worse to come.
They cried out in horror as one of the women in the circle was suddenly consumed by flames, great black clouds rolling from her body as it burned. Silus flinched when her eyes burst in the heat, showering him with boiling vitreous humour. And then the whole circle succumbed to the conflagration, enclosing those within in a ring of fire. They started to choke as smoke enveloped them. Silus tried to shield Zac and Katya from the intense heat, but it was no use, his shirt was already smouldering on his back. If they didn’t break out of the circle, they’d cook along with the ring of corpses.
With a snap, Brother Sebastian’s left arm fell from his body — the burnt charcoal of his limb shattering as it hit the floor — followed by the cable, its power now spent.
Seeing their chance, Silus grabbed hold of Katya and shouted, “Everybody with me. Quickly!”
Shielding his head with his arm, Silus charged, colliding with one of the burning bodies, barging out of the circle in a shower of flames and sparks. He looked down and, seeing that the ends of his trousers had caught fire, batted out the flames before turning to check that they had all made it through.
Fifteen soot-stained faces stared back at him. Behind them, the bodies in the ritual circle were beginning to gutter out, the human candles that had burnt so brilliantly crumbling to ash as they watched.
“I told you,” Kelos cried, rounding on Ignacio. “I told you there was no magic. Are you going to continue with this charade, or can we have the real Ignacio back now?”
“I suggest that we keep this argument for later,” Silus said. “Right now, I think that we should be tending to the wounded of the settlement. Ignacio, perhaps you and your remaining men can help try and clear up some of the damage you’ve done?”
Ignacio looked about him like a man emerging from a dream. His shaking hand ventured to his sword before falling away. Behind him, one of the surviving members of the Swords whispered into his ear, a woman with jet-black hair and striking features. Ignacio’s gaze cleared as she spoke, and Silus was appalled to see something of his earlier fanaticism and hatred return.
“We will not sully our hands attending to the heathens,” he said, straightening. “We will see to our own dead.”
“Then we’ll leave you to them,” Silus said, leading the way out of the crippled engine room, followed by his weary companions.
They headed for the exit from the ship, but before they could reach it there was a terrific bang and a metal stanchion swung free from the ceiling, smashing into the wall just inches from where they stood. All around them the ship was beginning to creak and shudder, groaning like a galleon caught in a maelstrom. The floor shook and buckled, rivets popping free from the metal plating of the deck.
“What’s happening?” Silus shouted.
“We have to get off the ship,” Illiun said, forcing his way past the broken stanchion.
Outside, things were no better. Great cracks raced across the ground, zigzagging across the settlement, swallowing up houses and people. Clouds of dust shot out of the rents in the earth, obscuring the scene before them, but doing nothing to hide the screams of the people caught up in the chaos. Above them, the sky darkened and there was a rumble of thunder; a vicious wind whipped up seemingly out of nowhere, to tug at their clothes and steal the breath from their lungs.
“Illiun,” Silus shouted. “What is it? An earthquake?”
“It’s the entity,” he said. “It’s found us. I knew that it was too late. I’m sorry, so sorry. I tried, really I did.” He fell to his knees and began to sob, his grief consuming him more wholly than the desire to preserve his own life.
And then there was silence.
The cloud obscuring the settlement slowly dispersed. People wandered out of the mists, pale as phantoms, powdered from head to foot in dust. There was no sign of the storm now. It has dissipated as quickly as it had rolled in. Above them was a brilliant blue sky, but there, on the edge of the horizon, was a smudge, a smear of darker colour as though dusk had come early.
“Dunsany, do you still carry your telescope?” Silus said.
“Yes, why?”
“Hand it to me, please.”
Silus trained the telescope on the horizon.
It wasn’t dusk that he saw there, however, but the upper edge of a great azure disk.
Bestion knew exactly what it was. “Allfather! Allfather, you have returned to us. Lord, I knew that you would hear my call.”
And indeed it was the Allfather. Rising above the desert plain, casting its shadow across the whole settlement, was the god they all knew intimately.
“It has come,” Illiun wailed. “Our end has arrived. The entity is here.”
Silus realised that this was the threat Illiun had been talking about all along; this was the entity that had made exiles of his people.
Kerberos.