The carriage rattled and bumped as it rolled over the gravel road. Sun beat through the faded tarp overhead, a thin beam of light catching Jarrah in the eye. The air was dusty, making his throat itch. Limply, he emptied the rest of his water-skin into his mouth. The carriage jolted, and Jarrah smacked the back of his head against the carriage wall. The air smelt of cut wheat, horse droppings and people; it smelt like civilization. Not a pleasant smell, too many people crammed into those walls. The lack of proper septic systems led to the overwhelming scent of urine, but for once, Jarrah was happy to find it in the air. For the first time in months, the end was near.

  Rowan sat up and groaned. ‘What happened?’

  ‘A rock I’d wager,’ Aria said. She was sitting slumped on the opposite side of their wagon and for a change was not wearing her oversized witch’s hat. Her black hair ran down the sides of her face and somehow despite every other member of Broken Fang being a disheveled mess, she looked beautiful. She squinted at Jarrah, saying without words: What are you looking at?

  Jarrah turned away and looked to where the kid had sat unmoving for nearly their entire trip home and his corner was empty. That day - the day they conquered the dungeon and left it behind - he had returned from the cathedral a vacant mess, as empty as when Jarrah had found him fallen from the stars. For days, he had sat there holding his knees, rocking back and forth. When he was not silent, he became snappy and quick to place his hand on the dagger Jarrah had given him. What did you see when you stepped onto that broken apostle plate? Jarrah had wondered, but never asked.

  ‘Take a look outside,’ Eddie called out from the coach box.

  Rowan pulled up the tarp on his side, casting a yellow glow over his face. He laughed. ‘I must be dreaming.’

  Eddie sat up front steering the horses and Alek was there by his side; so small compared to the hulking figure. They were bathed in warm sunlight and almost seemed like father and son despite their earlier attempts to break each other's bones.

  Jarrah stood up, crouching as to not bang his head on the canopy. He shifted past the small mountain of gems that filled most of the carriage - each worth a fortune - and slipped next to Alek on the coach box. Looking at the kid, he had aged. He was likely eleven when they had found him, now only two months later the kid looked fourteen. It would not all be lifespan loss, sometimes people just looked older when they were dredged through shit. The kid was not short of that.

  Ahead Jarrah saw what he expected to see, what he had smelt in advance; the tall black walls of Kerioth, capital city of Iscariot. It was beautiful, and disgustingly ugly. A dark lump against the pure fields of golden wheat around it. A rising pillar of humanity in the afterlife. A shelter from what lies outside. Several farmers moved through the fields. One man near the road looked up at the passing cart, his shoulders were slumped and his flannel shirt was threadbare. One glance was all it took for him to huff and turn away. Happy we are not inspectors from the church, unhappy that we are not the lunch truck. The church owned all the fields that stretched for miles around the city and owned the workers too. There was no slavery in Kerioth, but it came within a hair's breadth. The workers under the church were trapped in an eternal cycle of earning just enough to survive and buy some lifespan to maintain their age if they were lucky. But they were not lucky, none of them were.

  Each moment, each bump under the cart, the city grew larger. The wall was made of those pitch-black bricks that Jarrah was too familiar with. It stretched impossibly far in both directions and ten stories high. Jarrah felt sick imagining standing on another one of Aria’s platforms to climb over. On top of the wall were battlements and the occasional shiny head glinting in the sun. Between the battlements, the sky scraping slums peeked through. Tall, thin and shoddy buildings that leant on each other for support, connected by a web of strings and planks. On the wall were rows of green banners. They fluttered in the wind with Iscariot's red sigil: a solitary tree with a hanging noose. Front and center on the wall was a tiny doorway. It was large enough to fit two carriages side by side, but compared to the enormity of the wall it seemed a speck against its seamless surface.

  ‘Is it in there?’ Alek asked, so quiet it may as well have been to himself. It was the first time Jarrah heard him speak unprompted since they left T’karamatu, since Alek emerged from the cathedral alone.

  ‘Speak up, Kid,’ Eddie said.

  Alek gripped the curved dagger by his side - I will have to buy a replacement in the markets, I can’t take it back from him now – and for a moment it seemed he wouldn’t say anything. ‘Is the plate of Bael there?’

  ‘Bael? Never heard of it.’ Eddie said.

  ‘Do you mean the apostle plate of Iscariot?’ Jarrah asked.

  Alek grunted an affirmative response.

  Teenagers. ‘It’s in there,’ Jarrah said, ‘but I don’t know what you could possibly want with it. Actually now that I think about it, since you landed in the wilderness you must be the only person in Purgatory that has not seen an apostle plate. Where did you even hear about it?’

  Alek sat silently looking forward, back into his shell. Jarrah never got an answer.

