The Forge of the Anchor

THE FORGE OF THE ANCHOR

‘Welcome to Sheol I, formerly known as the University of Oxford.’

The speaker was about six and a half feet tall. Her argent face was perfectly symmetrical – a long, straight nose, high cheekbones, hooded eyes. The candlelight ran through her thick hair, which gleamed like spun gold, falling unadorned to her waist.

‘Nashira Sargas is the name I bear here.’ Her voice was cool and low, resonant enough to fill the room. ‘I am blood-sovereign of the Rephaim and Suzerain of the Republic of Scion.’

‘Is this a joke?’ someone muttered.

I wanted to ask the same question. So far, nothing here appeared real.

In keeping with the monarch look, two of the very tall figures wore livery collars, including Nashira Sargas. Hers was gold, studded with amber.

‘First of all, I must apologise for your harrowing journey, especially if it began in the Tower of London,’ she said. ‘After being sedated, you were placed on a train and taken to our Detainment Facility. Your clothing and belongings have been confiscated.’

As I listened, I watched her, probing the æther. Her aura was especially strange, simmering like water on the boil.

‘No doubt you are surprised to hear that this city is still populated,’ she continued. ‘According to Scion, it was quarantined due to contamination. This was a lie. It was so that we, the Rephaim, could make it our home on Earth.’

My face must have been a picture. She could only have been speaking for a minute, but I already felt unmoored from reality.

‘Most of you here are clairvoyant, capable of interacting with the æther,’ Nashira said. ‘You commune with spirits, and in return, they may offer you their guidance and protection. But when these drifting spirits grow too great in number – too cowardly or stubborn to leave, to meet their unmaking in the last light – it places a significant burden on the æther. Some time ago, this burden finally became too heavy, shattering the ethereal threshold.’

Julian looked torn between laughter and trepidation. Seb swayed on the spot.

‘When the ethereal threshold broke, the Netherworld was overrun by hostile creatures named Emim,’ Nashira said. ‘They feed on flesh and spirit, devouring both without remorse, and they do not hear reason. Their arrival caused the Netherworld to fall into decay, forcing us to abandon it.’

The whisperer let out the quietest of nervous chuckles. ‘How am I still this high?’

‘Shh.’

‘In 1859, we crossed the veil to Earth and negotiated with the human government of England,’ Nashira went on. ‘Together, we agreed on a new way of living, to ensure that Earth would not also fall to the Emim. We established the Republic of Scion.’

Silence filled the room.

Nashira Sargas had our attention.

‘When we arrived here, we found you vulnerable. Only a small number of humans are clairvoyant; still fewer have marginally useful abilities,’ she said. ‘We might have simply let the Emim overrun your world, to avenge the loss of ours. We might have killed you all. Instead, we showed mercy. Here in this city, a bargain was struck. You stand in the very forge of the anchor.’

I looked at Julian, who blinked, hard.

‘Earth requires custodians with more wisdom than humankind. Over eons, you have caused untold suffering,’ Nashira said. ‘You have fought and killed one another with abandon – not only saddling your realm with restless spirits, but ruining ours. You cannot be allowed to continue. Where you failed to protect this world, we will not.’

She levelled her gaze on my line of prisoners. I lowered mine, just in case.

‘Some of you were detained by humans in our employ. They are called red-jackets.’ She indicated a line of men and women, clad in scarlet tunics and black gilets. ‘Since our arrival, we have taken many clairvoyants under our wing. We train you to destroy the Emim. This city acts as a beacon to the creatures, drawing them away from the amaurotic population.’

No safer place.The motto rang with new meaning. No safer place.

‘When the Emim breach these walls, red-jackets are summoned to repel them. Such breaches are announced by a siren. There is a high risk of mutilation.’

There is also, I thought, a high risk that this is all in my head.

‘We offer you this fate as an alternative to what Scion would offer: death by hanging or asphyxiation, or a short life as a Vigile.’

In the row behind me, a girl whimpered. She was hushed at once.

This was ridiculous. Scion was trying to make us think we had lost our marbles. Either that, or Jaxon had paid all these people to play some elaborate trick on me. I wouldn’t have put it past him.

‘London is our primary source of clairvoyants,’ Nashira said. ‘Scion ensures that you are recognised, relocated and rehabilitated, away from the amaurotics, who despise you. This is the truth behind the anchor.’

