Sir Douglas stepped in front of Sienna, arms stretched wide to protect his possession. “Not this one. She’s a Blood Mapwalker and she’s not infected anyway.” He gestured at the sacks. “There are diseased remains in there. Use those for the rest.”
Elf stared back, challenging him, raising her hands as if she would use them against even her own. Sienna recognized that she was on the edge of her control and yet her power was barely yet grown. It was terrifying in one so young. If these were the children of the Shadow Cartographers, the future would bring far more terrors than the Ministry realized.
If there was a future after the plague of rats had stormed the gates into Earthside, of course.
Sir Douglas opened his palm and curled a pillar of flame into the air, spinning it into shapes of sharp-toothed rodents feeding on bloated corpses. Elf smiled at the fiery tableau and took a step back, acknowledging his superior power — at least for now. He had some kind of hold over her, Sienna realized, and as she looked closer, she saw a faint resemblance between them. The patrician nose, even the arrogant stance. Could Elf be Sir Douglas’s daughter — and Perry’s sister?
Perry watched in horror as a boiling mass of rats streamed out of white tents at the bottom of the hill. From their vantage point high on the hill, he could see the bristly bodies writhing as they fought to find a way out of the pack and into the wider camp. The high-pitched squeaking was soon drowned out by the sound of screams.
The sound of drums beating suddenly echoed across the camp, slow at first but with a rising tempo.
“My father’s war drums,” Finn said, looking out to the source of the sound. “They must be about to open the gate and let those people through along with the plague. We have to stop them.”
Mila pointed at the soldiers herding people forward. “There are too many, and you said there were other gates, too.” She shook her head. “We have to find Sienna. We have to get back to Earthside and close the gates from the inside.”
In the tent of rats, Sir Douglas untied Sienna from the stretcher and pulled her to her feet. “Don’t fight me now,” he whispered. “Leave Elf to her magic before she turns it on you.”
Sienna nodded her agreement but he did not let her wrist go as they walked to the door, his bony fingers tight and cold against her skin. With every step, Sienna expected the sudden wrench of magic draining her life energy but it never came and when they stepped out into the night air, she found herself almost breathless with relief.
Then the sound of squealing rats and crying children surrounded her, the shouts of people trying to fight the creatures and the screams of those bitten and infected.
“How can you do this?” Sienna whispered. “These people came to you for help.”
Sir Douglas dragged her up the hill back to the main tent, his hand like a vise around her wrist. “These are your people, not mine. Their fate is the fault of Earthside and their death will be the instrument of justice.”
They reached the tent, guarded by two soldiers who held their ground even as mayhem broke out around them. Their eyes were wide with fear but they stood to attention as Sir Douglas approached. He pushed Sienna forward and followed her in.
“There is one more thing I must do tonight. You’ll stay here for now, but after this is over, you’ll return with me to the tower in the Castle of the Shadow.”
Sienna gasped as the vision of the turrets came to her mind, the place that called to her when she traveled. It promised dark joy, a sense of purpose, a future where she could live within her magic.
But that was also the training ground for Elf and those of her kind.
Sienna shook her head. “Never.”
Sir Douglas smiled and opened his palm. This time, instead of flame, he conjured a ball of shadow, its surface like the shimmering waters of a deep pool. There were creatures inside, flying through the pearly depths with wings of gossamer.
“You’ll change your mind once you see the possibilities.” Sir Douglas let the ball go and it floated toward Sienna. She reached out a hand in wonder to touch it and as she did, the orb turned ashen and grew bigger until it surrounded her with a bubble of silver shadow.
She fought its power but her shouts were like those in a tomb, echoing back to her, bouncing off the walls of her shadow prison. She couldn’t hear the screams of the infected now, she could only hear her own heartbeat. The creatures flying in the clouds drew closer until she could see their teeth and feel their claws. Sienna fell to the ground, hands wrapped around her head as they attacked.
Sir Douglas watched Sienna curl up within her shadowed cocoon. The creatures were all in her mind, but the torture would keep her occupied while he completed his own mission.
