GAH!! 17 Pages!
Whoa. It's taken me nearly a month to get this done. It's turned out to be a LOT longer than I expected, and frankly, it sometimes felt like I was never going to get it done. But it is done, though, and I'm glad I got it done.
For a few moments, Sara stared, unbelieving, at the face in the mirror before her. Slowly, she brought a tremulous hand up, starting as she felt her fingers brush against her cheek.
“That’s me,” she whispered. “That’s me. But how-” She drew a long, shuddering breath, blinking back tears. “Why? Mother?”
Her mother’s voice came to her as if from far away. This is your legacy, my child, from me to you. Do you like it?
Sara swallowed. “Is this-is this my magic?”
It is but a part of it, came the reply. The rest will come to you, in the fullness of time.
The young woman laid the mirror back on the table. “I’m beautiful, mother,” she said, after a while. “I’m beautiful.” She smiled, trying very hard not to start crying again.
There was the sound of laughter in the voice as it spoke. Why, you have always been beautiful, my daughter. Always. Never forget that. Now, to work, my child. You have much to do tonight.
Sara stood with her head bowed over the table for a few minutes. Then, she straightened. “What should I do, mother?”
Well, said her mother’s voice, do you remember how you returned here, Sara?
The young woman nodded.
Then you have your answer, my dear. I suggest you open that window, step out onto the rooftops, and run!
There was a long, silent moment in the attic as Sara absorbed this new instruction. “On the roof?”
Where else, my dear? replied her mother airily. When I was a girl, we used to race each other along the rooftops of our city. We could cover miles in a morning, from the center of the city to the outer harbor, where we would watch the locks open to let the ships into the canals, and then we would run back home to breakfast. The voice paused. My child, I implore you, trust me. You can do this. You have done this once already.
Sara laid a hand on the window catch. “It…just seems so impossible. ” She looked down at herself and laughed. “It’s just like Cinderella, isn’t it? Only there isn’t really a ball for me to go to. Among other things.” She undid the catch and slid open the window.
I do believe we may be able to rectify the situation, said her mother, as Sara clambered awkwardly out the window. Placing her hand upon the sash, she slid it almost closed, leaving only a gap large enough to slide her fingers through.
“It’s cold tonight,” she said. “I daren’t leave Vicky lying there with the window open-it’s already bad enough with it closed, and the poor thing was sitting up to take care of me.” She paused, as if thinking. Then, decisively, she opened the window again, slipped inside, took the blanket from her bed, and placed it over Vicky’s shoulders.
Slipping out again, the young woman clambered up to the very top of the roof. Looking along the row of houses, she took a deep breath, braced herself-and took off.
It seemed almost effortless, she thought, as the rooftops flashed by beneath her. The wall of a house, taller than the neighboring buildings, loomed up before her. Almost by reflex, she took a couple of quick steps, then jumped. Her right foot touched down, almost imperceptibly, upon the parapet, and then she was across the roof-only to realize she was running straight off the end of the row.
Her body reacted before her mind could register what had happened. As she reached the edge of the roof, she gathered her legs beneath her, and leapt.
For a few, incredible moments, she was airborne, flying over the street like a bird on the wing. Then, she landed, sprinting across the new row. She was laughing as she ran, the joyous sound carrying across the rooftops in the wind.
“Did you see, mother? I flew! I flew! ”
Her mother’s laughter echoed in her mind. Indeed, my daughter, indeed. You are a wonder, my child, and more-you are magic.
Sara slowed to a halt, arms outstretched. Overcome by joy, she spun, her arms outstretched. From the roof she was on, she could see the lights of the city burning brightly about her. “I can fly! ” she called, the wind carrying the joyous sound over the rooftops, echoing down gas-lit streets.
Oh, not quite yet, my daughter, not quite yet, said her mother. But that will come in time. I promise. Do you see now what you can do?
Sara nodded. “Yes, mother. Oh, yes.”
Good. Now, do you see that row of houses there? Sara turned until she was facing the row she thought her mother was speaking of. Run down there, my child.
Sara paused. “Is that where we need to go, mother?”
Yes, my dear. Now…
The young woman gathered herself, backed away from the edge of the roof, and leapt. Soon, she was running once more across the roofs, hurtling onward in the darkness to destinations unknown.
Turn right here, my dear. Sara obeyed, turning south at the crossroads, heading towards the river.
Her mother led her across the vast expanse of rooftops, sprinting from building to building, jumping from the lower rooftops to higher ones, leaping across the thoroughfares like a gazelle on the plains.
Finally, they came to a long row of expensive houses, lining a wide street parallel to a silent, tree-studded park.
“This is St. James’ Park,” Sara whispered. “We used to come here on Sundays. We’d have picnics here, after church. What are we doing here, mother?”
Look to the left, my dear. A dark stone pile sat on the eastern edge of the park. A few lights burned in scattered windows, lighting rooms still in use at this hour.
Sara leapt down from the roof, landing lightly on the pavement before crossing the road and descending a flight of steps to the park. Slowly, her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness-shapes in the darkness were gradually resolving themselves into trees, benches and outbuildings. She saw branches swaying in the night wind, fallen leaves whirling across the open spaces like dancers in the void. The dark buildings loomed up before her. Across a courtyard, an archway gaped open. A heavy lantern cast a flickering circle of light into the night. Mounted sentries stood watch by each of the arch’s columns, long shadows dancing, stretching away beyond the circle’s edge.
And, barely visible in the darkness, unseen by the unsuspecting guards, dark shapes clambered across the walls like malevolent spiders. As Sara watched, one crawled up to a window and disappeared inside.
The young woman froze. “M-mother?” she said. Suddenly, she found herself wishing she were back in the attic again. Even through the strangely warm jacket about her shoulders, she felt a chill run through her. The motion of the shapes, creeping like malevolent spiders across the dark stone, awakened something inside her-strange, old instincts she’d never known she’d had, part fear and part anger, urging her forward to battle while at the same time screaming in the dark recesses of her mind that these things were wrong, wrong, WRONG!
With a strangled cry, Sara leapt forward; it was only instants later that she realized she had not consciously done so. She raced across the grass, trees bending in the wake of her passing. She raised her hands, and twin haloes of actinic white light flickered into existence about them. She could see the cavalrymen start as they saw the light racing toward them out of the darkness. One of them reached into a saddle holster, drawing out a weapon-but she was already between them.
The bolt tore through the night like the wrath of heaven brought down to Earth. On either side of Sara, the soldiers cried out and covered their ears as their horses fled in terror, while on the walls, the crawling creatures screamed as fires of destruction seared the flesh from their bones.
As abruptly as it had appeared, the bolt vanished, darkness descending like a thrown drape as Sara, her legs suddenly gone weak, collapsed to her knees upon the hard ground. She shuddered. The feeling she’d had as she’d channeled the energy through her had been…incredible-no, even better than that. As her mind fumbled about, searching for a better word, the remembrance of the wondrous sensations sent yet another spasm of pleasure rushing through her, and yet-even as she cried out, she knew the sensation was empty, a mere shadow of the joy she’d known barely moments before. Barely had her joy subsided, than she felt herself slipping down into despair.
Sara. Her mother’s command, the tones ringing sharp and bell-like through the recesses of her mind, blew away the encumbering shrouds that had seemed to settle upon her. Shakily, Sara tried to rise, only to fall to one knee again. She could hear hoofbeats approaching, the heavy breathing of frightened horses held tightly under control by equally frightened riders. From inside the buildings came the sounds of shouting men and gunshots, punctuated by guttural snarling noises, and, occasionally, a long, drawn-out scream.
Sara stared wide-eyed at the grim stone face, the still, monolithic pile revealing nothing of the chaos that reigned within. Suddenly, she felt small. This wasn’t what she’d dreamed would happen. This wasn’t what she’d thought she wanted. She wanted to go home-yes, even to the attic where it was cold and dark and she didn’t have enough to eat. Better that than-
No! There was no tenderness in her mother’s voice now. Get up, my daughter-get up now! The tone of command was even stronger now. The young woman could feel the anger now, feel it roiling round the edges of her mind like waves from a stormy sea. She tried hard not to whimper as she blinked back tears.
Almost against her will, she found herself straightening. The hoofbeats stopped as the cavalrymen, seeing her rise to her feet, reined their mounts in. For a few, brief seconds, they saw her, standing alone in the center of the light, tears glistening upon her face. And then she was gone, seeming to the astonished men almost as if she’d flown away into the night.
It was then that the sounds of violence coming from within the buildings reached them, and the two began to look at each other in consternation, before descending from their saddles, drawing weapons, and, with the look of men entering a cave where dangerous creatures live, moved cautiously into the complex, revolvers at the ready.
