Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams (30 page)

Several men and
women who had gathered around West shouted orders to the army. On
their command, hundreds of people moved to join the front of the
pack, forming a long semicircle, standing shoulder to shoulder,
each of them brandishing long blades which they had gathered from
the ruins of the Dannustine Palace.

Now the horses
advanced more rapidly, still shuffling their hooves forwards,
bodies swaying cat like, side to side until finally they came close
enough that Charlene was able to make out the truly hideous nature
of the beasts. The bodies, legs and hooves were definitely equine;
however, the heads which hung stooped in front of the powerful
chests were not. Jaws open wide, long prehistoric snouts pointing
earthward, the horses each bore the heads of crocodiles, their
pointed teeth opalescent and gleaming in the morning light, strands
of saliva webbing their mouths.

The animals all
at once began to gallop, closing in on West’s front line; heads
pushing forwards on their long necks, their break of speed was
phenomenal. West barked orders as he knelt in the gravel, bracing
himself for the assault and even though Charlene knew that West was
alive and well, sitting in an apartment in New York, she couldn’t
help feeling terrified for his safety.

As the first of
the creatures collided with the army, the sight was brutal.
Everywhere, blades hacked and sliced at the animals to no avail;
jagged rows of teeth ripped and gnashed at the men and women,
several of the fighters lifted bodily of the ground and tossed
around like rag dolls, arms still flailing blades at the necks of
the animals in a desperate attempt to free themselves. The horse’s
bodies reared up, hooves crashing into the chests of men and women
as reptilian heads lunged at their prey.

Suddenly
knocked to the ground from behind, from West’s perspective Charlene
was lying on the ground in the thick of the action, West’s arms
scything a circular motion overhead, the smooth blade cutting clean
through all four legs of one of the horses. As the body fell
towards her, the world span, West’s field of vision swaying wildly
as he rolled out of harm’s way. There, in the brief snatches of sky
that Charlene was able to see as West shuffled and rolled on the
ground, large birds flew overhead, their dark forms all but
blotting out the dawn light. West gathered himself onto his
haunches, and seizing an opportune moment, with the path around him
clear, he leapt from the ground and managed to avoid the snapping
jaws of one of the horses which reared up at him as he sailed
through the air. Falling back towards the battlefield, West looked
skyward in horror and awe. These were not birds which flew
overhead; with huge leathery wings beating, arms wielding blades,
Charlene could now make out the grotesquely distorted human forms
as they soared over the battlefield.

West landed
hard with his back arched over one of the horses. A figure swooped
down towards him, blade lashing out clumsily overhead and West
clambered desperately, clinging to the horse’s partly reptilian
neck. The horse kicked up its hind legs, throwing West forward,
then with another jolt, West was thrown off, his head crashing
against a large boulder as he fell to the ground. His vision faded
rapidly, and the last thing Charlene saw were the hooves falling on
his chest, the sharp teeth lunging towards his face.

West and Stanwick both
sat up, watching Charlene stir to consciousness. When she pulled
the glardium weave from her face, she looked ashen, as if she was
about to vomit. She wretched, coughing dryly, but to West’s relief,
nothing came up. He jumped to his feet and walked towards her,
taking hold of the neck brace and catching her as she fell
forward.

She stammered
breathlessly, “There … There were horses with,” she breathed
heavily, “with heads like …”

West patted her
back, “Leechmares. They were one of the first true abominations of
the Mythologue.”

She stumbled
backwards, but West held her tight, leaning his weight away from
her to stop her from falling. Terrified, Charlene’s eyes darted
about the features of West’s face, checking that he was okay, “What
the hell are they?”

Stanwick stood
up calmly and walked over to the couch, “They were King Pretchis’
first attempt at splicing. West had encountered similar animals
during his exile in the void, things infused with the blood of the
Dannum, but in the days after the fall, Pretchis ran amok, creating
all manner of beasts.”

Charlene
grimaced, “That’s horrible.”
Stanwick shrugged, “That was
nothing
. At least the horses
couldn’t fly. I take it you saw the winged Leechborn?”

Charlene nodded
her head a fraction, unable to talk about what she’d seen.

