Chaos Broken (23 page)

Sariel lifted his head from his hands and I saw hate and despair in the depths of his eyes. ‘Did you come for me?'

I took a breath. ‘Yes.'

‘If I can help you, I will.' His voice was thin but eager.

I sat down opposite him, my fingers brushing the table, picking up dust. ‘I need information. There's a killer using Calling Circles filled with numbers, all crammed together, like they mean something. The victims are placed in the middle and stabbed in the chest.'

Sariel's hands withdrew to his side. ‘Anything unusual about the wounds?'

‘Not really. The killer does carry around an old sword though,' I said. ‘And after they're dead, the bodies decay rapidly to dust.'

‘In the levels of magic, there are the lightcraft and the darkcraft,' Sariel said, voice low and earnest. ‘Both are considered low-magic, a type of earthbound craft. Immortals use high-magic, which can tap into the ley-lines directly without a casting agent. Nephilim themselves are born with high-magic ability to blood cast.'

‘Is there a style of high-magic that uses numbers?' I said.

‘Yes.' Sariel nodded his head. ‘It's a style called thaumaturgy. It relies on precise calculations to ascertain where the ley-lines rest and to access them through equations. It was traditionally only used by the Unclean Ones, as was chaos magic. The thaumaturgy spells were a counter to chaos magic, like dark is to lightcraft. It is order, the order of numbers and abstract structures.'

‘Sounds like a pretty involved way to get a spell going,' I said. ‘What did the Unclean Ones use thaumaturgy for?'

‘It was a way of drawing more power into their bodies, to prepare for war in their attempt to return to the heavens. But the power of the ley-lines was too powerful and rotted the body from within, if wielded for too long.' Sariel smiled, flashing sharp teeth. ‘And that was the risk to an immortal. For a human? The results would be devastating. Nothing flesh is able to contain that kind of power for too long.' He paused. ‘But you did mention the one doing this had a sword. Perhaps that is his focal point of power, to spare his body. A sword fuelled by this magic would still infect the user, but it might take more time to do so.'

‘So, all the victims he's killing inside these high-magic Calling Circles, they're not to call up something from the Pit?' I asked.

‘They would not even be Calling Circles. More like a portal for power.'

‘What about the state of the victims?' I tried to ignore Gorath's impatient glare.

‘At a guess, the degradation that occurred after death could be a leaching of life-force into the object that killed them.'

I paused, wondering what Kalin was preparing for, what he wanted with a power that would kill him. An even more interesting question was, who had taught him this ancient magic?

‘That's enough, now,' Gorath said. ‘I want you to leave, Lora.'

Looking up at him, I saw an desperation in Gorath's face. It was as if he needed this time alone with Sariel to exorcise his demons, and me being here was upsetting this delicate balance. I felt a stab of worry for Manika. Did she realise how deep Gorath's pain was? Her love hadn't managed to completely redeem him, and the realisation caused an unbearable sadness to rise in my chest.

‘Please, just one more question,' I said. ‘This is important…brother.' The word was odd-shaped in my mouth. I still wasn't convinced we were related, but I knew Gorath believed it. Which meant he had a weakness that I could exploit. Gorath frowned at me, as if he knew I was trying to manipulate him, but said nothing.

I turned to Sariel. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me about this magic?'

The angel's head swayed weakly from side to side. ‘That is all I can tell you.'

I stood, but I suddenly felt unsure about leaving. I owed Sariel nothing and knew he didn't deserve any mercy. But I'd couldn't help but feel Gorath was making a terrible mistake by coming back to this horror from his childhood. He might think it somehow therapeutic, but wasn't the best revenge living a good life? Of course I hadn't been locked up in a dark basement, so maybe I wasn't in any position to make a judgement call.

Gorath sensed where my thoughts ran and shook his head. ‘Just leave, Lora. There's nothing you could say to me, nothing that you could do, that would change the past. But rest assured, I will not allow my darkness to consume me. I owe Manika and my unborn child a normal life. This is the one place I can expel the evil inside me. How else do you think I managed to turn away from the life I thought I was doomed to live?'

Sariel gave a thin laugh. ‘You are an abomination, son. You have no chance of a normal life.'

