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Time had not been kind to the members of the Tantalum. Lives had come and gone and worn them thin. Days became mere seconds on the long march to a death denied. Only when they pledged to do something with each grain of sand pouring through the hourglass had the weeks felt golden, a halcyon realisation that cracked apart the thaw entombing Berevar. For the first time in centuries the Tap, the untethered, uncorrupted Tap ebbed and flowed back into the world.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Duffy smiled from ear to ear, watching the sun crest over the horizon and bring the dawn of a new day.
“I’m too cold to feel anything.” Leopold grit his teeth.
“Like your heart?” The bard chuckled.
“Always the comedian. Why did you want to come back here anyway?”
The bleak tundra turned into a crystalline meadow, flecks of fire cascading over the arid and jagged peaks and troughs. As the sun appeared in full, the dawn chorus pierced the ghostly silence and cast the duo in their proper light.
“It’s been a few days. I wanted to see if anything had happened.” Duffy narrowed his gaze, looking for signs of change, sign of triumph out in the wastelands.
“Well, if by change you mean the exact same thing our little adventure was a roaring success.”
“You’re terrible at passive aggressive.”
“Ruby rubs off on me.”
“She’s done more than that. She’s turned you against yourself. Your dream has come true and your content drinking bourbon in study thousands of miles away.”
“Dying makes me maudlin’.” Leopold sighed.
“Since when did dying make you anything less than more determined?” Duffy spread his arms at Berevar. “The Tap is free. The Old Gods, what is left of them are seeping into every inch of rock and every handful of snow. Why aren’t you bloody smiling?”
Leopold considered his reasons but soon found them wanting. He had expected something more than despondency. Thousands of years of being alone, even by his own hand had made him desire a family so much he had never considered what it would be like to have that. Though the Tantalum had welcomed him, they were not his flesh and blood. He turned to his brother.
“You never preach unless there’s a point. You’ve brought me here because you know something.”
Duffy smiled sheepishly and dropped his hands to his sides.
“Okay, okay…but don’t think I’m through with you yet.” He pointed to the mountains to the north. “What do you see?”
The long crest of peaks formed the first barrier between the tundra and the inner heartland of Berevar. There, the mountain giants held their court, and the most pious and shamanistic tribes of orcs hid away from their more warring cousins. In his youth, Leopold had spent much of his time as Raven watching the vision quests of the elders and seeing the power of belief first hand. They had stymied the invasions south and kept Berevar relatively civilised. When the Thayne had sent the Old Gods deep into the bowels of the land, that hope had gone, and war replaced it.
“Mountains.â€
Duffy slapped Leopold across the back of the head.
“Oh, snow too.â€
“How did you manage a mercantile empire for a hundred years with that keen intellect? Look closer.â€
Leopold rolled his eyes and counted the number of peaks. He frowned. There were seven last he checked, each named by the orcs after the founding chieftains of the great tribes. He counted gain, then dropped his jaw as the sun rose above them and brought Berevar into daylight.
“Okay, you have my attention.â€
Duffy could sense Leopold’s reservations. He produced a map from the pouch on his hip and unfolded it slowly.
“I used the Orrerry to track down the cartographical studies your father ordered of the Ayhark Tundra.†He handed it to Leopold, who took it with a raised eyebrow. “The mountain ranges were of particular interest to Gregory Winchester.â€
“He was a bit obsessed, if I remember correctly.â€
Long before Leopold had returned to Scara Brae, his father had smallholdings all over Berevar and Salvar. When the family fell apart, Leopold had inherited the ruins of the Winchester Rose and buried most of his father’s possessions in the basement of House Winchester.
“Ignoring the fact that you broke into my home and robbed me…this doesn’t explain why a whole mountain’s vanished.†He bit his lip and held the map up to the skyline.
“Look at the names.†Duffy smirked.
Leopold read them aloud and re-read them when he realised something was wrong.
“Druga, Hun, Felt, Otto, Drammen, Klimt, and…†The named mountain was ominously absent from the horizon. Leopold handed the map back and folded his arms across his chest. “Okay, now you’ve really got my attention.â€
“Funny, isn’t it. How that name keeps coming back to trip us up. What do you remember about him?â€
Leopold tried, but remembered only a drunken haze and a rather unfortunate incident with a landslide that left him the last side of yesterday for months. He hated himself for not recognising the connection before now.
“Apophis, cute bastardisation of a culture he tried to obliterate. I’d hoped he had died long ago, but now it makes perfect sense.â€
Leopold reached into a vorpal realm and produced a cigar. He dispelled the vault and bit the end off with his teeth. As bourbon would freeze in this cold, he turned to the next in a long line of crutches to calm his nerves. He held it between his teeth and stared where the mountain once was with a smouldering hatred.