  * * * *

  On either side of the road, buildings towered high. They were a janky, looming presence that threatened to fall over at any moment, which cast the streets into an eternal, mellow darkness. Broken Fang’s carriage moved at a snail's pace through the traffic. In Kerioth there were no designated markets, so travelling men set up shop in the streets. They rented out the lower floors of the buildings and all called out, trying to out shout the man next to them. On the second and third stories, they had set up boardwalks made of rickety planks and jutting nails. Ropes strung overhead to climb up or there was the occasional ladder leading to more shops and stalls above, all of which had merchants crying out at the top of their lungs, creating a vertical cacophony of haggling. Eddie added his own symphony to the choir, shouting, “Move!” with every breath to no avail.

  Inside the cart, a tarp had been flung over the gemstones in an attempt to hide them, the pile that was now slightly shorter due to some bribery at the front gate. Call it persuasive reasoning. Still, each member of Broken Fang guarded their horde against potential sticky fingers brushing by.

  Jarrah was itching to move, he had work to do. ‘I’m going to duck out,’ he said, ‘try to buy a new dagger somewhere.’

  ‘No you're not,’ Aria said, ‘you always do this, trying to shirk responsibility whenever you can.’

  ‘Eddie, do I have your leave?’ Jarrah asked.

  He looked back, making eye contact. ‘Yeah, but be quick about it.’

  Jarrah nodded, but before he could hop into the crowd, Eddie called out again. ‘Wait,’ he flicked a small gemstone to Jarrah, ‘buy some good steel.’

  A quick walk through the market left him at his destination. The side street just off the markets felt silent compared to the chaos he just escaped. A skyscraper painted with wilting white paint, revealing brown strips behind, had a bundle of ropes at its base. The ropes would each connect to a different floor above. Jarrah flicked through them and found a knot with a red ribbon attached. He tugged it twice and held on tight.

  There was a short pause before he launched airborne. The tug was rapid and unsteady, in a burst of motion. Jarrah would have been slammed against the walls had he not shifted his weight and ran up the building's side. Finally, he reached the eighth floor’s window. A woman stood there, heaving the rope. She had dark-skin and darker hair, with a black eye patch to match. She wore a dirty tank top, showing off her thick arms that barely strained to haul Jarrah’s weight. She finished by pulling Jarrah straight through the window.

  He landed with a roll, the thin wooden planks creaking beneath his weight. Jarrah extended his hand towards the woman. ‘It is good to see you, Rez.’

  Rez took Jarrah’s hand, but instead of shaking it, she pulled Jarrah into a hug. The woman stunk of sweat, but Jarrah figured he did too and he embraced the hug.

  ‘It’s good to see you too, I almost counted you as dead,’ Rez said, breaking the hug.

  ‘Me, dead? Who do you think I am?’

  Rez did not laugh, but she gave Jarrah a warm smile.

  ‘Come sit down,’ Rez said, gesturing to a mold-ridden couch.

  The inside of the house was not glamorous. Built of a mix of whatever wood could be gathered. Grains of white, brown, black and red mingled together, plank after plank. Wooden beams crossed through the interior at random in an attempt to add stability. The walls had slits that showed the outside that made the tower feel like it would sway in the breeze. The far wall had a doorway that led to a plank sitting in open air. It crossed over into a nearby skyscraper without as much as a guide rope. It felt more like a treehouse than a building connected to the ground.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  ‘I’d rather stand,’ Jarrah said.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ she said with a shrug and plonked down, prompting a puff of spores to rise. ‘It’s good you came straight away, we have much to discuss.’

  Jarrah raised his eyebrows. ‘I have plenty to say myself.’

  Rez did not look surprised. ‘Safe to say the old hag was correct, big things are moving in Kerioth. It’s a good thing we came here when we did.’

  ‘Anything that changes the plan?’

  Rez hesitated. ‘No changes, but it has been accelerated for better or worse.’

  ‘Then I will have to hear it later, I am on a bit of a deadline here.’ Jarrah fished through his pocket and felt his prize from T’karamatu. His fingers felt electric when they touched it. Jarrah pulled out a golden halo and the whole world seemed to shrink compared to it. When he held it, his brain felt on fire, but the burn was sweet.

  Rez shot up from the couch in the blink of an eye. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  Jarrah pulled it away from her, worried she would take it. But I am giving it aren’t I? Was that not the entire reason I came here? No, there was one more reason. Jarrah handed it over, slowly and painfully. Rez winced when it touched her skin. With one hand, she raised her eyepatch revealing an iris of swirling black and purple. One quick look and then the eyepatch returned.

  ‘It is,’ she confirmed.

  ‘As we expected T’karamatu was no ordinary dungeon. However, I could have never guessed it was one of the vanished cities.’

  Rez rubbed her chin. ‘This is huge, Jarrah.’

  ‘There’s more.’

  ‘What could possible be more important than finding this? This is an opportunity for us unlike any other.’

  ‘I found a kid.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘No you don’t understand. I found a child. Alek, the kid in our carriage, he was no older than eleven. Not de-aged either, a genuine kid.’

  ‘It is strange that one managed to escape the church’s induction, but I’m failing to see the importance.’

  ‘He didn’t escape. His soulstar landed in the wilderness out where we were camping.’

  Rez slipped the halo into her pocket. ‘That’s not possible.’

