The Dying of the Light (60 page)

“My turn,” Skulduggery said, stepping away from Valkyrie. He hefted the God-Killer sword as Ravel and Saracen appeared on the rooftop opposite. Saracen already had an arrow nocked in the bow. Skulduggery and Ravel jumped down into the square.

There was a squeal of protesting metal, and then Darquesse stumbled from the smoking wreckage. Saracen let loose the arrow, but Darquesse whirled, snatched it from the air before it hit her. Saracen sent two more after it, keeping her busy while Skulduggery ran up behind her. She snatched both arrows and broke them, then ducked the swing that would have taken her head from her shoulders. Skulduggery spun, the blade going low for her legs, but again Darquesse moved just out of range, almost stepping straight towards Ravel’s spear. At the last moment, though, she seemed to sense he was there, and she slipped sideways and backed away from them both.

“Ravel?” she said, in a voice so loud Valkyrie could hear her from where she stood. “You’re working with
Ravel
, after what he did to Ghastly?”

“Until you’re dealt with,” Skulduggery said, “I’d make a deal with Mevolent himself.”

Saracen sent another arrow her way, but she caught it, stopping it millimetres from her eye.

“God-Killers,” she said. “And there I thought Tanith had destroyed them all.”

Valkyrie frowned. Darquesse was getting her cockiness back. She was being given time to recover.

“Let me guess,” Darquesse continued, “Billy-Ray, wasn’t it? He did something? Switched them? Oooh, that Billy-Ray. He is in
so
much trouble.”

“We’re giving you one last chance to surrender,” said Skulduggery.

Ravel hefted the spear and closed in. Skulduggery approached from the left. Darquesse smiled as she watched them come, moving slightly to avoid giving Saracen a clean shot.

“No you’re not,” she said. “If I surrender, you’re going to kill me immediately. I’m far too dangerous to be kept alive. Where would you put me? Not even the Cube could contain me now. No, you’re going to kill me. You just want me to make it easy on you by allowing you to get in close enough to do it. Sneaky, Skulduggery. Very sneaky.”

“Thought it was worth a try,” Skulduggery said. “I like this suit and I’d hate to see it crumpled.”

“Oh, yes, that’s the one you die in, isn’t it? In Cassandra’s vision? It’s a nice one, I have to admit. You look good in black. Dashing, even. I’m glad you didn’t try something silly like wearing the navy pinstripe. As if putting on different clothes would alter what’s going to happen. We’ve both seen it. We both know how you’re going to die. Out here, in the streets. Erskine and Saracen, though … now your deaths remain a mystery. Do I kill you here? Do I kill you now, or later? How badly injured are you? How long does it take you to die? Is it quick and merciful or slow and protracted? Questions, questions … And speaking of questions – Saracen, are you going to take this opportunity to finally tell us what your power is?”

“You’ll die wondering,” said Saracen from above.

“I like your optimism,” Darquesse responded. “But you all know I can kill you with a click of my fingers.”

“So click,” said Skulduggery.

Darquesse smiled.

Figures blurred past Valkyrie, forcing a startled cry from her lips. She hadn’t even heard them run up, and here they were, leaping off the edge of the building, diving gracefully into the square, spinning to land silently on their feet.

The vampires fell upon Darquesse. They may not have been as savagely powerful as their night-time selves, but they were strong and agile, and proved enough of a distraction to make Darquesse forget about clicking her fingers. There were twelve of them, twelve or fifteen, it was hard to count they were moving so fast. Darquesse lashed out, caught two of them by pure chance, but the others weren’t giving her time to get her bearings. She backed off, the vampires a constant whirling threat, avoiding her grabs and smacking her hands down when she raised them. Skulduggery went with them, jabbing at her with the sword whenever a space opened up.

Valkyrie’s attention was diverted by the cracks in the ground behind Darquesse, cracks that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Darquesse took another step backwards and Billy-Ray Sanguine reached up, grabbed her ankles, pulled her into the ground, down to her knees. The vampires broke off on cue and Skulduggery brought the sword down in an overhead swing—

—and Darquesse raised a hand and the sword hit an invisible barrier, centimetres from her skull.

Valkyrie’s eyes widened. Suddenly she could
see
the magic. Everyone in that square had an aura around them.

