Memoranda Page 3

  As soon as I was sure it was dead, I dropped the weapon and walked to the creek where I plunged my own head into the water. When my adrenaline had finally stopped pumping and my heart lost its hummingbird flutter, the real terror set in. I was elated to have come through the encounter with my life, but the face of the vanquished monster told me in no uncertain terms that this was only the beginning. The creature Wood and I had killed was not Greta Sykes, Below’s original beast. It had moved somewhat more clumsily than she. On closer inspection it proved to be a male and had no head-bolts as Greta had. Given Below’s propensity for carrying all projects across the boundary of absurdity, I realized there could be an entire pack of these things guarding the perimeter of the city.

  I was shaken, but the discovery of a second werewolf was an undeniable argument that the Master had to be stopped as soon as possible. Before moving on, I went to the saddlebag on Quismal’s back and retrieved a handful of dried meat. I called Wood to me. He came quietly enough and sat at my feet. Kneeling down, I expressed my thanks to him, petting his head, scratching his chest, while I fed him the strips of meat. He panted and ate and made a face with his teeth showing as though he were smiling. When he had finished the meal, and there was nothing else I could say, I stood and went to fetch the bow and quiver of remaining arrows. I bent over to lift the weapon, and he ran by behind me and bit me on the rear end, pulling my trousers down. I turned to kick him, but he was off like a shot, streaking across the plain.

  “Idiot,” I yelled after him, and then turned to see that Quismal, savant of horses, had somehow undone his reins from the tree and was standing in the middle of the creek.

  I spent a half-hour fishing my mount out of the water before I was on my way again. We crossed the open expanse of the fields of Harakun, where so many historic battles of oppression had been waged by the forces of the Well-Built City against the farmers of Latrobia. Thousands were buried in mass graves beneath the ground I traversed, their lives cut short by the Master’s will and whim. There was an eerie sadness to the desolate plain, which, as I had read in school, had once been fertile ground. Now nothing grew there but a tawny-colored saw grass and an occasional gnarled tree, as if the deaths of all those souls had also killed the very earth on which they had battled. I was equally tense for the fact that there was little cover with which to block my approach to the walls of the city.

  Quismal could obviously feel the spirit of the place, for he overcame his usual lethargy and was actually skittish at times, prancing to this side or that, whinnying at the sight of birds and rabbits. I stayed low on his back, trying to present as slight a spectacle as possible to anyone or anything that might be watching. When we would move across a clearing that held no grass, I more than once saw paw tracks in the soft dry dirt that I knew were too large to be Wood’s. In the late afternoon, I saw something moving through tall grass about a quarter of a mile to the west and was almost certain it had a silver-gray coat. As I continued deeper into the heart of the plain, I had the sickening realization that they were probably encircling me, waiting for nightfall.

  It was twilight when I first caught sight of the city’s jagged silhouette in the distance. The few remaining spires, the blasted outer wall, and the crumbled buildings appeared all together like the fossil of an ancient behemoth that had fallen from the sky. The shaft of the crystal tower that had been the Top of the City glimmered like a diamond eye in the setting sun. I could not help but think that it could see me returning. For a moment, I forgot about the horrors that had been perpetrated there and experienced a brief wave of nostalgia. I had spent my youth there, had risen to power, learned my gravest lesson there. I reached into my coat and retrieved the green veil. I could not deceive myself that I had come solely to save my neighbors.

  As I gauged by the position of the sun how long I had until nightfall, I noticed three birds moving through the sky from the direction of the ruins. At first, I took them to be crows or hawks, but then the last of the sun touched them and they glistened like splinters thrown off from the remains of the crystal tower. I needed no more of an indication than those brief sparks of light to know exactly what breed of bird they were. I reached back and brought up the crossbow. As soon as I had the quiver of arrows slung across my back, I leaned forward and pleaded for Quismal to run. He must have felt my fear, because, to my astonishment, he actually began to canter.