I forced myself to consider the possibility that all of this was real. I understood almost none of it, but if Nashira Sargas was telling the truth, Scion was no more than a puppet government.

The girl behind me cracked. With a desperate sob, she made a break for the door.

She stood no chance against the bullet.

Screams erupted everywhere. In the chaos, one of the Rephaim thundered, ‘SILENCE.’

His pipes would have put an organ to shame. The hall fell silent at once.

The killer was human, wearing red. He holstered his revolver and clasped his hands behind his back. Two other guards took the body by the arms and towed it outside, leaving a smear of blood.

‘If any more of you wish to run, now is the time,’ Nashira said. ‘Be assured, we can make room in the grave.’

Nobody moved an inch. If there had been any suspicion left that this was a game or hallucination, that bullet had shattered it.

In the fraught silence that followed, I risked a glance at the other Rephaim.

One of them was looking at me.

He must have been examining me for some time. His gaze cleaved straight to mine, as if he had been waiting for me to look, watching for a flicker of dissent.

Like Nashira, he wore a livery collar. His skin was a warm dark gold, setting off his flaming eyes. He was the tallest of the Rephaim, with brown hair, short and roughly cut. A strange aura enfolded him, overshadowed by the others in the room.

He was the single most beautiful and terrible thing I had ever laid eyes on.

I snapped my gaze back to the floor, shaken. Distantly, I realised Nashira was still talking.

‘Clairvoyants have developed great strength over the last two centuries. You have learned to endure Scion,’ she said. ‘Over ten years, we select a certain number of you for enrolment in for our penal colony. We call these decadal harvests Bone Seasons. Yours is the twentieth.

‘The clairvoyants among you will now be assigned an identification number and a Rephaite keeper. Seven of my companions will welcome humans into their residences this Bone Season.

‘Your keeper will be your master in all things. Their duty is to train you for your tests, during which your value to our cause will be judged,’ Nashira said. ‘Should you disobey or displease your keeper, you will receive the yellow tunic of a craven.’

I know it isn’t my place – you’ve told me so – but I think you should consider the University.

My lips quaked into a smile. This might not be the University of Scion London, but it sounded like I would be taking exams.

‘Those of you who are amaurotic – that is, the few of you who have no idea what I am talking about – will be put to work in our residences,’ Nashira said. ‘Since amaurotics reap the greatest benefits from Scion, it is only right that some of you should join our long campaign against the Emim. You are here to serve.’

Seb was starting to look very unwell.

‘If you do not pass your first test, or if you should thrice earn the yellow tunic, you will be sent to Beltrame the Overseer, who will mould you into a performer,’ Nashira continued. ‘Performers exist for our entertainment, and the entertainment of those loyal to us.’

I soon understood. Those people on the stage had been the cowards, the failures.

A few people were crying now; others stood in rapt horror. Nashira didn’t appear to notice.

‘Those of you who adapt to this system will be rewarded. Those who do not will be punished,’ she said. ‘This is your life now.’

This proved too much for Seb, who fainted. Julian sidled around me to help me prop him up, but he was still a dead weight.

Seven of the Rephaim stepped down from the platform. ‘These Rephaim have offered their services as keepers,’ Nashira said. ‘They will now decide which of you to take under their wings.’

The giants began to survey the room, walking between the rows. The tallest – the one whose gaze I had met – stayed on the platform with Nashira and the others, who must be there as observers.

‘It can’t be true,’ I said in a whisper.

‘Look at them.’ Julian barely moved his lips. ‘They’re not human.’

‘There is no such thing as a Netherworld.’ I shut up for a moment when a Rephaite passed. ‘There’s here and the æther. That’s it.’

‘Rotties can’t sense the æther, but it’s real. Who’s to say there isn’t more?’

A wild laugh bubbled up inside me. I managed to restrain it. I had imagined many reasons for voyants being taken, but nothing like this.

Across the room, a Rephaite stopped in front of Carl. Her clothes were particularly spartan, down to her sturdy boots and the plain cut of her doublet.

‘XX-59-1,’ she said, ‘I lay claim to you.’