Sara landed on the roof of the building, falling into a crouch to cushion her fall. She remained in that position for a few seconds, heart pounding in her chest as the sounds of fighting continued.
“I can’t do this, mother,” she said. “There’s just too much happening, and so many of them-and I don’t know what to do!” She stumbled to her feet, moving along the roof as if in a daze. “Why am I here, mother? What am I supposed to do?”
Her mother did not reply at once, and for a few panicked moments, Sara thought the spirit had abandoned her. Then, she spoke, and Sara stifled a half-sigh, half-sob of relief.
You are here because you are my daughter, and the last of my line, and because the safety of the world hinges upon your presence here. She paused, and Sara felt her frustration boiling through at the back of her mind. And still you are not ready. I had hoped for more time. My daughter, you must act. The consequences of our failure in this place are not to be thought of. These creatures must be stopped!
“But I don’t know what to do,” Sara replied. “I need more help, mother. Please, help me.”
She heard a sigh from her mother’s voice. Very well. Be prepared, young Sara. Close your eyes.
Sara came to a stop. Trying with all her might not to fall back to her knees, she closed her eyes.
She felt a jolt run through her, starting somewhere within her ribcage and traveling out to the ends of her limbs. As her eyes flew open, her body moved without her conscious bidding, powerful, graceful strides carrying her to the nearest skylight. Reaching the aperture, she somersaulted, hands landing upon the raised brick border around the opening before she pushed off once more, her momentum propelling her upright as she plunged through the glass feet-first, descending from the ceiling like some avenging angel of old.
Shards rained down on the floor below, where one of the creatures she’d seen before squatted like a malevolent toad, glaring down towards the end of the corridor at a mixed clump of soldiers and men in civilian clothing.
Sara’s feet caught the creature at the base of its neck, hammering it face-first into the ground. As the monster crashed to the floor, Sara fell forward, almost seamlessly transitioning from her position on top of the monster’s body into a perfect forward roll before coming to her feet, her own body pivoting as her right foot came up in a graceful arc to smash the creature’s jaw.
There was a sharp crack as Sara’s kick connected, crushing the dazed monster’s face into the wall. The young woman let her momentum carry her round, spinning to face her foe.
She caught a glimpse of hairless gray skin hanging loose from a thick neck, tiny yellow eyes squinting malevolently over a chinless, gaping mouth. Flabby lips drooled mucous-like saliva, leaving ugly stains across the carpet and on the wall where Sara’s blow had smashed it. And then her arms moved, stiffened fingers striking hard into the neck below the creature’s long jaw. She felt cartilage give way, heard the creature’s wheezing as it attempted to draw air through a crushed windpipe. The creature flailed wildly at her with a sinewy arm tipped with heavy claws. The young woman easily avoided the blow, ducking under the swing and stepping back. She turned to face the soldiers, leaving the beast to expire behind her.
They looked at her, wide-eyed, expressions of uncertainty upon their faces, their weapons held not quite pointed at the young woman. For a few long moments, nothing happened. And then, as the startled men watched, she turned and ran, leaping gazelle-like over the corpse and sprinting silent as a ghost down the corridor and around the nearest corner.
On Sara ran, through twisting corridors and up flights of stairs. All across the building, men fought desperate battles against snarling beasts, bullets and sword-blades bouncing off leathery hides. She came upon them, hands and feet flashing in deadly arcs, and each time, a creature died.
She came, under her mother’s control, to a small side-corridor, better lit and decorated than the rest. Two sentries lay slumped against the walls, unconscious. A few meters down the corridor, she saw the sloped backs of two more of the creatures bounding towards a door at the end. As she watched, one of the creatures turned, growled, and charged back down at her.
Sara ducked, letting the beast’s momentum carry it over her. Her right hand stabbed upward, striking it below the sternum. She felt the flesh tear as her blow connected, heard the beast’s bark of pain as the air was driven from its lungs. It landed badly, its forelegs slipping from under it as it crashed noisily to the ground. In two steps, Sara was upon it, springing onto its back, hand cocked to deliver a killing blow to the back of its skull, and struck.
As the beast writhed beneath her, its shattered brain still sending signals to its unwilling limbs, Sara turned and raced back down the corridor. The last creature was rearing before the door, forepaw raised to smash it to splinters. Sara’s charge caught it in the small of the back, pitching it forward into the door. There was a crash, and the door gave way, spilling both Sara and the creature into the room beyond. Sara’s hand flashed downward once more, ending the creature’s life as it sprawled upon the carpet.
Silence fell, blanketing the room like a heavy shroud. Slowly, Sara got up, ears open and alert for the slightest noise.
Nothing. The sounds of fighting from the rest of the building had ceased. Once or twice, the faint groans of injured men penetrated to her hearing.
“I-is it over?” she whispered. She felt a shiver run through her, and then the jolt, and she found that she could move of her own accord once more.
It is as finished as it will ever be, my child, she heard her mother say.
Sara collapsed, shuddering. She closed her eyes, feeling the hot tears leak out from behind her eyelids to fall to the carpet below. “I-it was horrible, mother,” she said, choking. She remembered the blood, the rank sewer-smell of the creatures as they howled at her, the feel of flesh and bone giving way beneath her blows, and closed her eyes even tighter, trying to block the images off from her mind.
It is always horrible, my child. It could not be otherwise, the first time you go into battle. Her mother’s voice was grim. I fear, my child, there are worse things yet to come.
“I didn’t want this, mother. I-I’m just a girl. All I did was dream, and pretend so things wouldn’t seem so hard. I didn’t want to have to fight and face these-these things and see people dying…”
And now the dream is over, her mother replied. And the waking is more terrible, and more beautiful-yes, beautiful!-than you could ever have imagined. Oh, my child, if only I had found you sooner!
“So that you could have made me fight for you?” Sara asked bitterly.
So that I might have prepared you, Sara. Just as my mother prepared me. You have a responsibility, Sara. It has been handed down from my grandmother’s great-grandmother, in the time before the first cities rose and humanity thought it could fly. In time it came to me, and now it must come to you.
“Should I want it, mother? Can I really save the world?”
Yes, my daughter. Yes. You should. You must. And you can. Because even a tiny pebble, rolling in just the right place, can move mountains-and you, my daughter, you are an avalanche on your own.
Sara was about to answer when she felt a chill running up her arms and down her back. A cold wind blew down the corridor, howling round the corners of the room like a mournful spirit, spraying dead, wet leaves across the walls of the chamber and blowing out the lights. It caught Sara’s hair, whipping it about her face like an unruly banner. A puff of black fog entered the room, swirling with the wind all about the walls, painting dark trails across the wood-paneled walls as it passed.
The wind died down. The fog settled, like a malevolent cloud, in front of the door opposite the one Sara had entered by. Sara backed away, eyes wide as the fog coalesced vaguely into the shape of a robed figure. And then, two bright points of light, glowing red as the fires of hell themselves, snapped into existence within the figure’s face, and a peal of mocking laughter echoed like the trump of doom around the chamber and out into the corridor.
Behind Sara, the first door swung shut, thudding heavily against the frames like a giant drum. She heard the lock click shut-moments later, she heard boots pounding up the corridor, and the thud of shoulders smashing against the wood. The door held.
The figure coalesced further, the robes solidifying about slender shoulders as a pale, aquiline face formed around the glaring eyes. Sara gasped. The man was handsome-beyond handsome, beautiful, even, like a statue come to life. The features were perfectly formed, the skin like alabaster, the lips red and shining as blood.
And still, all Sara’s senses recoiled, repulsed at the horrid air of decay that seemed to hang about the man like a scentless miasma.
She heard her mother’s mental hiss, the hostility and fear at the back of her mind sending yet more chills along her arms and back. The man looked at her, a faint smile upon his lips, as if amused by her presence.
“And are you the one, then?” he asked. His voice was low, mellifluous, with the barest trace of a Mediterranean accent. His eyes unfocused a trifle, and his smile grew broader. “Ah. I might have known that a child such as this would not have thwarted my plans thus easily. I would bid you good day, madam, and beg to kiss your pretty hand, were you not, alas, insubstantial. I take it that it was not one of my compatriots who was responsible for your current condition?”
Her mother’s defiance echoed against the bulwarks of her mind. You may be thankful that they were not, monster. Were it so, they would not have lived past the doing of the deed.
“Indeed, I am,” agreed the man. “I am here, and I act on my own, whereas here you are, confined in your actions to this…proxy of yours.” He looked Sara up and down, a leer on his face. “So weak your convictions, if you must use a child to fight your battles for you.” Slowly, languorously, he took a swaying step towards the young woman. “I do not trouble with such scruples myself. And yet…”
He licked his lips. “I find there are far better uses for young flesh than in battle.” He reached a slender hand forward to touch Sara’s cheek.
