Worldsoul

Gremory hissed when she saw it.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s from the heavens. A meteorite.”

“It’s not the Ka’aba.”

“No, another. Older. Still worshipped.”

“We don’t-” Shadow stopped. “Well, never mind. I don’t see any signs of people.”

They approached the black stone. It had fused with the surrounding earth, reminding Shadow of the flower strike that had destroyed Elemiel’s hut. Something flickered along its length as Shadow thought this, and then the demon cried out.

“Shadow!”

She felt the scorch of it through the veil, but the veil itself saved her hair from catching fire. The thing shot over her head, rolling against the base of the rock. Shadow scrambled up; to her dismay, this was not another earth- creature. It was made of fire, a flicker of bright flame in a shift of rainbow colours. It smelled of hot metal. It turned to come at her again and Shadow ran.

Her first thought was to find water. Paper, scissors, stone… Metal trumps earth and water trumps fire. She needed a stream and she found one, but it was only a rivulet of water, a trickle, running between narrow crumbling banks in the grass. It was perhaps two feet wide and shallow, not enough to cover her. The thing hissed as it sprang and at its brightness, Shadow shut her eyes and stepped backwards over the stream. Then there was a sound like a crack of lightning and flame erupted behind Shadow’s eyelids. She opened her eyes, half-blinded, to see only a thin wisp of smoke. Elemiel stood before her, with a flaming sword in his hand.

“Hello again,” the Messenger said.

“So this is-what? Your home?”

They sat by the stream. Shadow’s feet were in cool water. Elemiel sat cross-legged in the grass. Some distance away, Gremory paced like a prowling cat, intent on her own thoughts.

“No. But I can come here.”

“When we met you-”

“Still the same place. It’s changed over time. Thirty thousand years or more.”

Shadow eyed the Messenger with respect. “You’re a long-lived species.”

His smile was sad. “Too long.”

“Your house has been destroyed, I’m afraid,” Shadow told him, but she wondered whether this would really mean anything. After all, a garden had died; a desert had taken its place and that desert itself had shifted and changed so much as to be almost unrecognisable. He did not seem surprised.

“I know. Are you all right?”

“I think so. Were they aiming for me, or for you?”

“Both.”

“So who’s the enemy?”

“I said I’d show you. And so I will.”

“The spirit-” Shadow began.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I did not succeed in what I set out to do; I’ve made matters worse for you.”

She did not want to say: it’s all right. It wasn’t.

“I don’t know what to do now,” she said.

“Nor do I,” the Messenger admitted. “But I think it’s brought you here. That’s a good thing and a bad thing.”

“I don’t like ‘bad thing.’ ”

“Who does?”

Forty-One

Mercy woke to a room thronging with shadows. They hummed and whispered about her head, like a host of moths. Her skin crawled with them and there was a buzzing in her ears. But she knew what it meant. Unless she was greatly mistaken, it meant she was alive.

“Ka? Are you there?” she hissed. She did not want to speak Perra’s name, not knowing who might be listening; a name could be used against its bearer. She waited, but there was only the sibilance of the shadows. Light was coming from somewhere, but it was diffuse. It was enough to see the flitting, flickering shades.

And the place stank. After a moment, Mercy decided she was not detecting this with her nose: it was more like a spiritual stench. She sat up. She did not seem to be restrained in any way, and this in itself was ominous, suggesting as it did that her captors did not need to place her in bonds as they were confident of her inability to escape.

Captors. Her hand hurt like hell. She remembered falling from the turret but not anything after that, although her back and the backs of her legs felt bruised. What had happened to the homunculus? Evidently not with her in the room, otherwise she doubted she’d be alive. If she had died, then so would it, but they were programmed to finish the job. It evidently didn’t work the other way around, as she was fairly sure that she’d killed it, but then she was the original and it was just a copy.

Stiffly, she got off the low pallet on which she’d been lying and looked around the room. Enough light to see that it was an even square, windowless. She could see the faint rusty traces of sigils on the walls: a containment cell, then. But perhaps not usually for human beings. Then she turned and saw with a shock that ran electric through her that the light was coming from something’s eyes.

They shone out, huge and a pallid yellow, from the other side of the room. As she stared, the head tilted. She could see it faintly: a long hairless skull, ridged with cartilage. Its body was white, with long arms hunched around its knees. When it was sure it had got its full attention, it uttered a shriek, leaped to its feet and threw a handful of something at her.

Mercy ducked and the stuff whistled over her head and splattered against the opposite wall. There was the sudden, overpowering smell of shit. The thing capered, ran up the opposite wall and clung, upside down, from the ceiling, where it gave voice to another gibbering shriek. It was at least the size of a man, but its arms were longer.

A shit-flinging monkey demon. Great.

Frantically, Mercy ran through a mental magical arsenal. The Irish sword had been removed and so had her hairpins. The charm was no longer in her ear and her ward bracelets had also been taken away. That left the tattooed sigils, which she had reaffirmed with a paste made of powdered myrrh and dragon’s blood resin that morning. She clapped a hand to her brow, transferred the sigil to her palm and threw it. Her injured hand burned with its passage.

The sigil spiralled outwards like a throwing star. It stuck the monkey-demon full on and knocked it from the ceiling. Howling, it rushed forwards, its arms flailing. Mercy threw herself to the side and dodged under its arm, hurling herself to the other side of the room. She knew she could not keep this up indefinitely, but what was the alternative?

The monkey-demon turned with frightening speed. Mercy kicked it in the stomach, grabbed its wrist and threw. The demon sprawled to the floor but her move, which would have broken a human’s arm, had merely twisted the demon’s. Mercy saw its muscles rippling back into place as she watched. The thing grinned at her, displaying long yellow teeth. It wasn’t quite a monkey, and not quite a man either.

“Nice try,” it said, and buffeted her on the side of the head. Mercy went down, feigning more dizziness than she felt and kicked its feet from under it. It fell, sprawling, then reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. It was certainly as strong as a gibbon. It hauled her first to her feet and then off them. Its other hand came up, clasped her round the throat and banged her head against the wall. The room exploded into a firework of lights.

“That’s enough,” a voice said. Mercy was abruptly released.

“No! More!”

“Do as you’re told.” The man spoke perfunctorily, almost absent-minded. Still seeing stars, Mercy heard him