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.