“No!” Something snapped inside Sara, and she lunged forward, slapping the man’s hand aside with one arm as the other reached clawed fingers to tear his eyes out. She heard her mother’s voice overlay hers as the two of them screamed their defiance at their foe.
The man barely managed to turn his face aside, staggering back as her nails raked his cheek instead. She got a glimpse of blood welling up where she’d marked him, crimson-dark against the skin, before he, sputtering in shock and rage, clapped a hand to the marks.
He blocked her next attack easily, and the next, tumbling her to the floor as her momentum carried her past him. She lay there, face down, stunned at the speed with which he’d moved. She felt his hand come down over the crown of the head, the red nails digging painfully into her scalp.
“Come, now,” he whispered. “Let me free you-and bind you to me.”
She felt a brief rush of energy, a sense of disconnection-and, to her horror, she heard her mother’s voice cry out, as if in despair, My daughter! No!
The voice faded, as if carried away upon the wind, and with a sick feeling in her stomach, Sara realized that her mother was gone. She felt the hand lifting from her head, and rolled over, staring wide-eyed at her foe. Desperately, she tried to wriggle out from under him. He followed her, amusement upon his face as he watched her struggles.
Desperately, Sara tried to get up. The man simply moved closer, crowding her until she was backed up against the wall.
“You are afraid of me,” he said. “I am something to be feared-I am Alberto the Monk, and I offer you pain, and pleasure unending for the rest of your days. You will be a joyous animal, under me, and your flesh will sing in ecstasy as long as you live. Obey me.” He grinned, his breath hot against her skin.
She closed her eyes. She knew what this man wanted-though her mind shrank from it; she realized what he intended to do to her. Part of her-the part that had screamed and cried behind her eyes as her body broke the bones of creatures from a madman’s nightmare-wanted to run, to cry and to scream, to just get away from the horror that stood in front of her no matter what.
It was the rest of her that knew, whatever would happen, that wish could never come true. Sara’s jaws clenched as she braced herself against the wall, heels digging into the carpet for purchase-and her right foot lashed out, catching Alberto squarely between the legs. The monk fell back, clutching his privates and howling in pain.
Quickly, Sara levered herself upright against the wall, staring fearfully at the screaming man before her. For the barest fraction of a second, she considered running for the door.
She shook her head, discarding the notion. She couldn’t run, not with him behind her. She had to fight, had to win. She stood, hesitating at the wall for a few long seconds. She didn’t want to do this-she didn’t know how to do this-and yet, she knew she had no choice. She touched the wall, feeling the comforting solidity of the brick and stone beneath the sober green wallpaper. She had to do this.
Closing her eyes, she leapt blindly at the man, arms outstretched. Her eyes flickered open halfway to her target, her balance shifting as she fell towards him. She saw Alberto’s face, pale against the blackness of his robes, the eyes seeming to flare as she drew her hand back for the strike-and then he moved.
He stepped away from her, moving so fast that even to her accelerated vision, he seemed to blur through the air. His hand snaked out, catching her by the wrist. He twisted, bringing her arm up and about to throw her to the ground. Sara countered, placing a foot forward to brace herself before pirouetting under their joined arms, moving with him as he tried to twist her arm out of its socket and coming up to find herself face to face with the monk.
She tore her arm free from his grip. He lunged for her, pale hands reaching for her throat. Desperately, she tried to backpedal. The hands caught her in mid step. She tried to breathe, felt the breath stop in the middle of her throat as Alberto’s fingers tightened.
“My child, my child,” said the monk, as he forced her backwards. There seemed to be genuine regret in his voice. “I offered you life-true life. Do you repay Alberto thus-do you slap away the hand that offers you the world? O, foolish one! O forgive her, my master, for she knows not what she does!” Some tiny part of Sara’s mind registered to her horror that the monk was looking downwards. He looked up, blazing eyes boring into her own. “I forgive you, my child! I forgive you! ”
He howled out the last words in a paroxysm of despair. A wave of agony, the sensations seeming to burn along every last nerve in Sara’s body, swept through her. The young woman writhed, arms and legs flailing as pain invaded her consciousness. Only the monk’s hands, tight as a noose around her neck, prevented her from falling to the ground.
Tears of frustration and desperation trickled down Sara’s face as she tried to regain control of her body. She felt herself growing light-headed from lack of air…
The doors behind the monk blew open. Blinding white light shone into the room, silhouetting a tall figure standing in the doorway, hands blazing with power. Alberto yelped as the light hit him, releasing Sara only to stumble over her as he scrambled towards the nearest shadow.
The man in the doorway stepped into the room. The light from the doorway faded, leaving the room lit only by the glow from his hands and the twin lights of Alberto’s eyes.
Sara looked at the man’s face-and gasped.
The clergyman whom, just hours ago, she’d collided with in the street bestowed upon the young woman a wink and a benevolent smile before turning to face the cowering Alberto.
“Hold, Servant of Satan! Your presence is not wanted here! Begone-or shall I be required to chastise you with the whip and the scourge once more?” His eyes narrowed. “You will be hard put to survive this encounter, I assure you.”
The monk staggered upright. Sweat shone dimly upon his brow. His cowl had fallen back, exposing his tonsure. “You have not the power!” he shrieked. He brought his hands forward. Tendrils of darkness shot forth from the tips of his fingers, clawing through the air towards the clergyman. The old man just smiled, and extended his right hand, palm out, towards the monk.
A magnificent flower of light, blazing like a miniature sun in the darkened room, sprang to life in front of the old man’s hand. The tendrils splashed ineffectually against the glowing petals, each throwing of tiny shards of light as it struck. The clergyman smiled. He held his left hand out from his side, palm open and waiting.
Out of the darkness, a cone of light appeared. Sara stared, wide-eyed, as the sounds of heavenly choirs began to fill the room.
And then a massive blazing sword fell out of mid-air, plunging through the middle of the cone, the grip falling into the outstretched hand of the waiting prelate with a heavy smack!
The old man hefted the sword easily, swinging it up and around into a guard position. The monk growled in frustration as he looked upon the blade. He looked round, desperately, cursing as he realized how the old man had boxed him in. His eyes narrowed.
Sara saw the attack coming moments before it happened. Those strange instincts that had guided her as she fought off the monk’s attacks now informed her mind of the million subtleties of combat-the tiniest shift in weight as Alberto prepared to lunge, the slight change in the clergyman’s stance as he, too, saw the attack, raising the flower-shield just the slightest bit.
The monk’s own sword splashed bright sparks against the shield, the force of the attack driving the old man back. Alberto brought his blade black for another blow-Sara caught the barest glimpse of it, a sliver of darkness in a dark room, shot through with the barest hint of red. The two swords met.
“You have never had the power to defeat me, Mason! We are stalemated, you and I-and that is all I need to leave this place! Enough! Let me pass, or are you prepared to waste hours battling me once more?” He smiled despite the effort of holding his opponent back. “I will escape, you realize. Just as I have, many times before.”
“Ah.” The clergyman matched him, smile for smile. “But, my old foe, there is one very important thing you have overlooked-I am not alone now.”
Alberto laughed. “Her?” he asked, lunging. The old man easily parried the blow, stepping back and to the side. The two combatants circled each other, each man searching his opponent for the one slip, the one weakness that would end the fight. “She is but a child. A pretty distraction even for an old fool like you, no? She is hardly good for anything else.” The monk sneered as he danced away from arc of the old man’s sword.
“She has all the tools she needs to do what must be done,” said the clergyman. “All she needs to do is call them. Do you understand, my dear?”
Sara straightened, surprised. Those last words had been meant for her, she realized.
Alberto howled, lunging forward. “She is mine, Mason, mine! ” The old man parried, then launched a blow of his own, the flaming blade whistling through the air as it caught the edge of Alberto’s sleeve. Dark fabric fluttered to the ground, before disintegrating into smoke as it touched the carpet. The two men separated, their expressions grim with anger and hate as they faced each other across the room.
Sara’s mind raced. Call them, the clergyman had said. Was that what she had to do? But how?
Desperately, she closed her eyes, wishing with all her heart she knew exactly what she needed to do. Then, she opened them, gasping in surprise. Wish? Could it really be that simple?
She closed her eyes once more, sending out a silent prayer for help.