  By the time he achieved a gallop, the first of the metallic birds had begun to spiral down toward us. I pulled hard on the reins from left to right, directing the horse in a zigzag pattern while all the time watching the deadly mechanism in its descent. As if it had intelligence, it stayed with us as we fled erratically across the plain. When it was no more than a hundred yards above, it hovered for a second and then simply plummeted like a stone dropped from a cliff. It missed us by less than ten yards and upon impact with the ground exploded with an intensity that threw earth and rock high into the air, nearly knocking me out of the saddle. We had narrowly escaped, but the blast frightened Quismal back into his usual apathy. He hobbled a few more steps and came to an abrupt stop.

  The second and third of the flying bombs began to circle downward toward us as I pleaded for the horse to move. In the space of ten seconds, I had called him everything from the noblest creature that had ever lived to the essence of equine genius, but it was clear he had become a living statue. I had no choice but to abandon him and run. When I leaped to the ground, Below’s chrome messengers of death had begun their free fall. I sprinted fifty yards in little more than the time it might have taken to sign my name and then dived onto the earth. Shielding my eyes, I looked back just in time to see poor Quismal come apart at the seams like a bursting flagon of wine. The roar and shock wave rolled over me as hooves and entrails showered down in a twenty-yard radius from where he had once stood.

  The fear I had worked so hard to keep in abeyance now spread through me—an ice that formed with the speed of fire. I thought nothing as I ran headlong toward the ruins. When I finally stopped to catch my breath, I realized that night had fallen. I immediately set about arming the crossbow, but before I could engage an arrow, something came bounding out of the dark. There was not even time to be startled. Never did I think I would be so happy to see the black dog. He trotted over and sat at my feet.

  4

  I moved cautiously forward, the bow loaded, its stock against my shoulder, my finger on the trigger. It was impossible to see more than a few yards in any direction, and I had lost sight of the remains of the city. Wood stayed mercifully close to me, and this took a fraction of the edge off.

  The sky was overcast, offering no moon or starlight, and I wasn’t sure this was to my benefit or not. We managed to cover what I surmised to be about half the distance to the wall before the howling started. Until then, I thought we might have a chance of making it undetected. These creatures made a noise like angels in mourning. Their voices came from all over the plain, and it was clear to me very quickly that they were communicating our position. My arms and legs began to tremble, and I found I was paralyzed with fear.

  Wood trotted over to where I stood, grabbed the top of my right boot with his teeth, and began tugging. This had the same affect as someone nudging me awake. I shook off the fear as best I could and tried to concentrate. Even though I started walking again, I couldn’t put together a rational thought. My mind was simply blank, and I felt a great weariness in my limbs. Then the howling abruptly ceased, giving way to a silence that was even worse.

  “They’re coming,” I said to the dog, and stopped in my tracks. I turned around in a full circle, aiming the bow from the level of my chest. Wood began to quietly growl. My eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness, and I was able to peer a few feet ahead of me. I stood still for some time, listening as hard as I could. At first I could only hear the blood pulsing in my head. A few moments later, I detected the slight sound of the breeze moving through the grass, and a short time after that came what seemed the subtle patt
er of paws scampering in the soft dirt some distance behind us.

  Knowing I probably wouldn’t be getting much older, I decided to hell with caution, and we both broke into a frantic dash at the same instant. My adrenaline was pumping again, which was the only reason I was able to keep pace with the dog. I’d never moved so fast in my life until we heard their howls right behind us, and I managed to increase my speed even more. They were charging hard, and from the sounds of their yelps and snapping jaws, they were closing on us.

  My lungs were heaving, tears were streaming from my eyes, when I foolishly looked back to see how close they actually were. That is when one leaped out of the shadows to my right, its head ramming hard into my shoulder and loosening my grip on the bow. The weapon flew out of my hands as I lost my balance and went over face first in the dirt. The creature was on me in a second, those deadly fangs miraculously misjudging the distance to my neck and instead snagging the collar of my coat. I was too scared to think, but immediately reached down into my boot, where I kept Ea’s stone knife. As the werewolf disengaged from the cloth, I plunged the razor-sharp blade into its underside and sliced up toward the head as if unfastening a huge zipper, trying to sever as many major organs as possible. Even as its putrid insides spilled out onto me, it took hold of my shoulder with its teeth and began applying pressure. Wood rammed the dying monster in the side with his snout, and flung it off of me as another appeared out of thin air and landed on his back.

