Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

SILAS HELD on to Pitch in the darkness, and wept. The tears seared from him: acidic and hurtful and exhausting. What a great and priceless gift Lalassu gave them; using the last of her reserves to serve their cause. Giving the last of her magick so that an avenging angel would find his way barred.

Silas mourned the Pale Horse, despising how little time he could give to her, for this was far from said and done, and he'd not waste the chance she and Sanu now gave them. But Christ, he wished his humanity not so dominant; so ready to give him pain. How much easier it would be, to lose himself in the monstrosity of his Nephilim nature; or be so thoroughly Death's messenger that the mare's loss did not cut into his very soul.

Pitch shook in Silas's arms. His clothing was mere shreds, but it was not the cold that caused him to shiver.

Silas held tighter, as his own tears refused to dry, and sought to console the prince in what small way he could. Pitch's guilt would fester, and Silas could not allow that extra burden upon shoulders already so laden.

Illumination arrived. A flickering of a torch, a quiet footstep.

‘I'm so sorry,' Charlie whispered. ‘Is there no hope?'

Pitch tensed, pressing his face firmer into Silas's chest. Scarlet resettled themselves in the prince's hair, offering up all her pretty colours to placate him.

Silas shook his head. ‘Not this day. But she will not suffer. Sanu, and Chollima and the natural folk, will see to that.'

The whispers of Lalassu's death note still rung in his ears. Their melody would never leave him.

‘Oh, Silas,' Charlie's voice broke. ‘She was so wonderful.'

‘There will none other like her,' Silas said, rocking gently on his heels, while Pitch hid against him. ‘Where to now, Charlie?' Silas glanced over his shoulder, back to where a shield of darkness now blocked sight of endless hills, and awful tragedy. ‘Lucifer?'

‘I've taken him to where Edward waits. He's badly injured after what he did for us.'

‘Then let us make haste, so no efforts are wasted.' Silas nodded. ‘Take us to them, Charlie, and quickly now.'

They had lost the mare, Lucifer was wounded; but had it all been enough to lose the Seraph?

‘I will show you the way. It is open now.' The lad looked pained, ducking his head. ‘Silas, if I'd been faster about getting us here. If I'd made Edward hear me sooner…'

Now Silas saw he was dealing with not one, but two souls laden with guilt.

‘All right. Both of you, listen to me.' He gently pried Pitch away so he could look him in the eye. ‘What has happened, is not the fault of either of you. Do you understand?'

Pitch would not look at him. Charlie shifted uncomfortably, and the torch light flickered; sending darkness and light shuddering against the depths of the cave. Silas peered up the way the lad had come; not a shallow cave anymore at all, but a long stretch of tunnel whose end was so far off it was not lit by Charlie's torch.

Pitch tried to free himself. ‘Then who do you blame, Silas?' His words reeked with bitterness. ‘Lalassu herself, perhaps?'

‘Of course not. But what is done is done. And have you forgotten who gave you reason to step from the cave to begin with, who struck her down? That angel is the villain here.'

Pitch shook his head. ‘But that does not mean I wasn't a fool.' He pulled out of Silas's grasp, and wrapped his arms about himself. ‘Can we just be done with this. The sooner I am at this fucking Sanctuary, the sooner you can all move on, and know some peace.'

A flush of anger warmed Silas; such despondency did not suit Pitch at all, and it would get him damned-well killed. He needed the fight, the fury and arrogance that seemed drained from him now.

‘All right, that's enough.'

‘Leave me be, Silas. I'm in no mood for cheering.'

‘And I am?' he stormed, grabbing at Pitch's arm so roughly the daemon had no choice but to show some life and fend him off. ‘Stop talking like that.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like we are so much better off without you, I'm sick of it.'

Pitch ripped his arm from Silas's hold, a hint of light emerging in his eyes. ‘I got your fucking horse killed, Silas,' he shouted.

Scarlet, wise creature it was, fled from Pitch's hair, and dashed to Charlie's shoulder instead.

‘She made her choice, as you made yours,' Silas shouted back. ‘We all make errors in judgement, Pitch.'

Too bad if Michael searched for them outside, his hunt would be over now; he just had to listen for the shouting.

‘Not so constantly as I, nor so dangerously.'

‘Bullshit.' Silas was high on anger now; but it was not aimed towards Pitch. ‘What of me? That imbecilic oaf you so often deride, and with just cause. If I'd not bumbled about, if I'd set myself with more resolve sooner, sought out answers, instead of playing dumb. If I'd learned my truth, instead of remaining the simpleton, the coward, I appeared, then how many more souls might I have saved? So many have suffered because I was afraid. Of a fucking bathtub, no less.'