This was the last time he would have to cross over, the Shadow had promised him that, but it was critical to the success of the plan. He sighed. The mission was dangerous and somewhere deep inside, the part of him that was still a man wondered if it was the right choice. Then the Shadow rose within him, darkness suffusing his blood. He gasped as a thousand thousand pinpricks of shade pierced his heart, shuddering as the ecstasy of pain and pleasure possessed him.
As the convulsions passed, Sir Douglas strode out of the tent toward the gate, his eyes dark with shadow, his skin more shade than flesh. It was time for the reckoning.
Deep within the Ministry of Maps below Bath Abbey, the Illuminated Cartographer sensed the borders shift, then he heard the blaring alarm that warned of a breach. The sounds of the Mapwalker team running for the War Room echoed through the corridors beyond, a flurry of activity that seemed ever more frequent these days.
He stirred in his nest of maps, the rustling around him intensified by his movement. His own heartbeat pulsed ink through the living borders, but he was old and it was weaker now, the ink thinner in his veins, the magic diminished by his own fragility.
The library was bright with rays from the moon. Even though it was deep beneath the earth, a series of mirrors reflected light down into the darkest corners. A sheen of pale blue spread across the piles of maps, some rolled and stacked, others spilling over buried furniture. It smelled of rosewater, spice and incense, reminiscent of the souk in Istanbul where cultures crossed in an ever-moving melting pot. This was his home. Once upon a time, he had known where to find every map, he could summon the details of each drawing, each line, but now memory slipped away like the moonlight shifting with every passing minute.
The sound of shouting came from the corridors beyond, the clash of steel, a moan of pain. Then footsteps coming to his door.
The Illuminated Cartographer shifted his great bulk behind one of the giant bookcases, pulling the maps about him, their spiraling mass keeping him hidden in a pile of contours and symbols of the land.
The door burst open.
Two huge Feral Borderlanders stalked in, faces marked by the half-moon, sharp swords clenched in meaty fists. They stood either side of the door as Sir Douglas Mercator walked through, his aristocratic features more wolf-like than human now, his skin etched with shadow, his eyes as dark as the void.
The Illuminated Cartographer gathered his maps closer still, winding them about his body, protecting his heart with their pages. They would protect him for a while, but even as death stalked him in this realm, he could feel every hammering blow against the many gates of the border. His weakness was more than physical now and it threatened all of Earthside.
“It’s time,” Sir Douglas said softly, his voice as cold and sharp as a blade. “You have sought peace all these years and now I will give it to you. But no one said peace would be on your terms.” He raised his arms and opened his hands, conjuring balls of fire. The heat of the center burned blue surrounded by a penumbra of bright orange, its edges the scarlet red of blood.
The Illuminated Cartographer shrank back from the flame, every fiber of his entwined being recoiling from the element of destruction.
“You can’t burn this place,” the Illuminated Cartographer called out. “It’s the beating heart of the maps. The borders will crumble if they are all destroyed. The ancient magic will dissolve and there will be nothing holding the two worlds apart.”
“Exactly.” Sir Douglas hurled the balls of flame into the thickest part of the pile of maps. The dry paper caught and the fire spread quickly even as Sir Douglas cast more heat into the blaze, his face alive with power.
Agony seared through the Illuminated Cartographer as he reeled back from the burning bookcase, pain suffusing his body even as the fire devoured the maps, each page like a piece of his own flesh. He wept for the destruction in the library even as he desperately tried to keep the border intact between the worlds.
One of the bookcases crashed to the floor, sending up a plume of sparks before spreading the fire further into the library. Sir Douglas laughed with the mania of destruction as he burned the ancient maps, pieces of ash rising in the updraft, whirling in the flame.
The Illuminated Cartographer crawled deeper into his warren of burning paper, coughing and retching as he struggled to breathe. He didn’t have much time. He could sense the holes in the borders widening, the gates pushed open, every second weakening what remained of the ancient magic.
It was almost too late.