  I didn’t bother standing but rolled over to where the bow lay with the arrow still engaged. As I aimed, I lifted myself to my knees, jostling the weapon in the process. I should have taken more care, for fear of hitting the dog, but my finger seemed to pull the trigger of its own volition. The arrow merely grazed the left shoulder of the new attacker, but it was enough to get its attention. It left Wood on the ground and charged me. As it lunged, I dropped the bow, and reached back to pull an arrow out of the quiver. Holding it angled up with two hands, I skewered the odious wretch right through the chest as it descended. Of course, it wasn’t dead, so I lifted the bow and swung it like a club. The head of the creature caved in with a hollow crunch, but at the same time the weapon splintered and split in half.

  I began running again, stumbling forward, and the wounded dog hobbled along at my side. Only now did I begin to feel where the first werewolf had lacerated my left forearm with its claws. The pack was still a little distance behind us, but I knew it was over. I felt there was no sense in torturing myself any longer. In that moment, Wood peeled away from me and took off in the opposite direction, heading straight back toward our pursuers. I didn’t know how badly he was wounded, but I knew that he meant to buy me a minute or two. My mind was in a state of utter confusion, but still, I managed to think, “All this for a few scraps of meat?” Then I heard his vicious growl as he met the pack, and I forced him out of my mind.

  The noises that came from behind me sounded like a hundred death cries at once. I ran on a few more yards until I simply collapsed from exhaustion. The pressure in my heart and lungs made me feel as if I were going to explode like Quismal. I welcomed this prospect in light of the alternative. Looking up, I saw the shadowy outline of the crumbling circular wall and the jagged silhouette of the Top of the City. It was a mere fifty yards off, but I didn’t have enough strength to get to my knees. In the midst of my distress, I did not miss the irony that those things my neighbors had given me to help in my journey, which I had judged so paltry at first, had actually almost carried me to my destination.

  As I heard the pack approaching, I began to lose consciousness. Groping in my coat pocket, I searched for the green veil and gathered it into my fist. Something then pounced on my back. I waited for those fangs to rip through my flesh and crack my spine. Instead, I was lifted bodily off the ground and ascended into the empty sky. “This is death,” I thought. The terror of it made me close my eyes, and I fell into myself like an ember into an ocean.

  Imagine my surprise when I woke sometime later, lying on a cot with a blanket pulled up around me. My body was still tense with fear, and every strained muscle and pulled ligament ached unmercifully without me even moving. Pushing back the covers, I propped myself up on my right elbow and discovered then that someone had bandaged the claw wounds on my forearm.

  The room I was in was very dimly lit, only one candle burning on a table a few feet from where I lay. Everything beyond the circle of its glow appeared murky, but I could at least see that the ceiling was very high above, vaulting up fifteen feet or so. Some distance beyond the table, I barely made out a wall with a closed door. I turned over and peered into the shadows and saw row upon row of bookshelves. The aisles between them led off for a long way and disappeared into the darkness like tunnels.

  There was something familiar to me in the location. I knew I had been here before. It was most definitely a site within the city. I had made it to my destination at least, but neither my existence nor the success of my mission were any less tenuous. Just then, I discovered that I was still holding the green veil balled up in my fist. I unclenched my fingers and looked at it for a moment’s comfort, thinking it might help me to make a decision as to what to do next. My choices were either to flee or stay and hope that it had been Below who had found me. I thought that if I only had a chance to speak with him, I might be able to convince him to help me reverse the effects of the sleep. It turned out that a choice was unnecessary since I heard someone approaching from the other side of the door. I quickly shoved the veil into my coat pocket and lay back down on the pillow, pulling the covers up over my shoulders.