Carl swallowed. Once his new keeper had pointed him towards one side of the room, the Rephaim returned to their circling, like flimps sizing up wealthy marks. I wondered how they were choosing us.

After a few minutes, the whisperer joined Carl. Pleione claimed the oracle. One by one, we were picked like fish at the market.

A male with an angular face chose the palmist. She wept in panic, gasping ‘please’ to no avail. Julian was taken not long after – 26. He shot me a worried look and went with his new keeper.

They got to 38. Finally, there were only a few of us left: the amaurotics, a polyglot, and me.

The polyglot – a small boy with cornrows, probably no more than twelve – was led away by Pleione and given the number 39. Now I was the only voyant.

The Rephaim looked to Nashira. My spine pulled tight.

The one who had been watching me stepped forward to stand at her side. They seemed to have a silent conversation before she crooked a finger at me.So much for keeping my head down.

Seb was still unconscious. Noticing my predicament, one of the amaurotic men took him from my arms. Every eye was on me as I walked across the marble floor, my footsteps echoing, too loud.

I stopped in front of the platform. Nashira watched me, one hand on the balustrade. She wore black leather gloves, as they all did.

‘What is your name?’

‘Paige,’ I said.

‘And where are you from?’

I lifted my chin. ‘Ireland.’

A murmur passed through the room.

‘I see,’ Nashira said. ‘Your aura is intriguing. Tell us what you are.’

‘I don’t know.’

Head down, eyes open.

‘A mystery, then. I have good news for you,’ Nashira said. (I highly doubted it.) ‘You have caught the attention of my consort – Arcturus, Warden of the Mesarthim. He has decided to be your keeper.’

The other Rephaim exchanged glances, expressionless.

‘It is rare that he takes an interest in a human,’ Nashira told me. ‘You are fortunate.’

I didn’t feel especially fortunate. I felt like death warmed over.

Arcturus looked down at me. A very long way down.

‘XX-59-40.’ His voice was deep and soft. ‘I lay claim to you.’

As he spoke, I looked right into his eyes, even though I shouldn’t. I wanted to know the face of my enemy.

‘It is done,’ Nashira said. ‘Those of you who remain will be escorted to Amaurotic House. The rest of you will go with your keepers to the residences.’ She clasped her hands. ‘You have been spared the wretched fate of other clairvoyants in Scion. Embrace your new lives, and you will reap many rewards. Together, we will make sure that there is no safer place than Scion.’

With that, she departed, shadowed by two of the human guards.

Arcturus started to leave. From his purposeful stride, he was used to people hurrying to clear a path for him. When I didn’t come at once, he waited.

Everyone was staring at me. My head spun as I followed my new jailer.

The first red of dawn had dusted the sky. Arcturus swept through the gates and turned left. I barely managed to keep up with him.

‘You are my tenant now,’ he informed me. (What a nice word for prisoner.) ‘Should you pass your tests, you will live with me on a permanent basis. If you fail, I may decide to evict you. You should try to avoid that fate. The streets here are not kind.’

They couldn’t be much worse than London.

‘You should know that we sleep by day. There is a strict curfew,’ he continued. ‘You must be indoors from sunrise to dusk.’

When he led me past an old sign reading CATTE STREET, I took note. I needed to learn the layout of this city as soon as possible.

‘Your silence concerns me.’ Arcturus stopped. ‘Do you understand what I am telling you?’

‘I’m not allowed to speak without permission,’ I reminded him.

‘I will grant you that privilege.’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Arcturus returned my unflinching gaze. His eyes held a dead heat.

‘We are stationed at the Residence of Magdalen.’ He turned his back on me again. ‘I trust you are strong enough to walk.’

‘I can walk,’ I said curtly.

‘Good.’

Arcturus strode on to another gaslit street, this one named Magdalen Walk. From the hush and stillness, the sinister performance had come to an end.

As I trailed after him, I spotted a group of voyants standing under a streetlamp. One woman caught my gaze, but she was quick to look away.

‘You lot,’ a red-jacket barked at them. ‘Back to the Rookery. The Bone Season does not exempt you from the curfew.’

They melted into the shadows at once. Arcturus ignored the disturbance, but glanced back to make sure I was still following.

Magdalen was from another time, another world. Imposing and magnificent, it boasted tall chimneys, Gothic arches, and a bell tower with turrets, and that was just what I could see from the street.