“Please,” she whispered. “Send me what I need. Please.” She felt something infinitely far away responding, vaguely perceived parts of a giant machine sliding into place, setting great and momentous events into motion, all, in the end, focused on this small room…
Something materialized between her fingers. Surprised, Sara’s eyes snapped open. Nestling within her hands was a slim rod, slightly longer than her forearm. Surmounting the rod was a brilliant gem the size of a man’s palm, set in a silver mounting, from the sides of which flared a pair of finely wrought silver wings, the feathers inlaid with ivory. Two flanges emerged from the setting above the wings, curving outwards before turning back in and coming together to form a point, outlining in metal the shape of a leaf.
With a shock, Sara realized she had seen this before. It was the scepter she had seen herself carrying as she watched, disembodied, as she flew across the surface of the globe. Holding it, she felt a sense of rightness, of things settling into their proper places. She smiled. This was her inheritance, her birthright-this was hers.
Alberto’s shout brought her round. The monk was almost frantic, now. Screaming, he began a panicked flurry of blows, battering away at the clergyman’s shield like a man possessed. The older man fell back. Alberto rushed past him, sword raised, screaming like an angry banshee.
There was no time for thought. Sara once again found herself responding, instinctively, to the attack. She flashed in, the scepter held low. The monk had barely time to respond before she stepped inside his weapon, blocking his swing. The scepter stabbed upwards…
The monk’s blade fell from nerveless fingers, dissipating into vapor as it touched the floor. Gasping, he fell back, clapping desperate hands to where a dark stain, barely visible against the black fabric, was spreading ominously across his midsection.
To her horror, Sara realized that the edges of the leaf were razor sharp. The monk glared round at the two of them, his face twisted into a rictus of pain and rage. Then, before Sara or the old man could even move, he disappeared, dissolving in the blink of an eye into a cloud of black smoke. A great wind howled through the corridor outside, slamming open the doors to admit the squad of soldiers that had gathered outside and catching the edge of the smoke, carrying it from the room and out the window of the adjoining chamber.
Sara stared, frightened, at the oncoming soldiers. At their officer’s command, several of them had begun to raise their rifles. She backed away, trying to take herself away from the guns’ deadly arcs.
Calmly, the clergyman stepped between her and the soldiers. “Ah. There you are, lieutenant,” he said, calmly. Some time in those instants between the banging open of the doors and his dry-voiced greeting, the imposing figure who had stalemated Alberto power against power had disappeared, leaving only the kindly country parson Sara had met on the street only hours before. “Please, have your men put their weapons up.”
The officer started at the sight of the old man. Hastily, he saluted, then barked a few curt orders. Glancing warily at Sara, the soldiers lowered their weapons before filing out into the corridor.
The old man took the officer aside. There was a quick, hushed conversation between the two men, and the officer stepped back and saluted the clergyman once again. He hurried past Sara into the next room.
“Come with me, my dear,” said the old man, extending a hand towards the startled young woman. “I must say, I never expected to see you here tonight of all times and places.”
“S-sir?” Sara found herself at a loss for words. Suddenly, she remembered the bloodstained scepter in her hands. No, she realized. Not a scepter-it was a spear.
The old man’s hand closed over hers, preventing her from dropping the bloody instrument. “You needn’t to feel ashamed, or frightened of what you’ve done here, child. Remember that whatever Alberto’s motives in coming here this night, had he succeeded, you would not have found the uses he would have put you to pleasant. The man is hardly an innocent.” He released her hand.
The scepter blurred, gradually becoming insubstantial as it rested in Sara’s hands. As the young woman watched, the weapon disappeared, leaving her hands empty.
“Where-?”
“It has returned to its rightful place. When the need arises, you may call on it again.” He sighed. “I blessed you the last time we met, my child. Make no mistake, this is a blessing.” He ushered Sara out the door, putting a comforting arm about her shoulders. “You will see wonders, inspire millions and perform miracles the like of which the world has never seen, and never will again. But the price can be dear-very dear, and not an easy one to pay.”
Sara sniffled. “I-I don’t know if I want it, now.” She accepted the handkerchief the old man handed her and blew her nose. “Thank you,” she began, then paused. “Sir, I don’t even know your name!”
The prelate chuckled. “Oh, pardon me, my dear. I am the Reverend Septimus Mason. A simple country parson.”
Sara looked at him. “But you’re something else, too, aren’t you?” There was something in his voice that made her, against all the pain and terror of the last few minutes, want to smile.
The old man smiled. “I am and have been many other things as well. That is true. And what of you, my child? You have not told me your name.”
“Oh! I-I’m sorry. My name is Sara, sir. Sara Cauld. I-I’m a servant at a school in Knightsbridge.” She tripped over the last sentence, hoping desperately that he had not seen the color rise in her cheeks as she said it.
“There are only a few of us,” said the old man, “but we come from all the walks of life. We are strange people, my dear, strange people. And on our shoulders rests the fate of the world. What do you think of that, Miss Cauld?”
Sara was silent for a few moments. “How can you carry it?” she said at last. “It seems so heavy…”
“Now, my dear. You are stronger than you think you are. I was watching you. You defended yourself ably.” He smiled. “Not many people would have been able to acquit themselves as you did.”
“He nearly had me,” Sara said. “He was going to-to-“
“There, my child, there,” said the Reverend Mason. He put his arms around her as Sara began to weep, the shock and horror of the past few minutes, no longer held at bay by the urgency of battle, crashed in on her.
He let her cry against his shoulder for several minutes before reaching back into his pocket and pulling out another handkerchief. Wordlessly, he handed her the square of cloth.
“It’s all right, now, my dear. You are safe, now, and free to accustom yourself to the use of your new gifts. In the fullness of time, I dare say you may even surpass Alberto by a considerable margin.” He led her out a door into the courtyard. The clouds that had overhung the city earlier that night were gone. The moon shone bright in a clear, dark sky.
At the edge of the grass, he turned to her. “You are now one of a great and glorious brotherhood, Miss Cauld. No longer do you live in just one world-you live in two. We are the secret heroes of the world, the unknown saviors standing between all we know and love and the outer dark. I want you to remember this, my dear: while your deeds and doings go unappreciated, and all those about you despise you, we will be there. Though in the ordinary, workaday world, you find yourself with not a friend about you, step into the other world, and a universe of friends, this great, glorious brotherhood, will be there for you. That I promise you.”
Sara nodded. She felt strangely thankful for the presence of this odd old man. She looked around at the buildings, and the wide expanse of the park before them. “And now?” she asked. “What happens now?”
The Reverend Mason looked back at the buildings. “For now? We pick up the pieces. You may not have known it, but you have averted the befalling of a catastrophe upon the offices of the Admiralty.” He smiled. “More than that, I cannot tell, I am afraid. Suffice it to say that our brotherhood is known to those in power in this country, and we have their approval. Perhaps you may be able to learn more in time. As for you, my dear,” he paused. “Well, morning approaches. It is time, I fear, to return to the old drab world for the day. Just remember this: the night will come, and when it does, we will be waiting for you.”
He raised a hand in benediction. “God go with you, my child.”
Sara looked at the old man, sadly. Would he really be there, as he had said? The attic seemed a safe haven, now, after all the tumult in the night. And yet-she remembered the days of hunger; the sullen, unappreciative cook; the sniggers and sneers of the young students; and the iron-fisted, controlling anger of Mrs. Middle. And what friends she had, no matter how close, now stood separated from her by a gulf of class and the opinions of their peers.
Perhaps, she thought, even with the terrors and the strife, even so, there would be friends.
She smiled at the old man. “Goodbye,” she said, softly, then turned to go.
“One more thing, my dear,” said the clergyman.
Sara turned. For the briefest of instants, she thought she saw an expression of ineffable sadness cross the old man’s face. Then, it was gone.
“Tell my sister that I miss her. Very much.” And then the old man turned and walked away.
Sara stared after him, uncomprehending. She stood there for a few minutes, staring into the gloom under the arch into which the Reverend had disappeared.
A familiar presence crept into her mind. Her mother’s voice sounded strange, somehow, as if she were holding back tears. And I miss you too, my brother. Be well.
“Mother? ” Sara fought to keep from dancing in relief.
Yes, my child. I’m here. Let’s go home, shall we?
Sara nodded. “Yes.”
It was only later as she was racing across the rooftops toward the school that the thought occurred to her. She skidded to a stop. “Mother? Was that really-?”
Yes, my dear. That old man was your uncle, my brother. You are not alone in this world, now.
“I’m glad.” Sara laughed, leaping across a broad street in a single bound. “I’m glad! ”
* * *
Sara’s hand fell lightly on Vicky’s shoulder. The servant girl started awake, stifling a scream of horror as she realized that Sara had disappeared from her bed.
“I’m over here, Vicky,” the girl said. “I’m very well.” She smiled. “And I’ve found such a wonderful story to tell.”
