The Tower of the Forgotten (13 page)

But
as she approached the center of the vaguely circular space, she felt the touch
of something spiritual there; something had been cast. Portia froze before
crossing the barrier, skirting its edge instead and coming to a doorway set
into one of the walls, obscured by shadows and a pillar. The crude doorframe
opened onto one of the many catwalks that crisscrossed the lower floors,
leading, she imagined, to the engine room. The sense was stronger here, and
with it came the unmistakable pull of the axe. She had no choice but to follow.

As
Portia crossed the casting laid down in that room, she felt two things at once:
that the remnants of the spell had not been set to alert anyone of her
presence, which was a small relief, and that the origin of the magic was a
blend of things both familiar and strange, but held a definitive echo of
Imogen, which alarmed her.

The
passage led directly to the engine: no intersections, no tricks, only a steady,
curving descent into the heart of Salus. She walked quickly and carefully,
unarmed but ready for a fight. The catwalk finally connected to an enormous
central chamber shaped like a beehive. And the scene into which she stepped was
exactly the one she had been expecting, and dreading.

Adramelech
stood in the center of the room, his ragged wings extended until they touched
the curved ceiling. Alaric crouched some distance behind, reaching for Radinka,
who lay on the floor. Portia grit her teeth, annoyed that Radinka had not only
disobeyed her, but apparently knew other secrets about the tower. Nigel held
the axe out before him, clutched in both hands as if to use it as a shield,
while Imogen hastily unbuttoned her blouse as she knelt beside him. Kitty and
Kendrick were nowhere to be seen, but Portia could sense them nearby, possibly
somewhere beyond the great bulkhead that enclosed the rift engine.

They
all turned to look at her as she came through the doorway, everyone pausing in
his or her own actions as they watched, almost waiting, to see what new chaos
she would bring. Without hesitation, Portia reached out one hand toward Nigel.
He advanced a half step before realizing what she wanted, but by then it was
too late and the axe had pried itself loose from his clutching fingers. It spun
through the room, the gleaming golden blade leaving a trail of light in its
wake, and came to rest firmly in Portia’s waiting palm.

"Now,
then," she said, turning to Alaric. "What the hell is going on in here?"

He
wrapped his arms around Radinka, holding her to his chest as if she were
nothing more than a doll. He smiled as he absently stroked her dark hair. "I have everything I need now."

"I
wouldn’t bet on that."

"But
I do…you, Nigel, Radinka. I can do this now. I can
break open the veil, and then all will be mine to rule."

"How
about you start smaller? You’ve ruled some in the
living realm. Why not try a stint in the land of the dead?" She moved faster than she thought possible, crossing the
entirety of the room in barely a step, and raised the axe too late to sever his
head. Instead, it bit deeply into his right shoulder, spilling blood onto his
blue velvet coat. Covering her surprise, Portia raised the blade again and
swung with truer aim.

Alaric
rolled to the floor, pulling Radinka beneath him. He chanted furiously,
spitting the garbled words out one after another until Radinka’s flesh began to glow with a sickly illumination. He then
leapt back, crouching behind the girl.

"You
coward!" Portia advanced, but Radinka’s hand came down on her forearm, as heavy and cold as iron.

The
girl’s pale eyes were once again clouded with opal
white and pulsated with light. Portia wrenched her arm back, but Radinka’s fingers dug in with shocking force.

"Fereshte," she said, softly but with deadly intent.

The
power that had healed her now threatened to tear her soul in two. Alaric’s earlier threat that had stung her so deeply was nothing
but a mild irritation in comparison to the crushing onslaught that emanated from
Radinka. Portia shivered and her knees softened. The axe sank to the floor
ahead of her, and as Adramelech approached from behind, she found that she
could not be bothered to care. Radinka dominated her attention.

Voices
rose and fell around her, but she could not hear their words.

Alaric finally stood, reaching out for
Portia. "You have something I need, my dear. Sometimes spirits can be petulant,
especially
her
." He plucked the ivory pin from Portia’s silver hair and
twirled it in his fingers. "But this should help considerably."

Portia could only stare at Radinka, her
mind buffeted by the girl’s powers and her own strength fighting against it.
One voice pierced the muddle of her thoughts; as sure as the siren woos the
sailor, Imogen caught Portia’s attention. Portia turned, straining still to
break free of Radinka’s thrall, to see that Imogen stood naked in the center of
the room. Memories blurred with reality as Portia struggled to pick apart the
night at the convent and the here and now. Flames danced around Imogen’s body
as sure as they had that night, but it was different, the symbols on her flesh
were different, the sounds and smells were different.

Alaric
scrambled to his feet and lurched across the room, his sweating fist wrapped
around the ivory hairpin as he held it before him like a dagger. He made for
the bulkhead and began to scale a flimsy ladder welded to its side.

"Stop
him," Portia meant to say, but the air around her
contracted too tightly for her to get a breath in.

The
great demon faced Imogen now, his dark muscles steaming noxious fumes as she
strode up to him sheathed in light like a goddess. Although she did not seem to
have gotten any taller, she appeared to take up just as much space as he did.
The pair stared at one another, eye to eye.

"I
killed you once before, and I can do it again,"
Adramelech rumbled.

Imogen
reached out her right hand and planted it firmly against his solar plexus. The
demon howled as a burst of light knocked him backward onto the floor.

"You
may try," Imogen told him in a level voice that
was not quite hers.

Nigel
sidled away, angling to follow Alaric up the side of the great machine. Portia
managed one lurching step after him before Radinka grabbed her ankle.

She
hissed and looked back at the girl, now transformed into a baleful witch and
acting as conduit to what she did not know.