The vampires shone with a dull, pale blue. Saracen was surrounded by a deep purple, and Ravel by a strong shade of orange. Darquesse had a silver light that shone from deep within her, and it was this silver light that the sword was pressing against, trying to break through.

Skulduggery Pleasant burned with a brilliant red.

As Valkyrie watched, entranced by this new facet of her power, the silver light wrapped round the sword and she was about to cry out, to warn Skulduggery, when the blade shattered. Darquesse grabbed him, threw him into Saracen just as he was about to let loose another arrow. The vampires renewed their attack, but Darquesse was ready for them. The silver light pulsed and three vampires exploded into nothingness.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Valkyrie could still see their swirling colours, now without physical forms to inhabit – their magic, their energy, feeding back into the world in a continuous stream of life and death. She looked at her own hand, turning it, mesmerised by the new brilliance that shone through her skin from within. She could almost see her veins, her capillaries, the bones of her fingers … and then Darquesse flew by and knocked her off her feet. She went rolling across the roof, and when she stopped her hand was normal and the brilliant colours were gone.

She looked up as Darquesse flew in great loops and steep dives, trying to outrun the two arrows that chased her. Skulduggery lifted Saracen, dropped him to the roof and he nocked an arrow and let it fly. This arrow went at Darquesse from another angle and she barely avoided it. It swerved when it missed, joined the other two in pursuit. Darquesse flew straight up, into the clouds. The arrows followed.

Ravel landed nearby in a gust of wind, helped Valkyrie to her feet before she even knew what was happening. She shook his hand off, but she doubted he noticed. He stood with Skulduggery and Saracen, peering up, as if he were still part of the team.

Skulduggery looked back at her. “Your turn’s coming up.”

Valkyrie nodded. The fear she felt was not just in anticipation of the conflict with Darquesse, it was also about the fact that her life now lay in the hands of the two most incompetent zombies who had ever died.

Scapegrace fought well.

In his imagination, he fought well. He ducked and whirled and countered and parried and thrust. In his imagination, the sword was an extension of his arm, and he was magnificent.

In reality, things weren’t quite so impressive.

He swung his sword a hundred times and a hundred times the Guardian wasn’t there any more. A step to the side or a step backwards or a step forward, and Scapegrace would miss and go stumbling and the Guardian would then turn to Thrasher and fend off his ridiculous attacks. Compared to this porcelain-faced stranger, they were clumsy idiots who didn’t know what the hell they were doing.

But then, compared to anyone, they were clumsy idiots who didn’t know what the hell they were doing.

But Scapegrace didn’t give up. He couldn’t. His sword clanged against the Guardian’s. This wasn’t about him any more. He knew how pathetic he was. He could see through all of his past delusions. He was a joke. A punchline. But so what? None of it mattered. What mattered was winning. What mattered was helping Valkyrie Cain save the world.

He turned again as Thrasher distracted the Guardian. Maybe this was his chance. Now, while the Guardian’s back was turned, while he was busy fighting Thrasher. Was it heroic, to stab an opponent in the back? Not in the slightest, but then Scapegrace wasn’t a hero. He was just a man, doing what he could to help others. He started forward, and then the Guardian plunged his sword through Thrasher’s head.

“No!” Scapegrace shrieked as Thrasher crumpled, the sword still lodged in his skull. Blind rage seized Scapegrace’s mind and suddenly he was throwing his own sword down and diving at the Guardian.

They rolled across the ground, but Scapegrace was the first up, his teeth gritted, hatred burning in his eyes. Again and again, his fist came down on the Guardian’s unbreakable face. He tried to keep the anger going, tried to draw strength from it, but he was weak and getting weaker. It was as if Thrasher, that idiot Thrasher, had been his strength all along, and now that he was lost …

Scapegrace fell back into a sitting position. The Guardian lay there, looking at him. Then he sat up.

“You have passed the final test,” he said.

Scapegrace didn’t care.

“The skeleton began the trials,” the Guardian continued. “He was told the first test was a test of purity. But all the tests have been tests of purity. You have passed the most important test of all. You are pure of heart, Vaurien Scapegrace.”

“Thrasher was pure of heart. Not me. I’m selfish, and mean, and stupid. What about me is pure, eh? If you think you can see something pure in me, you tell me what it is.”