Outside, the sun peeked over the horizon. It was a new day.
For a few moments, Sara stared, unbelieving, at the face in the mirror before her. Slowly, she brought a tremulous hand up, starting as she felt her fingers brush against her cheek.
“That’s me,” she whispered. “That’s me. But how-” She drew a long, shuddering breath, blinking back tears. “Why? Mother?”
Her mother’s voice came to her as if from far away. This is your legacy, my child, from me to you. Do you like it?
Sara swallowed. “Is this-is this my magic?”
It is but a part of it, came the reply. The rest will come to you, in the fullness of time.
The young woman laid the mirror back on the table. “I’m beautiful, mother,” she said, after a while. “I’m beautiful.” She smiled, trying very hard not to start crying again.
There was the sound of laughter in the voice as it spoke. Why, you have always been beautiful, my daughter. Always. Never forget that. Now, to work, my child. You have much to do tonight.
Sara stood with her head bowed over the table for a few minutes. Then, she straightened. “What should I do, mother?”
Well, said her mother’s voice, do you remember how you returned here, Sara?
The young woman nodded.
Then you have your answer, my dear. I suggest you open that window, step out onto the rooftops, and run!
There was a long, silent moment in the attic as Sara absorbed this new instruction. “On the roof?”
Where else, my dear? replied her mother airily. When I was a girl, we used to race each other along the rooftops of our city. We could cover miles in a morning, from the center of the city to the outer harbor, where we would watch the locks open to let the ships into the canals, and then we would run back home to breakfast. The voice paused. My child, I implore you, trust me. You can do this. You have done this once already.
Sara laid a hand on the window catch. “It…just seems so impossible. ” She looked down at herself and laughed. “It’s just like Cinderella, isn’t it? Only there isn’t really a ball for me to go to. Among other things.” She undid the catch and slid open the window.
I do believe we may be able to rectify the situation, said her mother, as Sara clambered awkwardly out the window. Placing her hand upon the sash, she slid it almost closed, leaving only a gap large enough to slide her fingers through.
“It’s cold tonight,” she said. “I daren’t leave Vicky lying there with the window open-it’s already bad enough with it closed, and the poor thing was sitting up to take care of me.” She paused, as if thinking. Then, decisively, she opened the window again, slipped inside, took the blanket from her bed, and placed it over Vicky’s shoulders.
Slipping out again, the young woman clambered up to the very top of the roof. Looking along the row of houses, she took a deep breath, braced herself-and took off.
It seemed almost effortless, she thought, as the rooftops flashed by beneath her. The wall of a house, taller than the neighboring buildings, loomed up before her. Almost by reflex, she took a couple of quick steps, then jumped. Her right foot touched down, almost imperceptibly, upon the parapet, and then she was across the roof-only to realize she was running straight off the end of the row.
Her body reacted before her mind could register what had happened. As she reached the edge of the roof, she gathered her legs beneath her, and leapt.
For a few, incredible moments, she was airborne, flying over the street like a bird on the wing. Then, she landed, sprinting across the new row. She was laughing as she ran, the joyous sound carrying across the rooftops in the wind.
“Did you see, mother? I flew! I flew! ”
Her mother’s laughter echoed in her mind. Indeed, my daughter, indeed. You are a wonder, my child, and more-you are magic.
Sara slowed to a halt, arms outstretched. Overcome by joy, she spun, her arms outstretched. From the roof she was on, she could see the lights of the city burning brightly about her. “I can fly! ” she called, the wind carrying the joyous sound over the rooftops, echoing down gas-lit streets.
Oh, not quite yet, my daughter, not quite yet, said her mother. But that will come in time. I promise. Do you see now what you can do?
Sara nodded. “Yes, mother. Oh, yes.”
Good. Now, do you see that row of houses there? Sara turned until she was facing the row she thought her mother was speaking of. Run down there, my child.
Sara paused. “Is that where we need to go, mother?”
Yes, my dear. Now…
The young woman gathered herself, backed away from the edge of the roof, and leapt. Soon, she was running once more across the roofs, hurtling onward in the darkness to destinations unknown.
Turn right here, my dear. Sara obeyed, turning south at the crossroads, heading towards the river.
Her mother led her across the vast expanse of rooftops, sprinting from building to building, jumping from the lower rooftops to higher ones, leaping across the thoroughfares like a gazelle on the plains.
Finally, they came to a long row of expensive houses, lining a wide street parallel to a silent, tree-studded park.
“This is St. James’ Park,” Sara whispered. “We used to come here on Sundays. We’d have picnics here, after church. What are we doing here, mother?”
Look to the left, my dear. A dark stone pile sat on the eastern edge of the park. A few lights burned in scattered windows, lighting rooms still in use at this hour.
Sara leapt down from the roof, landing lightly on the pavement before crossing the road and descending a flight of steps to the park. Slowly, her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness-shapes in the darkness were gradually resolving themselves into trees, benches and outbuildings. She saw branches swaying in the night wind, fallen leaves whirling across the open spaces like dancers in the void. The dark buildings loomed up before her. Across a courtyard, an archway gaped open. A heavy lantern cast a flickering circle of light into the night. Mounted sentries stood watch by each of the arch’s columns, long shadows dancing, stretching away beyond the circle’s edge.
And, barely visible in the darkness, unseen by the unsuspecting guards, dark shapes clambered across the walls like malevolent spiders. As Sara watched, one crawled up to a window and disappeared inside.
The young woman froze. “M-mother?” she said. Suddenly, she found herself wishing she were back in the attic again. Even through the strangely warm jacket about her shoulders, she felt a chill run through her. The motion of the shapes, creeping like malevolent spiders across the dark stone, awakened something inside her-strange, old instincts she’d never known she’d had, part fear and part anger, urging her forward to battle while at the same time screaming in the dark recesses of her mind that these things were wrong, wrong, WRONG!
With a strangled cry, Sara leapt forward; it was only instants later that she realized she had not consciously done so. She raced across the grass, trees bending in the wake of her passing. She raised her hands, and twin haloes of actinic white light flickered into existence about them. She could see the cavalrymen start as they saw the light racing toward them out of the darkness. One of them reached into a saddle holster, drawing out a weapon-but she was already between them.
The bolt tore through the night like the wrath of heaven brought down to Earth. On either side of Sara, the soldiers cried out and covered their ears as their horses fled in terror, while on the walls, the crawling creatures screamed as fires of destruction seared the flesh from their bones.
As abruptly as it had appeared, the bolt vanished, darkness descending like a thrown drape as Sara, her legs suddenly gone weak, collapsed to her knees upon the hard ground. She shuddered. The feeling she’d had as she’d channeled the energy through her had been…incredible-no, even better than that. As her mind fumbled about, searching for a better word, the remembrance of the wondrous sensations sent yet another spasm of pleasure rushing through her, and yet-even as she cried out, she knew the sensation was empty, a mere shadow of the joy she’d known barely moments before. Barely had her joy subsided, than she felt herself slipping down into despair.
Sara. Her mother’s command, the tones ringing sharp and bell-like through the recesses of her mind, blew away the encumbering shrouds that had seemed to settle upon her. Shakily, Sara tried to rise, only to fall to one knee again. She could hear hoofbeats approaching, the heavy breathing of frightened horses held tightly under control by equally frightened riders. From inside the buildings came the sounds of shouting men and gunshots, punctuated by guttural snarling noises, and, occasionally, a long, drawn-out scream.
Sara stared wide-eyed at the grim stone face, the still, monolithic pile revealing nothing of the chaos that reigned within. Suddenly, she felt small. This wasn’t what she’d dreamed would happen. This wasn’t what she’d thought she wanted. She wanted to go home-yes, even to the attic where it was cold and dark and she didn’t have enough to eat. Better that than-
No! There was no tenderness in her mother’s voice now. Get up, my daughter-get up now! The tone of command was even stronger now. The young woman could feel the anger now, feel it roiling round the edges of her mind like waves from a stormy sea. She tried hard not to whimper as she blinked back tears.
Almost against her will, she found herself straightening. The hoofbeats stopped as the cavalrymen, seeing her rise to her feet, reined their mounts in. For a few, brief seconds, they saw her, standing alone in the center of the light, tears glistening upon her face. And then she was gone, seeming to the astonished men almost as if she’d flown away into the night.
It was then that the sounds of violence coming from within the buildings reached them, and the two began to look at each other in consternation, before descending from their saddles, drawing weapons, and, with the look of men entering a cave where dangerous creatures live, moved cautiously into the complex, revolvers at the ready.