Stanwick
flapped her arms mockingly, “Honestly, they posed more of a
psychological threat than anything. You know how much upper body
strength it takes to flap an eighteen foot wingspan? By the time
you’ve allowed the leeches to spread the bulk of your body weight
and bone mass into wings, you’re basically worth shit on a
battlefield.”

West rolled his
eyes at Stanwick, “They killed hundreds in that first assault; not
everyone has the same spatial awareness as you in the heat of
battle.”

Stanwick
laughed hard, rocking forward, “True that! Some people manage to
get themselves trampled by spooked ponies in the first few minutes
of a fight.”

Certain that
Charlene was steady on her feet, West joined Stanwick on the couch,
punching her arm as he sat beside her, “Sure Stanwick, I got
trampled by a pony, that’s exactly what happened; the first major
battle of the Mythologue, and the man known throughout Allim as the
‘Scourge of the Void’ was bested by a tiny horse.”

Charlene eased
herself into a chair, pulling her feet up beneath her, “Wait, what
you said just now …”

Stanwick raised
her eyebrows, “Tiny horse?”

Charlene glared
at her, frustrated, “No, the void.” Charlene tried to recall what
it was the voice had said to her in the hopper, “Child of the void
garden … It was just something that Pretchis said to me in the …”
she felt a flush of embarrassment as she struggled with the new
terminology, “the hopper.”

All joviality
went from Stanwick’s face as she leaned forward, “Sorry, what?
Pretchis spoke to you directly?”

Charlene nodded
slowly, unsure if she’d misspoken.

West too looked
austerely serious, “Charlene, can you remember exactly what it is
you heard?”

She furrowed
her brow, stroking her temples as she closed her eyes in
concentration, “It was in the palace; he was talking to you all,
and I could get the gist of what he was saying, but then he started
talking plain English, something about an infinite reign?” West
glanced uncomfortably at Stanwick as they waited for Charlene to
elaborate.

“Yes … yes,
that was it. He said, ‘Child of the void garden, time will not
bring you succor,’”

She paused,
trying to drag the exact words from her memory, then opening her
eyes as the wording came back to her, she continued, “succor or …
or security. My reign is infinite and my contempt will know no
temperance. I am the light at the beginning of your universe … the
darkness that consumes as the worlds drift into my farthest
reaches.”

West laughed
nervously, “Very peculiar.”

Stanwick stared
at West in stunned disbelief, “That’s all you’ve got to say?
Peculiar?” She rubbed her arms, chilled by Charlene’s
revelation.

West sat back,
relaxing his weight into the leather cushions, “It isn’t anomalous
Stan.”

Stanwick was
wild eyed now, “Pretchis spoke directly to Charlene through the
hopper and it’s not anomalous?”

West shook his
head, “Charlene was experiencing my memory.”

Stanwick
shrugged, “So what?”

“So Pretchis
wasn’t talking directly to her, Charlene was hearing my
thoughts.”

Doubtful,
Stanwick pursed her lips as she looked at West, so he continued,
“It was a phrase that I recited in my head, while Pretchis
addressed everyone in his grand dormitory. It was something I had
read in the archives and it kept going through my mind as Pretchis
spoke because I was certain at the time that it must have been
Pretchis who had first uttered those words.”

Stanwick
breathed out slowly and nodded as she looked at Charlene.

“There was
something else I noticed,” Charlene began.

West leaned
forwards attentively, “Go on?”

“The people you
were with … I’m sure I recognized some of them.”

West nodded,
“Ahken’s parents? Lucas and Petra Miller.”

Charlene looked
confused, “His parents?”

Stanwick
nodded, “Ahken’s parents, and my adoptive parents; Reiner and Petra
Kith Tiarsis, aka president and first lady Lucas and Petra Miller.”
She laughed, “Make no mistake Charlene, I would not be welcomed
into The White House with open arms right now.”

Charlene closed
her eyes and tried to commit everything she had heard to memory.
Stanwick extended her leg and prodded Charlene’s bare knee, “Don’t
stress the small stuff. You’re not going to be tested on any of
this.” Charlene smiled and nodded gratefully, “It’s been a long
day. I wish I didn’t have so many questions.”

