What the hell was Dartun doing? This atrocity had to be immoral, in any age, in any society.

‘What d’you think it is, Gydja?’ one of the younger girls of her sect enquired. Her dark, slender features displayed a helpless fear and confusion.

‘It’s obviously some life form, although nothing I’m as yet aware of. I’d be interested to see if the banshees recognize this thing as a living organism or not.’

Comments were passed back and forth, theories offered, then dismissed. There was nothing to be certain of except that Dartun had been working on a horrific project. He was utterly insane.

‘I want at least two of you here at all times monitoring this,’ she instructed, staring at the nearest mound of mottled flesh. ‘We’ll examine these relics that Dartun’s been using. I want to know everything that’s gone on here, everything that bastard has planned.’

She headed back through the corridors, deep in thought. At times, feeling faint, she closed her eyes, paused to lean against a wall, just one thought in her mind disturbing her.

The difference between life and death isn’t all that great.

If Dartun had the power to reassemble life, that put the whole of the Empire at risk. For the greater good, no cultist should monopolize that knowledge.

He had to be stopped immediately.

The next evening, from the depths of her order’s headquarters, Papus directed that the remaining members of the Order of the Equinox be tortured. Having been stripped of any hidden relics, they were left shackled in holding cells beneath Balmacara. After she had managed to persuade the men and women of Villjamur’s Council to allow the city’s most skilled torturers to apply their talents. The Inquisition was only too happy to oblige, eager for the knowledge that would be shared.

Their methods would be brutal in this case, but were merited to try to discern whatever evil Dartun was devising.

Of the forty-three prisoners, seven men were tortured in front of the women. They were stripped naked, and bound spreadeagled across a stone plinth, awaiting the Pear of Anguish to be inserted. An ancient tool, this was a metal pear-shaped device inserted into the anus, and, with the touch of a tiny lever, it unfolded like the most cruel of petals in bloom.

Papus watched this, utterly unmoved. The men were crying and screaming, and they froze, then jerked as the metal pears were inserted.

Perhaps it was because the members of the Order of the Equinox had become accustomed to a comfortable lifestyle that the confessions came quickly and efficiently.

One by one, they told her all, the confessions spilling forth in their eagerness to oblige. It was the degree of Dartun’s knowledge that shocked Papus initially. How a cultist could know so much about the occult world was unheard of, even by her own advanced standards. The information revealed about him was alarming: he was immortal, had lived for hundreds of years, had uncovered the key to longevity. She now had to discover this for herself by searching his headquarters more thoroughly.

At one point she asked, ‘Does he have anything to do with the so-called draugr sighted on this island?’

Yes, he created them. Yes, he could raise the dead. To breed an army, they explained, enough of a safety net to deter those who might stop him. Also, to protect himself from whatever lay in the other realms beyond.

That brought them back to the subject of the Realm Gates.

She marched back and forth in agitation in front of the remaining prisoners, the facts underlying everything were coming to a head: the things Verain had warned her of were true. She felt extremely naive in her ignorance.

‘This is indeed a serious business,’ Chancellor Urtica whispered to Papus later, as they stood in a corridor of Balmacara. ‘You tell me all these things about dead creatures walking, and then you warn that he will allow such dangers to spill over into our Empire. I’m not quite sure I completely follow what you mean, but I understand there is a risk. Therefore, do what you feel necessary to stop him.’

Papus nodded, but kept silent. They paused whilst a patrol of city guards marched past them. She glanced awkwardly at Urtica, who now leaned against the wall opposite whilst the guards said the Sele of Jamur. Shortly after, a stream of servants walked by with food dishes for some of the councillors.

‘Fucksake.’ Papus then drew a gold-coloured aldartal from her cloak. Urtica looked on surprised as she then triggered the dial on the device.

Servants paused in mid-stride still holding their trays, guards froze in mid-step. Even the flames on lanterns were stilled. A time-delay relic, and she and Urtica were now in their own separate time system. She said, ‘We’ve not got long.’

He looked around at the people in suspension, then raised an eyebrow. ‘Impressive.’

‘If you want Dartun caught,’ Papus said, ‘I’ll need military transport – longships, sleds, that sort of thing.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Whatever you want, just ask.’

‘We’ll be leaving the city immediately.’

‘Right, wait here a moment,’ he said, entering one of the clerks’ rooms nearby. He returned with a document bearing his personal seal. ‘This should be all you need.’

‘Thank you, chancellor, I’ll not stop until I find him.’ As she took the document and slid it into a deep pocket, the stilled figures in the corridor came to life, blurred at first like in some kind of smeared painting, and then they continued performing their errands and routines in real time.

THIRTY-SEVEN

It was the flutter of wings that woke her, a faint sound at the periphery of her senses.

Tuya pressed herself up, pain shooting along her arms, muscles spasming unnaturally. Why did everything suddenly ache so much? She brushed her hair from her eyes, squinted into the light that fell upon her face through the partly open window. Through blurred vision she could make out a blue shape hovering up by the ceiling. A freezing breeze exploded into the room, spiralling leaves and snow over her arcane patterns.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked, her voice alarmingly weak. She was a strong woman and wasn’t used to feeling so helpless.

There was no reply. Street noises drifted up to her window from outside, chants of traders busy in the irens. It was obviously well into the day, but she felt so disconnected from time.

As a blur of blue shot down towards her bed, she instantly recognized one of the images she had painted several weeks ago. The bat-like creature stared at her, the size of a child, and as far as could be judged from its furry features, she saw pity in its glossy, dark eyes. She had no idea it had survived this long, seldom giving much thought to what became of her many creations. She was touched it had returned to her side.

At that moment, as a sudden revelation, her current predicament rushed to the front of her awareness.

Tryst had not only beaten but also drugged her too, the bastard.

Escape was the priority. Tuya stood up, then she immediately collapsed. The muscles in her legs would barely function, and it was as if she needed to re-learn basic movement. The creature waddled down from the bed, holding its arms and wings out wide. After it helped her up, she sat down weakly on the bed.

‘Why have you come to help me? How did you know I needed help?’

It seemed unable to speak. Could it even understand her?

After she composed herself, she limped around her room to pack some belongings. She got changed with a frail caution. When she had taken what she needed, she tried the door to discover it was locked. She couldn’t find her keys anywhere, and struggling with the door proved futile.