“Hiding right under my bastard nose.†He clicked his fingers and the cigar ignited. Tobacco and cinnamon filled the air. He took a deep drag and exhaled quickly.
“They all had talents stretching the imagination. From what we know of the Forgotten Ones, his was to reshape reality.†Duffy clicked his neck and took several steps forwards. “I’m not sure why he chose to reveal himself now, but I’ve never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.†He pulled up his trousers and tightened his belt.
“Apotheosis…†Another plume of smoke filled the air.
“The Last of the Tyrants.†Duffy let the words ring in the air before he descended the slope and began the long march north.
Leopold watched Duffy make tracks and sighed. Though power swelled between them, even gods had to walk sometimes. He followed, clunky boots slipping and sliding precariously over the broken snow fall. He broke into a run and barely managed to slow down as he caught up panting and wheezing.
“So, you just thought I’d agree to walking directly at our greatest enemy without a plan, huh?”
Duffy chuckled.
“I didn’t want to rub all the times I’ve babbled incoherently and you all ignored me in your face.” There were too many to count. Youth had an unfortunate side effect of making you inferior to your older peers.
“But…” Leopold continued to enjoy his cigar, one small mercy in the thankfully thawing chill.
“Don’t get me wrong, I swore blind that the last Forgotten One was hiding in plain sight. I didn’t realise it would be quite so blatant.” He pointed north to where a conspicuous peak was amiss from the horizon. “It’s not as simple as that, though.”
“Of course, it isn’t. Even you’re not so fucking stupid as to walk directly into the strongest Tap wielder’s lair with just a piss artist and his ridiculous luck. So, let’s spare the melodrama after the last week. What are we doing?”
Duffy pulled together the threads he had toyed with for three years. With the Tap welcomed back to Berevar, and the Old Gods returned only one dangled free of a carefully tightened knot.
“Your father’s map is a little misleading. The orcs didn’t name the mountain after Apotheosis. They named it after what it represented, which in this instance was Change. The seasons. The flows of time.”
Leopold considered Duffy’s words carefully. It had been decades since he’d so much as thought about his father, never mind his work. As the sun rose higher and higher the bitter chill of dawn began to fade. He unbuckled the top clasp of his cloak and adjusted his hat.
“What came first then, the mountain or Him?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps at the end of the war, he fled to Berevar to hide and recuperate. The orcs may have seen him as an Old God, an embodiment of the true drive behind this country. Whatever happened, the name was lost in translation and the return of the Tap has broken the defences.”
“Like an ex coming back onto the scene at your wedding.”
“Hey, if your life helps you understand go for it.” Duffy’s smirk stretched from ear to ear.
“Duffy. Come on. I’ve had to put up with enough shit from Ruby without you making me regret my sacrifices.” He stubbed out his cigar on his breastplate and tucked the dog end into his overcoat pocket for later. “What are we looking for?”
Duffy pictured what he had seen in the coruscating surface of the Orrerry. The viewing globe at the heart of the Tantalum’s sanctuary showed him a grand, crumbling temple in the caldera formed in the absence of the mountain. He wasn’t sure if Apotheosis had simply occupied it, or crafted it out of the ancient bedrock and cast an illusion to hide himself away.
“I just want to know if what the Thayne said is true…”
“Which is?” Leopold undid the second clasp and pulled the folds of the cloak away from his chest. Darkness gave way to golden sunlight and he took a deep breath of cold morning air.
“That the Forgotten Ones were not fighting to control the Tap. They were fighting to destroy it.”
Leopold’s eyes widened with disbelief.
Duffy glanced to the side and saw the look on his brother’s face.
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“Oh, gods, no. For once, it’s because I believe you.”
Everything had led to this point. Nobody had quite wanted to believe that Duffy’s proclamations after his return from the void where the Thayne resides were even remotely true. The historical accounts of the War of the Tap were widely known, even in the youngest ranks of enquiring minds. There were more books on the topic than there were coffee shops in the hippest parts of Scara Brae.
“To think such things seems strange.”
“It makes sense, though. When powerful men find a way to keep that power, no matter the cost, it’s too corrupting to resist.”
“Yeah, I know how that feels…” Leopold had fought and nearly lost everything to remain amongst the pantheon of the Old Gods whilst having the fortune of love. “We were always lead to believe the war was about keeping the Tap. Being free of the Thayne.”