Sara landed on the roof of the building, falling into a crouch to cushion her fall. She remained in that position for a few seconds, heart pounding in her chest as the sounds of fighting continued.
“I can’t do this, mother,” she said. “There’s just too much happening, and so many of them-and I don’t know what to do!” She stumbled to her feet, moving along the roof as if in a daze. “Why am I here, mother? What am I supposed to do?”
Her mother did not reply at once, and for a few panicked moments, Sara thought the spirit had abandoned her. Then, she spoke, and Sara stifled a half-sigh, half-sob of relief.
You are here because you are my daughter, and the last of my line, and because the safety of the world hinges upon your presence here. She paused, and Sara felt her frustration boiling through at the back of her mind. And still you are not ready. I had hoped for more time. My daughter, you must act. The consequences of our failure in this place are not to be thought of. These creatures must be stopped!
“But I don’t know what to do,” Sara replied. “I need more help, mother. Please, help me.”
She heard a sigh from her mother’s voice. Very well. Be prepared, young Sara. Close your eyes.
Sara came to a stop. Trying with all her might not to fall back to her knees, she closed her eyes.
She felt a jolt run through her, starting somewhere within her ribcage and traveling out to the ends of her limbs. As her eyes flew open, her body moved without her conscious bidding, powerful, graceful strides carrying her to the nearest skylight. Reaching the aperture, she somersaulted, hands landing upon the raised brick border around the opening before she pushed off once more, her momentum propelling her upright as she plunged through the glass feet-first, descending from the ceiling like some avenging angel of old.
Shards rained down on the floor below, where one of the creatures she’d seen before squatted like a malevolent toad, glaring down towards the end of the corridor at a mixed clump of soldiers and men in civilian clothing.
Sara’s feet caught the creature at the base of its neck, hammering it face-first into the ground. As the monster crashed to the floor, Sara fell forward, almost seamlessly transitioning from her position on top of the monster’s body into a perfect forward roll before coming to her feet, her own body pivoting as her right foot came up in a graceful arc to smash the creature’s jaw.
There was a sharp crack as Sara’s kick connected, crushing the dazed monster’s face into the wall. The young woman let her momentum carry her round, spinning to face her foe.
She caught a glimpse of hairless gray skin hanging loose from a thick neck, tiny yellow eyes squinting malevolently over a chinless, gaping mouth. Flabby lips drooled mucous-like saliva, leaving ugly stains across the carpet and on the wall where Sara’s blow had smashed it. And then her arms moved, stiffened fingers striking hard into the neck below the creature’s long jaw. She felt cartilage give way, heard the creature’s wheezing as it attempted to draw air through a crushed windpipe. The creature flailed wildly at her with a sinewy arm tipped with heavy claws. The young woman easily avoided the blow, ducking under the swing and stepping back. She turned to face the soldiers, leaving the beast to expire behind her.
They looked at her, wide-eyed, expressions of uncertainty upon their faces, their weapons held not quite pointed at the young woman. For a few long moments, nothing happened. And then, as the startled men watched, she turned and ran, leaping gazelle-like over the corpse and sprinting silent as a ghost down the corridor and around the nearest corner.
On Sara ran, through twisting corridors and up flights of stairs. All across the building, men fought desperate battles against snarling beasts, bullets and sword-blades bouncing off leathery hides. She came upon them, hands and feet flashing in deadly arcs, and each time, a creature died.
She came, under her mother’s control, to a small side-corridor, better lit and decorated than the rest. Two sentries lay slumped against the walls, unconscious. A few meters down the corridor, she saw the sloped backs of two more of the creatures bounding towards a door at the end. As she watched, one of the creatures turned, growled, and charged back down at her.
Sara ducked, letting the beast’s momentum carry it over her. Her right hand stabbed upward, striking it below the sternum. She felt the flesh tear as her blow connected, heard the beast’s bark of pain as the air was driven from its lungs. It landed badly, its forelegs slipping from under it as it crashed noisily to the ground. In two steps, Sara was upon it, springing onto its back, hand cocked to deliver a killing blow to the back of its skull, and struck.
As the beast writhed beneath her, its shattered brain still sending signals to its unwilling limbs, Sara turned and raced back down the corridor. The last creature was rearing before the door, forepaw raised to smash it to splinters. Sara’s charge caught it in the small of the back, pitching it forward into the door. There was a crash, and the door gave way, spilling both Sara and the creature into the room beyond. Sara’s hand flashed downward once more, ending the creature’s life as it sprawled upon the carpet.
Silence fell, blanketing the room like a heavy shroud. Slowly, Sara got up, ears open and alert for the slightest noise.
Nothing. The sounds of fighting from the rest of the building had ceased. Once or twice, the faint groans of injured men penetrated to her hearing.
“I-is it over?” she whispered. She felt a shiver run through her, and then the jolt, and she found that she could move of her own accord once more.
It is as finished as it will ever be, my child, she heard her mother say.
Sara collapsed, shuddering. She closed her eyes, feeling the hot tears leak out from behind her eyelids to fall to the carpet below. “I-it was horrible, mother,” she said, choking. She remembered the blood, the rank sewer-smell of the creatures as they howled at her, the feel of flesh and bone giving way beneath her blows, and closed her eyes even tighter, trying to block the images off from her mind.
It is always horrible, my child. It could not be otherwise, the first time you go into battle. Her mother’s voice was grim. I fear, my child, there are worse things yet to come.
“I didn’t want this, mother. I-I’m just a girl. All I did was dream, and pretend so things wouldn’t seem so hard. I didn’t want to have to fight and face these-these things and see people dying…”
And now the dream is over, her mother replied. And the waking is more terrible, and more beautiful-yes, beautiful!-than you could ever have imagined. Oh, my child, if only I had found you sooner!
“So that you could have made me fight for you?” Sara asked bitterly.
So that I might have prepared you, Sara. Just as my mother prepared me. You have a responsibility, Sara. It has been handed down from my grandmother’s great-grandmother, in the time before the first cities rose and humanity thought it could fly. In time it came to me, and now it must come to you.
“Should I want it, mother? Can I really save the world?”
Yes, my daughter. Yes. You should. You must. And you can. Because even a tiny pebble, rolling in just the right place, can move mountains-and you, my daughter, you are an avalanche on your own.
Sara was about to answer when she felt a chill running up her arms and down her back. A cold wind blew down the corridor, howling round the corners of the room like a mournful spirit, spraying dead, wet leaves across the walls of the chamber and blowing out the lights. It caught Sara’s hair, whipping it about her face like an unruly banner. A puff of black fog entered the room, swirling with the wind all about the walls, painting dark trails across the wood-paneled walls as it passed.
The wind died down. The fog settled, like a malevolent cloud, in front of the door opposite the one Sara had entered by. Sara backed away, eyes wide as the fog coalesced vaguely into the shape of a robed figure. And then, two bright points of light, glowing red as the fires of hell themselves, snapped into existence within the figure’s face, and a peal of mocking laughter echoed like the trump of doom around the chamber and out into the corridor.
Behind Sara, the first door swung shut, thudding heavily against the frames like a giant drum. She heard the lock click shut-moments later, she heard boots pounding up the corridor, and the thud of shoulders smashing against the wood. The door held.
The figure coalesced further, the robes solidifying about slender shoulders as a pale, aquiline face formed around the glaring eyes. Sara gasped. The man was handsome-beyond handsome, beautiful, even, like a statue come to life. The features were perfectly formed, the skin like alabaster, the lips red and shining as blood.
And still, all Sara’s senses recoiled, repulsed at the horrid air of decay that seemed to hang about the man like a scentless miasma.
She heard her mother’s mental hiss, the hostility and fear at the back of her mind sending yet more chills along her arms and back. The man looked at her, a faint smile upon his lips, as if amused by her presence.
“And are you the one, then?” he asked. His voice was low, mellifluous, with the barest trace of a Mediterranean accent. His eyes unfocused a trifle, and his smile grew broader. “Ah. I might have known that a child such as this would not have thwarted my plans thus easily. I would bid you good day, madam, and beg to kiss your pretty hand, were you not, alas, insubstantial. I take it that it was not one of my compatriots who was responsible for your current condition?”
Her mother’s defiance echoed against the bulwarks of her mind. You may be thankful that they were not, monster. Were it so, they would not have lived past the doing of the deed.
“Indeed, I am,” agreed the man. “I am here, and I act on my own, whereas here you are, confined in your actions to this…proxy of yours.” He looked Sara up and down, a leer on his face. “So weak your convictions, if you must use a child to fight your battles for you.” Slowly, languorously, he took a swaying step towards the young woman. “I do not trouble with such scruples myself. And yet…”
He licked his lips. “I find there are far better uses for young flesh than in battle.” He reached a slender hand forward to touch Sara’s cheek.