Deep chimes rang out as we approached a wooden door. THE RESIDENCE OF MAGDALEN was carved into the lintel, flanked by lanterns. I had less than no idea why Arcturus pronounced it maudlin.

He used an iron knocker to rap on the door. It opened to reveal a man with brown skin and grizzled black hair, who bowed and let us inside.

‘Warden,’ the man said, once the door was closed and bolted. ‘Welcome back. I trust the Bone Season brought a promising crop.’

‘Yes. This is my new tenant,’ Arcturus said. ‘Her number is XX-59-40.’

The man gave me a guarded look. He was probably in his early fifties. His grey tunic and lack of aura marked him as an amaurotic.

‘Very good, my lord,’ he said. ‘I’ll inform the night porter.’

Arcturus led me across a courtyard, into a stone passage. It was open to the cold on one side, making the torchlight flicker. I followed him up a flight of steps. At the top, there were more steps to the right, leading to a door. He unlocked a larger door on our left.

Beyond lay a room with a high ceiling, befitting the lair of a giant. The walls were pale, with dark and polished wainscoting. A gramophone played ‘Gloomy Sunday’ from a stand in one corner.

The furnishings were beautiful. Thick red curtains framed the oriel windows. A daybed and a couch – also red – faced each other beside a crackling fire, accompanied by a wing chair. A low table stood between them, set with two goblets and a decanter.

At least my aura would fit in with the décor.

Arcturus walked ahead of me. I watched him return the key to his belt.

‘The Founders Tower,’ he said. ‘This is where you will live.’

As he spoke, I dared to skim his dreamscape – ancient and strange, hardened by time. I recognised those defences, their impossible layering.

The stranger in the æther had definitely been one of them.

Arcturus turned to me, possibly sensing what I had done. Or perhaps he was admiring his prize.

‘Come here,’ he said.

I walked to him, stopping a short distance away. He was a clear foot taller than me. To look him in the face, I had to crane my neck.

I still met his gaze without hesitation. Let him see every ounce of my hatred for him. Now the initial shock had faded, I was fuming.

‘You do not have the sight,’ he observed. ‘That may prove to be a disadvantage here, unless you have some means of compensating.’

His accent was that of most Scion officials, classic Inquisitorial English. You could have cut glass on those consonants. It was a measured voice, betraying next to no emotion.

Then again, he might have none.

‘I must leave soon.’ His face was cold. ‘Do you have any questions?’

I looked around. ‘I’ve all this to myself ?’

‘No. This is my parlour. Until your room is ready, you may sleep here.’

‘Where is my room?’

‘In the southwestern attic adjoining the tower. Anything else?’

Magdalen clearly had no shortage of rooms. If he had installed me in his own quarters, he must want to keep a close eye on me.

‘No,’ I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. ‘No, this all seems perfectly simple.’

‘Very well.’

He went to a display case. I watched his every move, like the good thief I was.

‘I will be away until tomorrow.’ He took out a short glass. ‘You should acquaint yourself with the city in my absence. Should you hear the siren, return to the Founders Tower at once. If you steal or touch or otherwise meddle with anything, I will know.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The sir just slipped out.

Arcturus poured water into the glass. He presented it to me with a green tablet.

‘Take this,’ he said. ‘Take another at dusk, along with the red and white pills. You will find them in the middle drawer of my desk.’

‘What if I refuse?’

There was a long silence.

‘It was an order,’ he said. ‘Not a request.’

‘I’ve met people like you before. The sort of people who like to throw their weight around,’ I said softly. ‘You don’t scare me.’

‘Then you are a fool.’

My jaw clenched.

If I meant to survive this place, I would have to pick my battles. I washed the pill down. Arcturus took the glass from my hand.

‘One more thing,’ he said. A tremor shot down my spine. ‘You will address me by my ceremonial title – Warden. Is that understood?’

‘Yes.’

I forced myself to say it.

‘We will begin your training upon my return.’ He made for the door. ‘Sleep well.’

‘I don’t know what you are,’ I said, ‘but know this.’ I met his eyes once more. ‘You brought the wrong voyant in here.’

Arcturus regarded me for a moment. Without another word, he closed the heavy door behind him, leaving me alone in the shadows.

The key turned in the lock.