“It sorts of was. The Thayne tried to eradicate the pure wielders of the Tap and they tried to destroy anyone who would dare threaten them.” Duffy traced a path for them to take over the crags as the tundra fought against their advance. Leopold considered and nodded in agreement. “We are no different.”
“We’re very different. We want to keep hold of our power so that we can keep doing good. Keep the balance.” Even as he said it, he doubted himself. The tenets ingrained in the Chronicle had seemed so pure and righteous a decade ago. So much had happened since, he doubted it still held sway over his actions.
“We can tell ourselves whatever we want to make our actions right. But we have an opportunity to finish what we started and bring the truth to light.” Duffy drew a dagger from his belt and used it to help himself up the steep incline and practically crawled up onto the highest reaches of the Ahyark.
“What truth do you hope to find?” Leopold disappeared in a whorl of purple power and re-appeared atop the crest, feathers floating away from his fading wings. He looked down at the bard, who looked back begrudgingly. He held out his hand to help him up.
“I want to know what makes a man who transcended godhood scared.” Duffy let Leopold lift him to his feet and dusted himself down. White clods of snow dropped to the floor and he clicked his spine. “And beat the last bit of hope out of the cunt.” The smile he gave Leopold struck an accord.
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Leopold tipped his hat. “If you’d opened with ‘kick the bastard when he’s down’ I’d have run all the way to the mountain range singing folk songs.” He really would. The way he felt lately, not quite invincible, but a little bit more eager to get balls deep into the moment would have made short work of the leagues between here and there.
Duffy smiled.
“You didn’t think we were going to walk all the way, did you?”
Leopold looked around, making a show of their predicament. He shrugged and gave the bard an expectant look.
“It’s not far. I thought we’d reunite you with an old friend along the way.”
Duffy marched on, leaving Leopold perplexed and once again frustrated by the riddles and games. With nothing else to do but follow, he trudged behind and did away with his cloak as a hopeful bead of sweat formed on his forehead. The purple whorls of energy trailed behind him as the vault in which he kept his possessions vanished once more into the void.
“The last time you said that Clarissa tried to shoot you.”
“But she didn’t, so it all worked out in the end.”
“I…” Leopold closed his mouth, knowing better than to try and moralise anything in which Duffy was involved. Though he loved his brother dearly, there was nobody else in the world quite so blinded by altruism. If he had decided to help, then he bloody well would regardless of what anyone else wanted.
“It’s someone you’ve not seen for centuries.”
Leopold raised an eyebrow, half because of the titbit and half because the snow underfoot began to crystallise. It danced with its own light, oblivious to the sun that cast a new day across the tundra. His stomach rumbled.
“Duffy…” He crouched to run a gloved finger over the ice. “Have you seen this?” He looked ahead, gesturing at the changing terrain when the bard looked back and nodded.
“We’re close.” He waved Leopold on, “just over that crag.”
Ahead, the terrain rose again, a soft, icy incline preceding a cracked outcrop that dropped away into the unknown beyond. Leopold had spent decades criss-crossing across these lands in caravans, trading between the people of Salvar and the orc tribes. He had a memory for logistics, and this was new.
“That looks like the edge of a crater.”
“It is.” Duffy reached the ledge and rested his hands on his hips. “And there’s our meteor.” He pointed ahead, and Leopold hurried up as quickly as his legs could manage.
The crater ahead was five hundred feet from one side to the other, a ring of cracked ice like a crown proclaiming the monarch below. Whatever had fallen, Leopold guessed, had been ablaze as the snow had melted and reformed into alien cavalcades of bubbling ice. The merchant followed the natural flow of the landscape to the crater’s heart and took a few moments to recognise the thing that slumbered in the middle. He gasped.
“That’s impossible.”
“Yet here she is, all the same.”
The creature was gigantic, far bigger than its namesake implied. It’s great cyan wings arced back and covered the bird below from the elements, though Leopold doubted it felt the cold. A black beak, hard as diamond protruded from beneath navy blue and grey feathers and dust whipped around it as though it held private court with winter.
“Phoenix.”
“The Old God of Life. Free from its wicked mistress and reborn anew.” Duffy sat down on the edge of the crater and produced a small pipe from his pocket. He blew on it, to check it had survived the journey and tuned it by playing a few trite notes.
Leopold hesitated. He clenched his fists, wary of the last time he had met.
“Why is it here?”
“Let’s ask it, shall we?” Duffy’s mischievous smile before he played the song confirmed Leopold’s fears.
“No!” He tried to swat the pipe away but when the clouds parted and the creature reared its head to scream, he balked and unholstered his pistol.