"Radinka," Portia gasped, "I know you can hear me,
I know you can stop this!" Her words came in
rushes and halts as she all but chewed through the layers of bindings thrown
down upon her. "Listen to me. This is
not what you want."

"What
I want?" The reply was hollow, hardly even a
shadow of Radinka’s voice. "This is what I want. I want body. I want soul. I want to
feed. I want to be free. I will break you apart and consume you. I will walk
again in the world, one world under my feet, living and dead. I will rule."

Adramelech
growled. "Who speaks just now?"

"Call
me only Dark One, One Who Sleeps Beneath the Waves, One Who Waits in Eternal
Night. I give my name to no one. That way lies death." Radinka’s sightless eyes
flickered back toward Portia with malicious delight.

"Nicor," Adramelech said. "I know you of old, you
watery fool. Alaric was too canny to deal with only one of us. I knew you must
be lurking nearby. Samael, master of air, and Merihim of the earth must also be
in league here."

The
engine groaned and Portia managed another step toward it. "They are," she panted. "Samael is also one of the soul-eaters, and Merihim has power
over death, just like Nicor does. I think I know where they are."

Adramelech
glared at the machine. "Could he be so bold?"

"Of
course he can, you fetid idiot," Portia answered. "Megalomaniacs, all of you. And every one gullible to the
last."

Adramelech
slammed his fist into the floor beside Portia, but she did not flinch. She
lurched, half crawling, dragging the axe with her to the engine.

"There
are things that need to be done if this is going to be stopped," Portia said.

The
demon frowned. "It cannot be stopped!"

"You
keep saying that." Portia shook her head,
out of patience. "You, Alaric, Nigel. Of
course it can."

Imogen
stepped in between them, covering Portia’s pursuit of Alaric and
Nigel to the bulkhead’s ladder. She stared
down Radinka and the demon, daring them to move against her. They kept their
distance, and as Portia got farther from Radinka, she regained more control
over herself, mind and body. She glanced back, seeing Imogen standing in the
midst of what looked like a wall of fire with her arms outstretched, ready for
anything.

"I
love you," Portia whispered, shaking free the
leaden lethargy of her arms and gripping the ladder.

The
climb should have winded her. It was steep and the ladder unsteady, but she
never grew tired as she climbed the wall. Another catwalk ringed the top of the
bulkhead, about a yard and a half wide with a grate floor. The engine rose up
from the center of the circular enclosure, an enormous cone shape that widened
into a base of gleaming tubes. Some kind of turbine spun within the cone,
blowing out gusts of hot air at regular intervals.

Still uncertain on her feet, Portia hurried
carefully along the catwalk, spotting a stair at the far side. From somewhere
behind, Radinka screamed, but she could not turn back now. Too much rested on
her shoulders, both abstract and personal. Alaric had Hester’s hairpin, and
Portia knew he meant to use it, use
her
, for something terrible.

As she circled the great machine, she could
not help but be impressed with Kitty’s handiwork. In any other circumstance,
she might have marveled at the finely joined seams punctuated by rivets in
perfectly straight lines and the subtle luster of the brushed metal that
reflected her in an abstract shape of silver and garnet.

The
glass tubes at the bottom of the turbine were the same that ran under all of
Salus, those that transported the souls used for fuel and for the crafting of
the everyday objects in the world of the dead. They glittered with residue, but
otherwise sat quiet and empty. Although, Portia thought, not for long.

The narrow stair ended in a short corridor
that took her beneath the floor of the engine room and under the main bulk of
the engine itself. The chamber was a claustrophobic, low-ceilinged room hewn
from the solid rock that made up the very heart of Salus, and it hummed with
its own fey power in contrast to the
whirr
of the engine.

Alaric and Nigel’s raised voices echoed through
the room, rising in volume and pitch. Portia flexed her fingers around the axe
handle, strengthening her grip as residual pins-and-needles numbness pricked
her hands. Carefully sliding into the chamber, she saw that they stood beside a
wide intake manifold. Alaric held out the little pearl that held the remaining
shard of Kanika’s soul. Nigel stood, paralyzed and horrified, as Alaric held
the little sphere over the opening. Alaric’s lace-edged cuff, streaked with
dried blood, blew in the direction of the intake.

"We
had an agreement," Nigel shouted.

"Which
you have violated!"

"
I
have
violated it? What about you? You brought in that witch-girl to start the
summoning and feed the machine without even informing me!"

"And I must inform you of my decision?"

"Yes!"

Alaric
shook his head. "Stupid boy. You and your
sister, both. Gullible. Foolish."

Nigel
reached out for the pearl but Alaric closed his fist. Had Portia held any
affection at all for the man she might have warned him, but instead she stayed
silent as Nigel brought forth the bedamned stiletto. She did not know Radinka
had taken it after removing it from her chest, but thinking back, it had not
been anywhere on the floor in the upper chamber.

Nigel
buried the black metal into Alaric’s neck, stabbing it
quickly at first, then pressing it deeper with the pad of his thumb. Alaric
might have screamed, but blood gurgled up into his mouth instead.

Alaric’s hands twitched and he dropped the glowing pearl. Portia
spied Hester’s hairpin tucked into
his belt and reached out to take it, but Nigel was too quick, shoving Alaric
into the intake vent.

The
machine groaned for a moment, unused to taking in actual matter, before
resuming its awful suction. They could hear the thump of the body as it was
pulled through the shaft toward the center point of the engine.

"Nigel,
you idiot! Lady Hester!"

He
turned, grey eyes narrowed. "You should be more
worried what that blade is going to do when it gets consumed." He stepped away from the controls and crossed his arms.

The
omnipresent shudder of the engine grew more pronounced, then changed its
timbre, sounding more like a meat grinder. A deep, hollow moan echoed through
the whole chamber as the machine threatened to shake itself apart.