“I can see into your soul,” said the Guardian. “The things you say about yourself are true. But the pure of heart rise from humble beginnings. Sometimes all you need is one single moment to redeem yourself.”

“And I had that, did I?”

“You had. You had a moment of pure compassion. It was fleeting. In fact, I almost missed it. But it was there. In that moment, thinking about your friend, you were pure of heart. And now the sigil is yours to activate.”

The Guardian opened his robes. A light burned where his heart should have been. Without even being told, Scapegrace knew what to do. He reached for that light, felt the warmth on his dead skin, and seized it. The light flared, spreading through hidden veins in the Guardian’s face, and got so bright Scapegrace had to look away. When it faded, and he looked back, his hand was empty and the Guardian was gone. The hourglass turned slowly, and sand began to flow.

“I did it,” Scapegrace said. “I … I did it.”

From behind him, the weakest of voices. “I always … knew you would, Master …”

Scapegrace spun round to his hands and knees, crawled quickly over to where Thrasher lay. He took Thrasher’s hand, held it tightly.

“It has been an … honour … serving you, sir,” Thrasher said.

“Oh, you idiot, what have you done?”

“I seem to have a … a sword stuck through my brain, sir. That’s … that’s not good, is it?”

“It isn’t.”

“I thought as much. Master … there are some things I wish to say …”

“Call me Vaurien.”

Thrasher’s eyes blinked back tears that would never fall. “Vaurien,” he breathed. “What a beautiful name.”

“Thank you, Gerald.”

A peaceful smile blossomed. “Vaurien, until I met you, my life was … unexceptional. I was a lonely man. I had no friends. I had no … one.”

“Hush, Gerald,” said Scapegrace. “Save your strength.”

“I must speak, Vaurien. I have so much to say, so little … time. I met you and my life … ended. And yet … it began.”

“Oh, God …”

“I’ve never been a brave person,” said Thrasher. “I’ve never seen myself as being worthy of the things other people take for … for granted. Of being liked. Of being loved. But Vaurien, you … you make me brave.”

“I treated you terribly.”

A soft chuckle. “You did.”

“I insulted you, I treated you like a fool. I should have valued every moment with you.”

“I valued our moments enough … for both of us. I … oh, Vaurien, I feel myself slipping …”

“Hold on, Gerald. I’ll get help, I’ll—”

“It’s too late for me, my master. But I want you to know that I will always be with you … I will always be right …” – he raised his hand, and his finger tapped against Scapegrace’s chest – “… here …”

Despite himself, Scapegrace smiled. “You’re quoting from
ET
at a time like this?”

“I love that movie,” Thrasher said, his voice no more than a whisper. “But I love you … more.”

And then his eyes closed, and he went limp.

Scapegrace’s body was incapable of producing tears, but he cried nonetheless. He cried for his friend, his companion, for the one person who always stuck by him, no matter what. He cried for the man Gerald had been, the man he had become, and the man he would now never be. And he cried for himself, for the loneliness that was now gripping what was left of his heart, a heart that didn’t beat, suddenly realising that if by some miracle it started to pump blood once again, it would have probably beaten for Gerald.

Scapegrace got up slowly, seized the hilt of the Guardian’s sword, and with great effort he pulled the blade from the head of his friend.

Immediately, Thrasher opened his eyes. “Oh. I think that did it.”

Scapegrace yelped, dropping the blade as he jumped back.

Thrasher sat up. “These new brains are remarkable,” he said. “I suppose there’s something to be said for having the brain of a vegetable after all, eh?”

Scapegrace stared as Thrasher got to his feet. The idiot grinned at him.

“Those were some pretty nice things you were saying to me. Maybe we needed this. From this moment on, Vaurien, maybe we can be equals? If we’re careful, we have a hundred lifetimes to look forward—”

“Shut up.”

Thrasher blinked. “Vaurien?”

“You call me Master. I was just being nice to you because I thought you were dying.”

“I was dying.”

“You’re not any more. Now you’re just an idiot with a hole through his head.”

“But … all those things you said to me … You called me Gerald.”

“Gerald is a stupid name for a zombie. Your name is Thrasher. Your name will always be Thrasher.”

Thrasher slumped. “Yes, sir.”