‘Silas you –'

‘Not now, Pitch. By god, you shall let me have this rant. You should have let me blasted-well drown in that moat, at Goodrich Castle.' Silas winced, stomach turning at how fearful he'd been, clinging to Pitch's back. ‘It might have knocked some sense into me, way back then. I'd have been strong enough to protect you from Gidleagh Park. Christ, Pitch I shall never forgive myself for that place, for being so easily manipulated, for letting you down. And Sherwood Forest…' Silas struggled to catch his breath, caught off-guard by the ferocity of his pent up confessions. He'd underestimated how badly the guilt ate at him. ‘No…there is no forgiveness for an error of judgement that saw me play with fucking asrai, rather than be there when you needed me. I profess to love you, and yet you endured hell because of me.'

‘Stop,' Pitch bellowed.

The echo filled the chamber, reverberating down into the unknown path beyond where Charlie stood. He could not decipher the look on the lad's face. Perhaps he was wondering what sort of a man he was tied to, whether he was as good as those stupid gnomes declared.

Silas turned away, his breath coming in shudders. He thought he might be sick. In the silence that fell, he heard the trickling flow of water in the distance.

‘So here we are,' Pitch said, quieter now. He cleared his throat. ‘The sorriest pair of saviours a world could hope to have.'

Silas huffed, and rubbed at his face. ‘The sorriest indeed.' He did not regret his outburst, much had needed to be said, but he did resent how drained it made him.

‘You seem so determined to win this battle of regret,' Pitch said, some strength returning to his voice. ‘If I concede, might I ask one thing of you?'

Despair made way for cautious amusement. ‘What would that be?'

‘I ask that you remember what I say now, when next you are overcome. I did not endure hell because of you. I survived it, because of you. Because I knew what you evidently fail to recognise in yourself. That you are no coward, Silas.' His slight, wry smile was a welcome sight. ‘Though perhaps deserving of the title of oaf, at least so far as your declarations of affection for me are concerned.'

Silas inclined his head, some of the pain abating. ‘Perhaps you are right. We shall see.'

Their eyes locked, fixed upon one another in such a way that nothing else seemed to exist in the world. Not even an all-powerful angel, bent on striking down their errant quest.

Charlie shuffled his feet, and coughed. ‘Gentlemen, I'm sorry, but we must go on. Will you follow me?'

‘Of course,' Silas said.

‘As though there is a choice.' Pitch returned, but there was only the merest hint of bitterness in the reply. ‘Lead on.'

Scarlet leaped off the lad's shoulder, dancing circles in the air around Charlie's head; before racing off into the stretching darkness behind him. Their rainbow hues grew smaller and smaller, fainter and fainter.

Without a word, Pitch looped his arm through Silas's, and they made their way together.

The tunnel was not great in length, the trip short and easy. The passageway opened up into a much larger chamber, one whose roof was entirely made of clear quartz. The light from Charlie's single torch seemed to fill each of the jutting prisms, casting a golden sheen over everything.

Pitch inhaled. Silas looked to him, only to be scowled at before he could enquire if everything was fine.

‘Let's go.' Pitch walked on ahead of him.

Silas had been right to think he'd heard water earlier. The chamber held a great body of it; bigger than a pond but shy of a lake, and clear enough to see that the quartz that covered the roof lay there beneath the surface too, glowing golden as the rest.

Edward waited for them. He sat by the edge of the deep water, upon a rock that looked very much like hardened lava; with its bulges and layers. Lucifer lay slumped at the base of that same rock, and Edward's hand upon his shoulder was likely all that prevented the unconscious king from ending up flat on the ground.

‘Silas, Tobias. Thank the gods, you've made it.' He gaze flitted to Silas. ‘And I'm so sorry.'

Silas nodded, thanking him for the condolences, but he could not linger in that place of grief, now. ‘You know then that the Seraph Michael pursues us.'

‘I do.'

There was no time to be wasted in asking how. ‘Can he enter this place?'

‘No,' Edward said with conviction. ‘Not as things are. But that may change.'

His gaze moved between Silas and Pitch, pausing there on the daemon; as though he could not quite believe his eyes.

‘Are you well, Edward?' Silas pressed.

He laughed, a good sign in itself, but it was none too hearty. ‘As well as can be expected. I'll be grateful for the end of this journey. And it is close.'

He reached into the pocket of his heavy wool coat; the fit was much too large and swamped his frame, a high collar reaching above his jawline, as though to swallow him. Despite the thickness, Edward shivered. He withdrew an item Silas thought he'd seen the last of.

Pitch groaned. ‘That bloody watch.'

It was indeed the pendant watch. The one that had been in so many important hands: passed from Edward to Pitch, a lover's gift, from Seraphiel to Lucifer, a dying angel's secret, and finally from Lucifer to Pitch, a talisman that had ignited a spark Silas still struggled to understand. The watch had somehow made Edward a prophet of the Serahp; and seemed to have brought to life the angel who had been thought long-dead. But were they dealing with remnant power from Seraphiel, or true resurrection?