‘Don't call him
son
,' I snapped, shoving my previous feelings of pity aside. I got to my feet, staring down at the creature that had troubled our lives since childhood. ‘You are not our father. Gorath was an orphan and Gideon was my father. Even if we have your blood, you're nothing to us.'

‘You hear that?' Gorath swung a fist and knocked Sariel from the chair. The angel curled up into a ball on the ground, ratty soot-coloured wings scratching against the ground. ‘Your own daughter rejects you again. You're the one who is doomed to an eternity of misery.'

‘You forget yourself,' Sariel cried. ‘You are the monster I created and it is you who will destroy all that you love.'

‘Don't you talk about my family.' Gorath kicked Sariel's back. ‘You don't get to talk about my family, not ever.'

Nauseated at this show of violence, I raised an imploring hand to Gorath. ‘Please. This isn't right, brother.'

He stabbed a finger at me. ‘Leave. Right now.'

The rage in his face told me he was beyond reason, so I turned and left, trying to block out the sound of Sariel's cries for mercy.

The next morning saw me making my way to Blackgoat, in my best conservative outfit and nicest bowler hat, in preparation for a few client meetings that morning. In light of Kalin's bloodthirsty activities and a generally jumpy feeling, I was also wearing the derringer arm-rig and a blade sheathed down my bra. I leaned heavily on my cane as I walked along the footpath and my eyelids felt heavy from lack of sleep, the image of Gorath attacking Sariel plaguing my dreams all night like an aftershock.

Two blocks from my destination, I realised people around me were rushing by. Thundering hooves sounded, then two Witch Hunter units thundered past, pedestrians and road traffic scrambling to get out of their way. I grabbed a street kid as he zoomed past me. He gave a little yip and tried to wriggle free.

‘I'm clean,' he squealed. ‘Promise!'

‘What's going on?' I asked.

‘The Grigori have a witch on trial in the city square,' he said, still struggling.

Ice flooded my veins. If a darkcraft witch was caught alive, they had a private trial. They weren't made a spectacle. This was something new, and very worrying.

I followed the crowds, slowly heading towards Avalon Square. As I passed an alleyway, a flicker of movement caught my eye. Something heavy knocked against my jaw, then yanked me inside the narrow street. My head slammed against a wall and my vision swam before focusing on a pair of yellow eyes, burning bright over a cruel smile.

Kalin
.

I'd already pinched salt and cast out a quick spell. But instead of feeling the magic connect with the ley-lines, my salt sprinkled harmlessly over his shoulders. Kalin crossed his arms and I realised he looked bigger since our run-in at the Church of Saint Pendergrast. His yellow eyes almost glowed and his cheekbones were sunken.

My fingers twitched for the dagger in my bra, but I stayed my hand. ‘What a lovely surprise. I've been looking for you.'

Kalin smiled, displaying a row of grey, rotten teeth. ‘And here I am.'

‘I heard you'd been having loads of fun slaughtering citizens.'

‘Necessary sacrifices,' Kalin said. ‘For the greater good, you understand.'

‘It always is.' My eyes scoured the recesses of the alley. ‘Where are your side-kicks?'

‘My loyal followers have served their purpose.'

‘What does that mean?'

Kalin just tapped his nose in reply and said nothing.

‘Why are you here, Kalin?' I changed tack. ‘Are you surrendering into my custody?'

He barked a hoarse laugh. ‘No, the time to step from the shadows has not arrived yet.'

I searched behind him. ‘You got that dirty old sword of yours here? Looking to make me your next sacrifice?'

‘The Athame is somewhere safe. I do not need it here.'

‘Athame? Don't tell me you named your sword. What are you, three years old?'

His smile vanished, leaving behind a mask devoid of emotion. ‘You should not go to the city square. I still have need of you.'

‘How reassuring,' I said. ‘What's happening in Avalon Square?'

‘Haven't you heard?' he asked. ‘Last night the Council of Ten reinstated an old law, allowing the Order of Guides impunity in persecuting heretics. There are going to be public executions for those the Order even suspects of darkcraft.'

‘That's insane,' I said. Outside the alley voices were raised in alarm and I made out shouting in the distance. My skin crawled with dawning horror. Could Laeonder somehow have forced the Council of Ten to allow this barbaric law to be passed?