“No!” Something snapped inside Sara, and she lunged forward, slapping the man’s hand aside with one arm as the other reached clawed fingers to tear his eyes out. She heard her mother’s voice overlay hers as the two of them screamed their defiance at their foe.
The man barely managed to turn his face aside, staggering back as her nails raked his cheek instead. She got a glimpse of blood welling up where she’d marked him, crimson-dark against the skin, before he, sputtering in shock and rage, clapped a hand to the marks.
He blocked her next attack easily, and the next, tumbling her to the floor as her momentum carried her past him. She lay there, face down, stunned at the speed with which he’d moved. She felt his hand come down over the crown of the head, the red nails digging painfully into her scalp.
“Come, now,” he whispered. “Let me free you-and bind you to me.”
She felt a brief rush of energy, a sense of disconnection-and, to her horror, she heard her mother’s voice cry out, as if in despair, My daughter! No!
The voice faded, as if carried away upon the wind, and with a sick feeling in her stomach, Sara realized that her mother was gone. She felt the hand lifting from her head, and rolled over, staring wide-eyed at her foe. Desperately, she tried to wriggle out from under him. He followed her, amusement upon his face as he watched her struggles.
Desperately, Sara tried to get up. The man simply moved closer, crowding her until she was backed up against the wall.
“You are afraid of me,” he said. “I am something to be feared-I am Alberto the Monk, and I offer you pain, and pleasure unending for the rest of your days. You will be a joyous animal, under me, and your flesh will sing in ecstasy as long as you live. Obey me.” He grinned, his breath hot against her skin.
She closed her eyes. She knew what this man wanted-though her mind shrank from it; she realized what he intended to do to her. Part of her-the part that had screamed and cried behind her eyes as her body broke the bones of creatures from a madman’s nightmare-wanted to run, to cry and to scream, to just get away from the horror that stood in front of her no matter what.
It was the rest of her that knew, whatever would happen, that wish could never come true. Sara’s jaws clenched as she braced herself against the wall, heels digging into the carpet for purchase-and her right foot lashed out, catching Alberto squarely between the legs. The monk fell back, clutching his privates and howling in pain.
Quickly, Sara levered herself upright against the wall, staring fearfully at the screaming man before her. For the barest fraction of a second, she considered running for the door.
She shook her head, discarding the notion. She couldn’t run, not with him behind her. She had to fight, had to win. She stood, hesitating at the wall for a few long seconds. She didn’t want to do this-she didn’t know how to do this-and yet, she knew she had no choice. She touched the wall, feeling the comforting solidity of the brick and stone beneath the sober green wallpaper. She had to do this.
Closing her eyes, she leapt blindly at the man, arms outstretched. Her eyes flickered open halfway to her target, her balance shifting as she fell towards him. She saw Alberto’s face, pale against the blackness of his robes, the eyes seeming to flare as she drew her hand back for the strike-and then he moved.
He stepped away from her, moving so fast that even to her accelerated vision, he seemed to blur through the air. His hand snaked out, catching her by the wrist. He twisted, bringing her arm up and about to throw her to the ground. Sara countered, placing a foot forward to brace herself before pirouetting under their joined arms, moving with him as he tried to twist her arm out of its socket and coming up to find herself face to face with the monk.
She tore her arm free from his grip. He lunged for her, pale hands reaching for her throat. Desperately, she tried to backpedal. The hands caught her in mid step. She tried to breathe, felt the breath stop in the middle of her throat as Alberto’s fingers tightened.
“My child, my child,” said the monk, as he forced her backwards. There seemed to be genuine regret in his voice. “I offered you life-true life. Do you repay Alberto thus-do you slap away the hand that offers you the world? O, foolish one! O forgive her, my master, for she knows not what she does!” Some tiny part of Sara’s mind registered to her horror that the monk was looking downwards. He looked up, blazing eyes boring into her own. “I forgive you, my child! I forgive you! ”
He howled out the last words in a paroxysm of despair. A wave of agony, the sensations seeming to burn along every last nerve in Sara’s body, swept through her. The young woman writhed, arms and legs flailing as pain invaded her consciousness. Only the monk’s hands, tight as a noose around her neck, prevented her from falling to the ground.
Tears of frustration and desperation trickled down Sara’s face as she tried to regain control of her body. She felt herself growing light-headed from lack of air…
The doors behind the monk blew open. Blinding white light shone into the room, silhouetting a tall figure standing in the doorway, hands blazing with power. Alberto yelped as the light hit him, releasing Sara only to stumble over her as he scrambled towards the nearest shadow.
The man in the doorway stepped into the room. The light from the doorway faded, leaving the room lit only by the glow from his hands and the twin lights of Alberto’s eyes.
Sara looked at the man’s face-and gasped.
The clergyman whom, just hours ago, she’d collided with in the street bestowed upon the young woman a wink and a benevolent smile before turning to face the cowering Alberto.
“Hold, Servant of Satan! Your presence is not wanted here! Begone-or shall I be required to chastise you with the whip and the scourge once more?” His eyes narrowed. “You will be hard put to survive this encounter, I assure you.”
The monk staggered upright. Sweat shone dimly upon his brow. His cowl had fallen back, exposing his tonsure. “You have not the power!” he shrieked. He brought his hands forward. Tendrils of darkness shot forth from the tips of his fingers, clawing through the air towards the clergyman. The old man just smiled, and extended his right hand, palm out, towards the monk.
A magnificent flower of light, blazing like a miniature sun in the darkened room, sprang to life in front of the old man’s hand. The tendrils splashed ineffectually against the glowing petals, each throwing of tiny shards of light as it struck. The clergyman smiled. He held his left hand out from his side, palm open and waiting.
Out of the darkness, a cone of light appeared. Sara stared, wide-eyed, as the sounds of heavenly choirs began to fill the room.
And then a massive blazing sword fell out of mid-air, plunging through the middle of the cone, the grip falling into the outstretched hand of the waiting prelate with a heavy smack!
The old man hefted the sword easily, swinging it up and around into a guard position. The monk growled in frustration as he looked upon the blade. He looked round, desperately, cursing as he realized how the old man had boxed him in. His eyes narrowed.
Sara saw the attack coming moments before it happened. Those strange instincts that had guided her as she fought off the monk’s attacks now informed her mind of the million subtleties of combat-the tiniest shift in weight as Alberto prepared to lunge, the slight change in the clergyman’s stance as he, too, saw the attack, raising the flower-shield just the slightest bit.
The monk’s own sword splashed bright sparks against the shield, the force of the attack driving the old man back. Alberto brought his blade black for another blow-Sara caught the barest glimpse of it, a sliver of darkness in a dark room, shot through with the barest hint of red. The two swords met.
“You have never had the power to defeat me, Mason! We are stalemated, you and I-and that is all I need to leave this place! Enough! Let me pass, or are you prepared to waste hours battling me once more?” He smiled despite the effort of holding his opponent back. “I will escape, you realize. Just as I have, many times before.”
“Ah.” The clergyman matched him, smile for smile. “But, my old foe, there is one very important thing you have overlooked-I am not alone now.”
Alberto laughed. “Her?” he asked, lunging. The old man easily parried the blow, stepping back and to the side. The two combatants circled each other, each man searching his opponent for the one slip, the one weakness that would end the fight. “She is but a child. A pretty distraction even for an old fool like you, no? She is hardly good for anything else.” The monk sneered as he danced away from arc of the old man’s sword.
“She has all the tools she needs to do what must be done,” said the clergyman. “All she needs to do is call them. Do you understand, my dear?”
Sara straightened, surprised. Those last words had been meant for her, she realized.
Alberto howled, lunging forward. “She is mine, Mason, mine! ” The old man parried, then launched a blow of his own, the flaming blade whistling through the air as it caught the edge of Alberto’s sleeve. Dark fabric fluttered to the ground, before disintegrating into smoke as it touched the carpet. The two men separated, their expressions grim with anger and hate as they faced each other across the room.
Sara’s mind raced. Call them, the clergyman had said. Was that what she had to do? But how?
Desperately, she closed her eyes, wishing with all her heart she knew exactly what she needed to do. Then, she opened them, gasping in surprise. Wish? Could it really be that simple?
She closed her eyes once more, sending out a silent prayer for help.