‘I need to pay the fare,' Edward grunted as Charlie helped him to his feet. ‘Then we can move on.'

‘The fare? To whom?' Pitch said.

‘The ferryman.' Edward stepped into the water, not bothering to remove his shoes, nor roll up his trousers. Charlie went with him, muttering about the cold being the last thing Edward needed, but the lieutenant paid him little heed. He held out the watch, as though he meant to drop it into the water. ‘I hail ye, ferryman. And bid you, tell me, what price shall I pay?'

Pitch and Silas glanced at one another. ‘Has his mind finally come undone?' Pitch whispered.

The boat appeared before Silas could offer a reply.

Not there, in one blink, and there upon the water, in the next.

A simple craft, not much more considerable than a row boat, and just as open to the elements. The wood was plain, a brown that appeared ever duller in contrast to the golden elements of the chamber, and greatly at odds with the singular passenger it carried.

They stood at the bow, holding a long, curved staff which held a glowing lantern above their head. The passenger was clad in armour; the pounded metal sheets of a by-gone day. The silver grey did not reflect the glow of the lantern, even though that light was bright enough to make Silas squint.

‘Gods,' Pitch breathed.

And Silas saw his mistake. It was not simply the lantern that glowed.

Edward was radiant. In the way that Pitch was when the flame hinted beneath his skin. But where the daemon's light held all the hues of fire, Edward gleamed gold: of wheat fields under a summer sun, and the grandest crown of monarchy polished to perfection.

Charlie raised his hand to shield his eyes, and Scarlet, seated as they preferred upon Pitch's shoulder, made a quite sound of awe, their own colours subdued.

‘Do you have the fare?' The ferryman's voice caught Silas off-guard. Not a man at all, but a woman of melodic voice was hidden behind the grill of the face-plate.

‘I have the fare.' Edward still held the watch raised, its pewter darkening against the glow of his skin.

‘A single coin shall pay your way. Do you have that coin?'

‘I have the fare.' Edward repeated, and there was a sense of rhythm to the exchange, like the unlocking of a vault by way of voice, rather than key.

Edward turned the watch over, and placing it on his flattened palm. He touched at it and a soft click preceded the unlocking of a clasp; and the lifting of the rounded back on a hinge. Edward drew forth a gleaming gold coin, one nearly as wide in circumference as the watch itself. He held it aloft.

The coin shone like a piece of the sun. And the water frothed where Edward and Charlie stood. Silas edged closer, fearing the water's violence.

Pitch held him back. ‘Let them see it through.'

Silas waited, and watched.

The boat drew closer, ever silent. The armour-clad ferryman still held their staff, still rested their foot upon the bow; the armoured footwear held an exaggerated point at the toes.

Edward stepped forward, pressing Charlie back with his free hand when the lad sought to follow. Silas dashed forward, despite Pitch's hiss of annoyance, and pulled Charlie back to the shore.

The lieutenant took only a few steps, and halted when the water reached his knees. The frothing and bubbling remained at a simmer, no worse, whilst Edward held out the coin.

The ferryman did not slow the boat, if they had the means to. No oars, nor sail assisted this captain. Charlie tried to wriggle from Silas's grasp, fearing the lieutenant at risk of being run down.

‘Wait, one more moment,' Silas whispered.

Edward raised his free hand, his fingernails incandescent. The boat slowed, its prow drifting until it was perfectly aligned with the lieutenant's waiting hand. The bow nestled into his cupped hand, and the boat stopped, as though it had never moved at all.

The frothing of the waters extended to surround the boat, small waves chopping against the sides.

‘I have the fare,' Edward said, once more, with hints of an echo upon his voice. He lifted the coin.

The ferryman bowed forward. Their armour made no sound, no rasp of metal, nor creak of joints.

‘The fare is duly paid.' They took the coin. Their lantern flared, a blinding flash of gold that quickly dimmed. ‘I shall take you where you seek to go, your grace.'

The water returned to smooth and crystalline. All the radiance that had engulfed Edward vanished. He staggered, pressing both hands against the hull. There was no holding Charlie back this time, and he slipped from Silas's hold. With speed as freakish as his strength, he caught the lieutenant before his arse had touched the water.

‘I'm all right, Charlie.'

‘Bullshit.'

Edward laughed weakly. ‘Everyone must get in the boat now.'

‘Fine, but you first. I want you out of this cold water.' Charlie shifted his grip, seeking a hold beneath Edward's arms so he might lift him. Silas had barely taken a step to assist when the ferrymann took control. They let go their staff, though it remained starkly upright, and grabbed Edward's wrists, metal-clad fingers finding a hold, before lifting the lieutenant from the water.