Sensing Kalin distracted by the shouting in the distance, I grabbed the dagger from my bra and plunged it into the dead centre of his chest. Kalin stumbled back, eyes dropping to the worn leather hilt in his chest.

‘You left me no choice, kid,' I said. I wanted to ask him questions about what he was doing using high-magic, but was distracted by the lack of blood around the wound. Kalin just looked amused. He wrapped a hand around the hilt and pulled the blade out with one swift movement, then threw it aside, the steel clattering against the cobblestones.

‘The power I've been gathering protects me from harm,' he said. ‘You cannot touch me with spells and steel.'

‘Sounds like I need to make a bigger hole.' I engaged the quick-draw rig, the derringer shooting into my hand and I pulled off a shot. Kalin waved a hand and the shot went wide, even though my aim was true.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I recalled Sariel's crash-lesson about thaumaturgy magic. ‘Where did you learn high-magic?' I asked.

Kalin looked surprised. ‘What do you know of it?'

‘Enough to know it will kill you.'

‘I am not dying. My body is only beginning the transformation.'

My brows knitted. ‘Into what?'

He gave a hoarse laugh, ending in a coughing fit. When he was done, he wiped his hand on his pants, leaving a bloody smear, then grinned at me. ‘Something more than this shell. I am the herald, announcing the coming of the Howling King, for those who care to heed the warning.'

‘Oh, for the love of…' I rubbed my eyes. ‘Not this shit again. Who taught you the prophecy of the Howling King? Was it your father?'

‘My father?' Kalin snorted. ‘No. A great man told me. A great man who taught me everything.'

‘Your tutor,' I guessed. ‘From the Order. Why did he teach you this magic? Why tell you about the Howling King?'

‘Because he believed it to be true. Enough to give his life for it.'

‘What was his name?' I asked, but had a terrible idea that I already knew. My path had already crossed with a monk from the Order of Guides who had dabbled with forbidden magic and who had believed in the Dreadwitch and Howling King prophecy. A monk with the Key of Aldebaran, who had been intent on using my blood to unlock its spells.

‘His name was Ambrose,' Kalin said. ‘He treated me like his son and you killed him.'

‘That's right.' I suddenly understood what flavour of crazy I was dealing with here. ‘And he deserved his death. He wanted to open the gates of the Pit in an attempt to bring about an Armageddon. I let him burn in that filthy, darkcraft-infested study of his, and I'd do it again.'

A darkness rippled across Kalin's face: a dirty mix of insanity and rage. ‘I will be delighted when the Howling King rips your spine out, Dreadwitch.'

‘Just to check, are we talking about a metaphysical Howling King?' I asked. ‘Or a real-fucking-live one? I already know someone who believed his destiny was to become the Howling King and he rejected it, so forgive me for checking.'

‘There are only a few who are fit to take on this mantel,' Kalin crowed. ‘And only one who will embrace it.' A dreamy expression came over his face. ‘We are close to the time now and I wanted you to remember, when the sky fills with fire and the earth to ash, that it was me who made it so. That I was the instrument of your undoing. You will be ready, but it will not be enough.'

‘Ready for what?'

Screams sounded nearby and I drew my sword instinctually and turned. But nothing more happened and the street looked almost empty.

‘He is rising,' Kalin said from behind me. ‘And you will be ready.'

Looking back, I realised I was alone in the narrow alley. Swearing, I collected my dagger and hurried to the main street. Whoever Kalin's intended Howling King was, I needed to find out and quickly. But first, I needed to see what was happening in Avalon Square.

***

Avalon Square was the centre point of the city. Hemmed by law offices and temples, it was often filled with politicians or tourists. The sprawling City Hall was the focus, with its eye-catching ornate columns and arching doorways.

The weekend was usually dedicated to markets, but when I broke into the square at an ambling run, I couldn't see a single vendor or tent. Instead, around twenty Thesma Regulators in full regalia sat on horseback near the square's fountain. People huddled together in patchy crowds, the atmosphere thick with fear. A pyre had been built and an unconscious woman was tied to the stake at its centre. Her hair had been shorn off and from the patches of blood on her scalp, I doubted the haircut was by choice. I moved forward, joining a group of citizens.