My realm could appear as anything I imagined, and it now presented as a plane of mellow orange, a plane without sky or ground, without beginning or end. I dwelt between the land of the living and the infinite possibilities of the other side. Sycamore, Shepherd of the Dead, spirit of vengeance, I was all these things and so much more.
The Song of the Dead rose and fell like a wind moaning across my realm. Grey figures were gathering in the distance, stretching all around like a dark horizon against the orange. Human spirits, an untold multitude, their number growing all the time: those I had killed, those I had avenged, the citizens of Alexria and every spirit that had roamed Urdezha waiting for the Shepherd to return home. They gazed upon me with fear and wonder, longing to see the other side, and they would see it soon enough. They filled me with an overwhelming sense of purpose.
One voice sang louder than the rest, and I summoned it to me. A single spirit detached from the ever-growing horde, gliding fast over the orange plane, and came to stop before me. There was no reverence in her stance, no fear, but there was expectation in her emerald-green eyes, perhaps admonishment, too, for the things I had done.
‘Little ghoul,’ I said. ‘Will you sing your Song to me?’
The question offended her. ‘You’ve already heard my Song, you bastard.’ If she expected me to take offence at her disrespect, she was disappointed. ‘I demand justice.’
‘For you or your husband?’
She gave me a sour look. ‘My name is Eden Finn. And I damn well know you want the same thing as me.’
Indeed I did. Her name informed me of vengeful desires, and in it I could see the location of her murderer.
‘Very well, Eden Finn. Observe …’
I turned from her and conjured a gateway. It appeared as a vertical streak of silver light at first, like a crack in my realm, before I split it open, wrenched it wide and, despite the threats of Mrs Blackstone, I looked out onto the world of Urdezha.
The sun was setting and the first ether crystals had appeared in the sky. The sound of waves lapping gently at a beach came from below, while up on a clifftop, not more than ten feet from my gateway, Dyonne Obor stood by the ruins where Ghan Hathor had spent his exile. Unaware that I had appeared behind her, the Magician watched the rift healing above Old Castle in the near distance. The storm was no more than wisps of charcoal clouds, dissipating like mist in the warmth of morning sunlight.
Dyonne’s posture was straight, proud even in defeat. Close to her stood the hulking form of Tamara. He, too, watched the sky healing above Old Castle.
‘You must be contemplating the immediate future,’ I said.
Dyonne wheeled around, her face full of consternation. Tamara, ever the faithful bodyguard, jumped in front of his master with a mind to … what? Protect her? Take me on in a fight? Brave but futile, a point I decided to prove by reaching out through the gateway, and my touch punched the life from Tamara. He fell to the ground as though he had been struck by a blast of ether. His spirit leaked from his body like blood, an oily puddle that screeched and fled from me and my realm, slithering away towards Old Castle and abandoning his master.
Dyonne didn’t look much moved by the death of her bodyguard, or fearful of what I might do to her next. She tried to see what lay behind me, but her view was obscured. For the realm of the dead was not for the living to see. She frowned, perhaps suspicious of who was accompanying me. Finally, her stare rested on my image.
‘So, you have been freed.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘I should have known Mrs Blackstone would betray me on the day the storm arrived.’ Her tone was jaded, her eyes flicking from side to side as she calculated and extrapolated. ‘The Grand Adepts of the Salem will have ordered my execution by now. Every Magician in Old Castle will be hunting for me.’
‘And it won’t be long before the hunt spreads to this ruin and any other place you might hide beyond the city wall.’
Dyonne tried to see what was behind me again, gave up and turned to face Old Castle with a shrug. The sky above the city was almost entirely clear now.
‘I showed Wendal the truth,’ I told her. ‘He knows what you have done.’
The Magician didn’t quite look over her shoulder at me and nodded.
‘Your sins have returned to you, Dyonne Obor.’
‘Then here I am, Sycamore, alone and undone and at your mercy. I imagine Mr Sebastian will be disappointed you got to me first.’
Her tone was defiant, but her body language was resigned to her fate. Behind me, I could feel Eden’s impatience and moved the gateway closer to Dyonne.
‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘You still possess Wendal’s moment of death?’
Dyonne stood a little straighter, as though considering whether or not she retained one bargaining chip which might yet save her skin. She slumped as she saw there was no way out of this for her.
‘I should have abandoned my ambitions and released the Song of Always the moment Ing Meredith showed up.’ She spoke through clenched teeth. ‘But what good would it do now?’
‘Good?’ I considered that, while inching the gateway towards her. ‘Imagine you had no spirit, no chance of reaching the other side, and all that waited for your body and mind was the bleak promise of Nothing. Wouldn’t you want to live as long a life as possible?’
‘Empathy, Sycamore? Has the human condition affected—’
Dyonne tensed, sensing the gateway’s approach. Nowhere to hide now.
‘I would have been a Grand Adept beyond compare,’ she said mournfully. ‘I would have changed the world.’
‘I’m sure every member of the Salem thought that when they attained ascension through murder. But the reality is always the same. You, the Salem, the Quantum – monsters, one and all, a blight on Urdezha. Mrs Blackstone learned that the hard way, and so will you.’
The gateway, my realm, was less than a step behind Dyonne now. She looked up at the sky, savouring her final moments in the world she came from. ‘The dead call you Sycamore,’ she whispered and held the last breath she would ever take.
The gateway swallowed the Magician. It caused her no pain as her flesh and blood and bone evaporated like steam from a boiling cook pot, leaving behind her spirit, revealed like the fruit beneath peeled rind. Dyonne gazed upon the planes of my realm, looking in awe at the grey horde of the dead on the horizon. Her eyes eventually found Eden Finn standing close by. The Magician averted her gaze quickly, staring at her feet.
Eden said nothing. There was no anger or violence left on her face. No longer a ghoul but a spirit at peace. Justice had been served. Vengeance was hers.
Dyonne looked up and tried to speak, but her words and spirit were buffeted away as I banished her from my presence and let her join the impossibly huge congregation of spirits in the distance. Only in death could the living claim to be noble.
Eden stared after the Magician and I noted a reluctance in her, an indecision. It was not an uncommon reaction when the fight of life was done and the promises of the unknown stared back at you. And nothing was as unknowable as the other side.
‘Your Song has been sung,’ I told her. ‘The land of the living is no longer your concern.’
‘What will happen to Wendal?’
‘His Song is safe with me.’ To console her, I summoned her husband’s moment of death, stolen from Dyonne Obor. The bullet appeared in the air between us, spinning slowly, buzzing like a bee. ‘The Song of Always will protect Wendal. For how long, who knows?’
Eden took a moment to process that and finally dispel any concern that her husband was about to face the condemnation of Nothing, or any notion that she might return to Urdezha as a ghost to accompany him through his final days. She and Wendal had said all that needed to be said and acceptance was clear to read on her face.
‘Then I’m ready, Sycamore. Show me what comes next.’
Ah, how long it had been since I last heard those words, and I would be hearing them a lot now. The grey horde continued to spread across the orange plane. All these spirits, singing their Songs to me, waiting for guidance. In my realm, I was no judge.
‘I am the Shepherd of the Dead,’ I announced. ‘To where shall I lead you, Eden Finn?’