West was
sympathetic, “I’d be more concerned if you didn’t have any
questions. Please, don’t be afraid to ask anything.”

Stanwick
grinned, “Do you mind if I ask you something Charlene?”

Charlene shook
her head uncertainly.

Stanwick’s grin
broadened, “Have you ever wished you could visit a particular
period in history?”

Charlene held
her hand to her mouth as she thought about the question. She had
never had a great deal of interest in history, but she didn’t want
to appear to be ignorant. Mostly she’d learned about American
history in school and she’d come to appreciate over the years that
a lot of what she’d learned was pretty biased.

“Honestly, I
wouldn’t know where to begin.” She looked apologetic, but Stanwick
shrugged dismissively, “It’s not a trick question. We’ve seen a lot
over the years and I’ve made a lot of recordings on the hopper.”
She could see that Charlene was embarrassed and she tried to
comfort her, “Hey, it’s not a big deal. If you do think of anything
you want to see, just ask.”

West laughed,
“Don’t worry Charlene, Stanwick’s life reads like a history of bare
knuckle brawls and tribal warfare through the ages; you really
aren’t missing much.”

Charlene
smiled, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

David had drifted
rapidly in and out of dreams and nightmares, waking occasionally to
find Stephanie lying with her foot on his throat, or her hand over
his face. He lay staring at the mottled streetlight which shone
dully through the fabric of the sheet which he had pulled about his
face, trying to block out the unfamiliar surroundings and imagine
that he was back home in Washington. He blinked slowly, once,
twice, then his eyelids fell heavy and he found himself in the
front cab of the van, driving towards Calvert. He could hear the
two agents hammering behind him, claw like fingers scraping on
metal, but he knew what he had to do. He turned on the radio,
trying his best to block out the horror of his situation and the
song that played was immediately familiar; the slightly frantic
marimba that he heard every school morning, which usually signaled
that he only had about fourteen seconds to reach Stephanie’s
bedroom before he would be forced to endure
Mamma Mia
for
the thousandth time. He fiddled with the radio, punching at
buttons, but every station was the same, and when he tried to turn
the damned thing off, the girls still started singing anyway.
That’s when he remembered the alarm. Stephanie’s alarm.

He woke with a
start, tugging the bed sheet from his face, looking for the source
of the alarm. There … Stephanie’s backpack lay on the floor, a
couple of feet from the bed. David dug through her things quickly,
bleary eyes shying from the light of her phone’s screen. Swipe to
snooze. Back to bed.

The routine came more
easily each time, the weight of tiredness dragging him back into
uncharted waters, or even worse, to dark and oft charted depths.
Emerging from the darkness, he saw a familiar oak door, an ornate
brass handle inviting him to explore further. He felt uneasy, as he
had every time he’d stood in front of that door, because he knew
that any exploration would lead to disappointment. His father would
be busy, his head in a book, or his fingers clacking away at a
keyboard. He turned from the door now, crept down the hallway which
was too long; much longer than he remembered. The door opened
behind him, and he heard the ominous drumming of his father’s
fingers on hard wood. He felt the white hot fear in his chest. He’d
been here before. He’d dreamed a hundred dreams of his father’s
return from death. How had they not realized that he would come
back to life? David wanted it, more than anything, even though he
blamed his father for his own shortcomings, but not like this.
Sometimes in his dreams, his father was healthy and engaging, other
times ailing and maniacal, but his visits were always fleeting. He
knew that if he turned, he would have to deal with the knowing, the
acceptance that his father was back from the dead, only to have him
snatched away by his waking. He felt himself choking up, even
though he knew that he should be happy.

“David, it’s
okay.”

No, he couldn’t
face him right now. He ran down the corridor, towards the
impossibly distant staircase, covering his ears with his hands in
an attempt to block out the voice which was coming from inside his
own head. “David, stop and talk to me.” He ran quickly, desperate
to escape the sound that he missed so much, his father’s sonorous
and commanding voice. “David, come back, please, I need to tell
you. There’s so much you need to know!” But the words now became
lost in the urgent refrain of music as David ran faster, and
suddenly all that he could hear was the music.