‘Hey! What are you doing?' Charlie cried. ‘Be gentle with him, he's not well.'

The ferryman gave no indication they had heard, and lowered Edward onto the bench seat at the front of the boat, where he slumped forward with a groan. The boat did not rock as Charlie vaulted aboard, settling beside him.

‘Right, us next I suppose.' Silas could not entirely chase away trepidation at boarding a boat. One that was not so very different from those he recalled on the loch.

He glanced back. Pitch stood with his head lowered, his hand upon his belly.

‘Pitch?'

‘The simurgh is restless, that's all,' Pitch said, without raising his head. ‘The ferryman addressed him as y our grace . Did you hear?'

‘I did.' Silas nodded. ‘What do you make of it?'

‘Nothing. Everything. I'm not sure I wish to know the answer.' Pitch lifted his head, hints of ember glowed. ‘How will you fare, being on the water?'

‘Fine, fine.'

Pitch's crooked smile was uncommonly gentle. ‘About as fine as I am with returning to the Sanctuary, I suspect.'

‘A reasonable deduction.' Silas's returned smile was not as steady as he would like.

Scarlet peeked from behind tangled waves of hair, waving at Silas as the prince stepped closer. ‘If you like I could use a little enchantment to distract you.' Pitch's wink made Silas's pulse skip. Christ, it was tempting, but he shook his head.

‘I need no enchantment to be distracted by you. In fact, here, take this. Clothe yourself.' He slipped off his black cape. Dirtied and ripped as it was, it was in far better condition than Pitch's own clothing, which allowed much of his chest to show. ‘I'd not forgive myself if anything untoward happened because I was absorbed by lust.'

‘Lust?' Pitch's eyes widened, as he slipped the cloak over his narrow shoulders. It swamped him. ‘My dear fellow I had thought to enchant you with poetry, that is all. You speak as though I would suck you off in front of the other passengers.'

‘You would.'

Pitch smiled sweetly. ‘What a pleasure it is to be known.'

‘Will you lot hurry up,' Charlie cried. ‘Or shall I come and carry that poor man myself?'

That poor man was one of the mightiest daemons in Arcadia. Though this was not his finest day. He was as Silas had first seen him. Leaned up against the rocks, eyes shut, his long legs gathered up, knees touching his chest. There was something inordinately child-like about his position.

‘I'll see to him,' he said. And he'd enjoy a few more moments land-bound. ‘Pitch, get on board.'

Silas gathered up the fallen king, surprised by how heavy the lithe man was. He had to brace himself before pushing to his knees, and could not stop the grunt that came with lifting such weight.

‘Can you manage?' Pitch was already in the boat. As far from the ferryman as he could make himself, standing between the last bench and the stern. But the boat was small. If they had both leaned in, across the four rows of seats, Pitch and Charlie could have touched hands.

‘Of course I can manage it. But help me with loading him into the boat.'

Silas waded into the water, inhaling at the crispness of the water when it engulfed his boots and hit his shins. There barely seemed enough depth to the water here for the boat to float at all. Perhaps it was hitting the bottom, and not a preternatural stillness that meant the boat did not so much as tilt when Silas lifted Lucifer over the side, and Pitch changed his position so he might assist. The king did not move, nor utter a sound, despite the man-handling.

They placed the daemon in the near centre of the craft, where the gap between the benches was slightly wider. Silas hauled himself aboard as soon as Pitch had a decent hold. The prince placed Lucifer on his side, and perhaps was not as careful as he could have been, for there was a thump of the king's head against the wood.

‘Careful, daemon.' The ferryman's command resonated from behind their visor. They looked to Edward, as though expecting the lieutenant to add to the reprimand. But he and Charlie sat close, locked in whispered conversation. ‘Be seated. Now.'

Pitch was already seated, and he grabbed Silas's hand, encouraging him down. They sat close, and Silas was grateful that the prince made no comment about how tightly his hand was held by a nervy ankou.

The ferryman reset their foot upon the bow–a position either favoured, or necessary, it wasn't clear–and wrapped their gauntlet around the staff. The boat swung about, a gentle move that nevertheless had Silas grabbing at the lip of the bench, holding fast. Scarlet hopped from Pitch's shoulder to his own, climbing the curve of his neck to pat at his earlobe.

‘Dreadfully annoying, aren't they, Silas?' Pitch rolled his eyes.

Scarlet chittered at him, and their indignation needed no interpretation.

‘I'm happy to have Scarlet with me.' There was something soothing in how determined the little creature was, how unperturbed by all they faced. He'd borrow what he could of Scarlet's resolve. For all the changes Silas had undergone, this mass of water still managed to fill his belly with unwelcome butterflies.