  I was in place and feigning sleep only a moment before I heard them enter. Whoever it was closed the door, and then I knew they were lighting the spire lamps mounted on the walls from the aroma of the gas. The sounds of the flames igniting were like birds whooshing by. A set of boots tapped against the coral floor as they approached me. The steps halted right next to my cot, and I tried to, very slowly, without fluttering my lashes, open my eyes a mere razor slit in order to see the face of my savior. A shadow came across my eyes, and I could tell that the person was leaning over me. I snuck a brief glance, but then his hand touched my hair to smooth it back, and I gave up trying to see. All I had caught in the split second I looked was the reflected glint of a pair of round spectacles. None of the face’s features had been clear to me. Luckily, the person moved over to the table. I heard a chair being dragged back and the sound of him taking a seat.

  I was almost certain that this was not Below. In the time I had known him he had never worn spectacles, and unless he had gone senile in recent years, the last thing he ever would have done is run his hand over my hair in such a caring manner. I decided to bide my time and do some slit-lid spying before abandoning the mask of sleep.

  I turned onto my side, grumbling like one caught in the throes of an unpleasant dream, so as to get a better look at the table and its occupant. In waiting a short while before attempting to open my eyes, it came to me where I must be. The long rows of bookshelves, the high ceiling made it evident that I was in the basement of the Ministry of Information, where I had once done research to try to discover the blueprints for the false paradise.

  When I thought enough time had passed, I opened my eyes a quarter of the way and saw the silhouette of what appeared to be a man, a large cumbersome cape draped over his back, leaning forward, reading a book. At half-aperture, the man became clearer and was not a man at all. My eyes shot open wide and a cold sweat broke out across my back, for sitting there, wearing a pair of round-rimmed spectacles like any scholar in the world, was the demon. That cumbersome cape I thought I had seen became his pointed wings, and that sound of boots on the coral floor had really been the sound of hooves. His barbed tail danced rhythmically behind him as he turned the page and began silently moving his lips.

  I wanted to scream but tried not to, and the result was like a dog barking. He turned his horned head to look at me, his yellow eyes magnified behind thick lenses. Rip
ping the covers off, I rolled out of bed and ran, limping down the nearest aisle between the rows of books. I screamed as I ran. In between my yells, I could hear his wings beating above as he pursued me.

  Eventually, the shelves ended, and I was facing a wall. I backed up against it and watched as he descended, his wings kicking up clouds of dust from the old books. My trip to the Beyond had shown me what these demons could do to human flesh. As he approached, I cautioned him not to come any closer or I would take action. He did not heed my warning. I have no idea why I did it, but I reached into my coat, pulled out the green veil, and threw it at him. Though it had been wadded into a ball, it immediately opened up in midair inches from my hand and fluttered to the ground like a feather. The demon grimaced and a strange sound welled up from his chest.

  I stood there, shaking, waiting for him to pounce, and then, after a long time had passed, I realized that he was laughing. He bent over, picked up the veil, and handed it toward me. When I reached out and took it from him, he said, “Physiognomist Cley?”

  I was astonished at his use of human language and could do no more than nod.

  “I am Misrix,” he said. Then he bowed slightly and brought his hairy, clawed hand up to shake.

  Perhaps it was the ridiculous nature of a demon wearing spectacles that told me finally that I had nothing to fear. I reached out and clasped hands with him. As we shook, his wings opened and closed slightly. Then he turned and started back down the aisle. Motioning to me with his tail as though it were an arm, he called over his shoulder, “Come, I’ll make us some tea.”

  5

  “Sugar?” asked the demon.

  I came suddenly to attention and nodded without realizing what he was asking. From the time I had taken a seat at the library table, and he had gone through the door to fetch the tea, I was unaware of both my surroundings and the passage of time. In my mind I kept replaying the scene of me throwing the balled-up veil at him. The memory of his laughter had left me reeling.