“Please,” she whispered. “Send me what I need. Please.” She felt something infinitely far away responding, vaguely perceived parts of a giant machine sliding into place, setting great and momentous events into motion, all, in the end, focused on this small room…
Something materialized between her fingers. Surprised, Sara’s eyes snapped open. Nestling within her hands was a slim rod, slightly longer than her forearm. Surmounting the rod was a brilliant gem the size of a man’s palm, set in a silver mounting, from the sides of which flared a pair of finely wrought silver wings, the feathers inlaid with ivory. Two flanges emerged from the setting above the wings, curving outwards before turning back in and coming together to form a point, outlining in metal the shape of a leaf.
With a shock, Sara realized she had seen this before. It was the scepter she had seen herself carrying as she watched, disembodied, as she flew across the surface of the globe. Holding it, she felt a sense of rightness, of things settling into their proper places. She smiled. This was her inheritance, her birthright-this was hers.
Alberto’s shout brought her round. The monk was almost frantic, now. Screaming, he began a panicked flurry of blows, battering away at the clergyman’s shield like a man possessed. The older man fell back. Alberto rushed past him, sword raised, screaming like an angry banshee.
There was no time for thought. Sara once again found herself responding, instinctively, to the attack. She flashed in, the scepter held low. The monk had barely time to respond before she stepped inside his weapon, blocking his swing. The scepter stabbed upwards…
The monk’s blade fell from nerveless fingers, dissipating into vapor as it touched the floor. Gasping, he fell back, clapping desperate hands to where a dark stain, barely visible against the black fabric, was spreading ominously across his midsection.
To her horror, Sara realized that the edges of the leaf were razor sharp. The monk glared round at the two of them, his face twisted into a rictus of pain and rage. Then, before Sara or the old man could even move, he disappeared, dissolving in the blink of an eye into a cloud of black smoke. A great wind howled through the corridor outside, slamming open the doors to admit the squad of soldiers that had gathered outside and catching the edge of the smoke, carrying it from the room and out the window of the adjoining chamber.
Sara stared, frightened, at the oncoming soldiers. At their officer’s command, several of them had begun to raise their rifles. She backed away, trying to take herself away from the guns’ deadly arcs.
Calmly, the clergyman stepped between her and the soldiers. “Ah. There you are, lieutenant,” he said, calmly. Some time in those instants between the banging open of the doors and his dry-voiced greeting, the imposing figure who had stalemated Alberto power against power had disappeared, leaving only the kindly country parson Sara had met on the street only hours before. “Please, have your men put their weapons up.”
The officer started at the sight of the old man. Hastily, he saluted, then barked a few curt orders. Glancing warily at Sara, the soldiers lowered their weapons before filing out into the corridor.
The old man took the officer aside. There was a quick, hushed conversation between the two men, and the officer stepped back and saluted the clergyman once again. He hurried past Sara into the next room.
“Come with me, my dear,” said the old man, extending a hand towards the startled young woman. “I must say, I never expected to see you here tonight of all times and places.”
“S-sir?” Sara found herself at a loss for words. Suddenly, she remembered the bloodstained scepter in her hands. No, she realized. Not a scepter-it was a spear.
The old man’s hand closed over hers, preventing her from dropping the bloody instrument. “You needn’t to feel ashamed, or frightened of what you’ve done here, child. Remember that whatever Alberto’s motives in coming here this night, had he succeeded, you would not have found the uses he would have put you to pleasant. The man is hardly an innocent.” He released her hand.
The scepter blurred, gradually becoming insubstantial as it rested in Sara’s hands. As the young woman watched, the weapon disappeared, leaving her hands empty.
“Where-?”
“It has returned to its rightful place. When the need arises, you may call on it again.” He sighed. “I blessed you the last time we met, my child. Make no mistake, this is a blessing.” He ushered Sara out the door, putting a comforting arm about her shoulders. “You will see wonders, inspire millions and perform miracles the like of which the world has never seen, and never will again. But the price can be dear-very dear, and not an easy one to pay.”
Sara sniffled. “I-I don’t know if I want it, now.” She accepted the handkerchief the old man handed her and blew her nose. “Thank you,” she began, then paused. “Sir, I don’t even know your name!”
The prelate chuckled. “Oh, pardon me, my dear. I am the Reverend Septimus Mason. A simple country parson.”
Sara looked at him. “But you’re something else, too, aren’t you?” There was something in his voice that made her, against all the pain and terror of the last few minutes, want to smile.
The old man smiled. “I am and have been many other things as well. That is true. And what of you, my child? You have not told me your name.”
“Oh! I-I’m sorry. My name is Sara, sir. Sara Cauld. I-I’m a servant at a school in Knightsbridge.” She tripped over the last sentence, hoping desperately that he had not seen the color rise in her cheeks as she said it.
“There are only a few of us,” said the old man, “but we come from all the walks of life. We are strange people, my dear, strange people. And on our shoulders rests the fate of the world. What do you think of that, Miss Cauld?”
Sara was silent for a few moments. “How can you carry it?” she said at last. “It seems so heavy…”
“Now, my dear. You are stronger than you think you are. I was watching you. You defended yourself ably.” He smiled. “Not many people would have been able to acquit themselves as you did.”
“He nearly had me,” Sara said. “He was going to-to-“
“There, my child, there,” said the Reverend Mason. He put his arms around her as Sara began to weep, the shock and horror of the past few minutes, no longer held at bay by the urgency of battle, crashed in on her.
He let her cry against his shoulder for several minutes before reaching back into his pocket and pulling out another handkerchief. Wordlessly, he handed her the square of cloth.
“It’s all right, now, my dear. You are safe, now, and free to accustom yourself to the use of your new gifts. In the fullness of time, I dare say you may even surpass Alberto by a considerable margin.” He led her out a door into the courtyard. The clouds that had overhung the city earlier that night were gone. The moon shone bright in a clear, dark sky.
At the edge of the grass, he turned to her. “You are now one of a great and glorious brotherhood, Miss Cauld. No longer do you live in just one world-you live in two. We are the secret heroes of the world, the unknown saviors standing between all we know and love and the outer dark. I want you to remember this, my dear: while your deeds and doings go unappreciated, and all those about you despise you, we will be there. Though in the ordinary, workaday world, you find yourself with not a friend about you, step into the other world, and a universe of friends, this great, glorious brotherhood, will be there for you. That I promise you.”
Sara nodded. She felt strangely thankful for the presence of this odd old man. She looked around at the buildings, and the wide expanse of the park before them. “And now?” she asked. “What happens now?”
The Reverend Mason looked back at the buildings. “For now? We pick up the pieces. You may not have known it, but you have averted the befalling of a catastrophe upon the offices of the Admiralty.” He smiled. “More than that, I cannot tell, I am afraid. Suffice it to say that our brotherhood is known to those in power in this country, and we have their approval. Perhaps you may be able to learn more in time. As for you, my dear,” he paused. “Well, morning approaches. It is time, I fear, to return to the old drab world for the day. Just remember this: the night will come, and when it does, we will be waiting for you.”
He raised a hand in benediction. “God go with you, my child.”
Sara looked at the old man, sadly. Would he really be there, as he had said? The attic seemed a safe haven, now, after all the tumult in the night. And yet-she remembered the days of hunger; the sullen, unappreciative cook; the sniggers and sneers of the young students; and the iron-fisted, controlling anger of Mrs. Middle. And what friends she had, no matter how close, now stood separated from her by a gulf of class and the opinions of their peers.
Perhaps, she thought, even with the terrors and the strife, even so, there would be friends.
She smiled at the old man. “Goodbye,” she said, softly, then turned to go.
“One more thing, my dear,” said the clergyman.
Sara turned. For the briefest of instants, she thought she saw an expression of ineffable sadness cross the old man’s face. Then, it was gone.
“Tell my sister that I miss her. Very much.” And then the old man turned and walked away.
Sara stared after him, uncomprehending. She stood there for a few minutes, staring into the gloom under the arch into which the Reverend had disappeared.
A familiar presence crept into her mind. Her mother’s voice sounded strange, somehow, as if she were holding back tears. And I miss you too, my brother. Be well.
“Mother? ” Sara fought to keep from dancing in relief.
Yes, my child. I’m here. Let’s go home, shall we?
Sara nodded. “Yes.”
It was only later as she was racing across the rooftops toward the school that the thought occurred to her. She skidded to a stop. “Mother? Was that really-?”
Yes, my dear. That old man was your uncle, my brother. You are not alone in this world, now.
“I’m glad.” Sara laughed, leaping across a broad street in a single bound. “I’m glad! ”
* * *
Sara’s hand fell lightly on Vicky’s shoulder. The servant girl started awake, stifling a scream of horror as she realized that Sara had disappeared from her bed.
“I’m over here, Vicky,” the girl said. “I’m very well.” She smiled. “And I’ve found such a wonderful story to tell.”
Outside, the sun peeked over the horizon. It was a new day.