Story #5

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

Old wounds

The Hall of Crucifixions is poorly named. Once it just held recorded
the most brutal of the Romans' pastimes, but now it expands out to all
forms of slow, individual death. Jesus was dropped as too tame back in
1936 after the eighteen electrocutions of Jose Castilles was brought
in as the centrepiece. The arcing charges light up the other
unfortunates forever looped in the hours and days of their deaths. The
hall changes every year, but still remains the entranceway to the
realm for honoured guests such as ourselves.

"Welcome, honoured warriors, bringers of so many exquisite
masterpieces to our land."

The keeper of this land is like so many of those who commit the deeds
that inform it. He is spineless (in this case literally), servile and
afraid. The steel frame that keeps him upright is rusting; it squeaks
and grinds as he walks. His features remain slightly human, the cruel
sneer of the overseer.

I look him up and down with the contempt that is expected. It's not
hard to generate. He's a parasite, a museum keeper. His realm serves a
useful function, resonating across the Tellurian, but it is we who do
the work.

"I have no time for forms or graces. You will take us to the scene
that we requested and then we will leave. As you know, London is a
very busy place and we cannot be away for long."

"Oh, London, we have a whole display devoted to it. What a magnificent
city," the keeper scuttles away along the hall; lit by Jose's flaming
corpse, still twitching. "In the last three years it has eclipsed all
of the other cities for true vileness. I must find time to visit"

My packmates trail behind me. X-Zsa with her burden, our burden, stops
to inspect a display. Che-Bayon ignores these, muttering ritual
phrases under its breath. It does not trust spirit realms, anywhere
the ephemera could have been twisted to hide a trap or a test. "Our
master does not create these realms for our amusement," it had said
before we left. "It could be as deadly to us as to our... cousins."

Despite Che-Bayon's misgivings we leave the hall safely. And the
journey to London is brief, time here is flexible to the keeper's
needs and fear of Che-Bayon's anger insures that the keeper wants us
gone fast. Soon we pass through the mists at the edge of the display
and find ourselves in a familiar tunnel.

"Home," whispers Che-Bayon. The bundle in X-Zsa's arms wriggles in
the sudden change of conditions.

HnGaar Tears-Out-Eyes was on watch that day. Behind his filthy, matted
hair and beard his eyes watched the telltales of the fetishes that
watched for intrusion into the bawn. They did not whisper as the lock
opened and he entered.

X-Zsa gasps and I am taken aback. We have not seen Sin's-Reward for so
long, we had forgotten his face. It is a face only a mother or a
packmate could love. Crooked yellowing teeth and a coarse face
criss-crossed with scars, his hair going white in patches where the
scars extend up onto his scalp. He was wearing the old, gray cable-kit
jumper that he always liked, and has his battered backpack over his
shoulder.

I want to shake the watchman – to tell him to look in the pack. But it
would not have helped. Michael Gor-Ractum Sin's-Reward was a master of
deception and would have been able to slip past HnGaar easily if he
had needed to.

Michael nodded to HnGaar and continued down the shaft, splashing
through the water, the black flowers, our hive's namesake, eddied
around his feet. Time shifts and we are in the warren, and Michael
walked through the sacred labyrinth towards the heart of the Pit. We
follow him, naturally falling into the ritual steps that we had taken
day after day.

The time shifts again and I almost tell the keeper to slow it down -
that I am not ready. But a great Black Spiral Dancer cannot appear
reluctant to face horrors, not in this place. We are in the heart of
the pit, the sigil of the hive scarred over the old London Underground
roundel. Up on his chair the Colonel sat, the scourge of Belgrade, the
Silver Traitor, he was cleaning his rifle. Nearby his pack were
discussing the movement of their quarry, the teacher had been changing
his schedule and they were going to have to get him back on track or
he would be exposed. The new pack, the Circus troop, were preparing
for the moot, painting themselves in garish colours, trying to
impress. Their alpha was straightening his top hat. I can barely
remember his name – we never even fought side by side.

Michael walked up to the Colonel as the Alchemists returned from their
collection of the psychotropic fungi they treasured so much. Karl,
Devourer, Razor, little Slip-Step, always eager to prove himself, and
Charlie. Charlie and 'Nita. 'Nita was walking already, snarling and
growling as she walked in front of her mother, eyes that had never
seen sunlight – so blue. I look across at X-Zsa to see if there is any
jealousy, but she just looks back at me with compassion in her dark
eyes.

I turn back to Michael and the Colonel. Michael un-slung his pack as
he had over and over again. He flicked open the clasp and smiled up at
his Alpha. Then he tore out the wire.

"STOP."

The word rips from my throat. X-Zsa and Che-Bayon have both taken
involuntary steps forward, Che-Bayon has already stepped up to its
Glabro form.

The keeper flinches away from me. But the scene freezes. Michael and
the Colonel were already engulfed in the fireball, the colonel's
ancient sword blasted back through his spine and out through his touch
old hide. Vaultini of the Circus of Horrors has been lifted off his
feet by the start of the shockwave, the talens on his belt shattering
and discharging shockwaves of their own. Karl is pushing forward
towards his sister and niece – Charlie has somehow managed to get
'Nita into her arms and half turn from the conflagration.

"I just show what was done. Each Atrocity, in perfect detail. Forever."

"We've seen enough of this," I snarl at the keeper. "Che-Bayon, trace
this back to its roots. Follow the thread back until you find the
perpetrators. I want their faces and names. Then rip this scene out of
the freakshow."

"No!" the keeper squeaked. "This is a masterpiece! Death and
destruction wrought by Gaia's great defenders."

He gestures at Charlie and 'Nita.

"Innocents slaughtered with callous indifference. Every day this
whispers back to them and resonates in their core. Every time they
stand before the spirits and claim 'renown' for their actions, the
spirits feel this thrum off them and know, in their hearts, that they
are tainted."

I growl at him and he steps back further. But I relent with a nod.

"But we are leaving now."

He smiles at me, that simpering smile that shows that he thinks he has
a little victory.

"To leave Atrocity, you must die."

I smile briefly, coldly, back at him.

"That is the other reason we came. We were not here when it happened.
Our hive-mates faced this without us. We will forge ourselves in the
same fire that ended them."

I nod across at X-Zsa, she unwraps her bundle, and holds up
Vengeance-of-the-Fallen, our daughter, 'Nita's sister, to see what
Gaia's chosen warriors had done to our people – her family. She will
never forget this moment.

I nod at the keeper and Che-Bayon steps away to a safe distance. The
world exploded. The world explodes. I die. My loves die. My children
die.

And we are reborn.