  ‘It gets weirder. The kid learns boosting and fire magic in mere days, but cannot learn a lick of coating or any other magic. He is immune to barriers and if Eddie can be believed unaffected by the reverence of a fractured odium.’

  ‘You ran into a fractured odium?’

  ‘That’s unimportant.’

  ‘Unimportant, that is… that’s insane. I didn’t even know any were still kicking around.’

  ‘Rez, please focus on what I am saying. I need your help here, because I’ve been with the kid for six weeks and I still don’t know what the fuck is wrong with him. He seems to see things that aren’t there, like you.’

  Rez touched the eye behind the patch. ‘By your description,’ she said, ‘he has a strong affinity for demonic arts; boosting and fire, but is completely inept at angelic arts. But that should make him more susceptible to barriers and reverence, not immune.’

  ‘I was thinking the kid might be a demon, or even half demon himself.’

  ‘No that’s impossible.’

  ‘You said that about a soulstar landing in the wilderness.’

  ‘This is different. If a demon came to earth, even a drop of its blood, we would all feel it. The world would shake,’ she said, and then to herself, ‘Like when the last Odium woke.’

  ‘Whatever he is, I think he could be useful to our cause.’

  ‘Like a weapon?’

  ‘Who isn't a weapon to you?’ Rez looked offended, but Jarrah continued. ‘The problem is I will- no, we will need to take him from Broken Fang. Unfortunately, despite what they say, they have all grown attached to the kid.’

  ‘And you? Have you also grown attached to a weapon?’

  There was no way Jarrah could answer that, so he did not. ‘I need to go now, before they wonder what's taking me so long. I will talk again soon, but for now I ask you to store that safely,’ he said pointing to Rez’s pocket, ‘and be a second pair of eyes watching over the kid. He has been acting stranger than usual.’

  She gave a worried look as Jarrah slipped half out the window, but then as always with Rez, resolve replaced all else. ‘I’ll keep this safe,’ she said, patting her pocket. ‘I’ll watch him too. Don’t worry.’

  * * * *

  Jarrah bounced from building to building. He went above the market looking down on all the lost souls bartering hours of lifespan in an eternal loop. Not for the first time he realized he was already in Hell. But some Hells are worse than others. It didn’t take long to find Broken Fang’s carriage, now moving at a solid pace, close to exiting the markets and entering the central plaza of Kerioth. Jarrah landed with a thud next to Alek on the coach box. The kid did not react, still a vacant husk.

  ‘Your hip looks empty for someone who went to buy a blade,’ Eddie said.

  Jarrah flicked Eddie the gemstone back. ‘No good steel around. I’ll have to get something later.’

  Eddie tossed it back. ‘Keep it. We’re almost back at the guild, you might find something there.’

  As Broken Fang trudged along, the street gradually grew brighter. The skyscrapers became shorter and shorter as they approached the center of Kerioth, letting the daylight through. The towers shrunk before the angel, as even they must kneel before divinity. Suddenly they were basking in the light. The towers had disappeared entirely, opening up to the central intersection of Kerioth. Above its dead center, the center of the city, the angel floated. Made of stone, a light coat of moss over its grey skin. It was in a woman's shape with spread eagle wings of a thousand perfectly chiseled feathers. Sitting cross-legged, she existed in the air five stories high with no support beside the wind. It was something felt before seen. A sixth sense of impending doom and helplessness that crept its way into the soul. Jarrah was used to the angel, this was not the first he had seen, but every time he approached, his hands trembled and sweat crept down the back of his neck, his spine shivered and instinctually he ignited his coating like a jacket against a blizzard. His mind screamed that it was wrong, that it should not be there or at the least human eyes should never see it, but there it was. It was their guardian against the night, and what slept under the stone.

  People buzzed around the outskirts of the circular intersection. None dared go further inward; to go underneath the angel would be insanity. No one told them how far to walk, they just instinctively knew and kept their distance, walking in a wide circle around it. If you wanted to cross the intersection, your body just knew to walk the long way. Once Jarrah had seen a man fall into the circle. It was a busy day and the intersection was packed full. The man was bumped out, he landed barely within the circle. The whole city heard his screams. He cried out in agony, trying to claw his own eyes out. A fate none deserved.

  On the north side of the intersection was the cathedral, near identical to the dungeon with its ageless black bricks. Broken Fang pulled up on the south side by the adventurer’s guild. Its raised foundations were made of thick stone, with tall steps that lead up to its great oak double doors, always open and filled with half-drunk adventures even at mid-day. Some of which staggered when they saw Eddie hitching their horses by its side.

  An ash-knight with a red face and wooden tankard sloshing cider stumbled down the stairs. ‘Eddie!’ he said, slurring his words. ‘How goes the hunt?’

  Aria and Rowan filtered out the back of the carriage, stretching and yawning.

  ‘It goes well, Wilbur. How goes job hunting?’

  At this point, more and more faces began to poke out of the guild and rushed forward, asking of travels and fortune. Aria had two apprentice mages by her in seconds. Jarrah knew few people in this city, but even he would be swamped soon if he remained here.

  Alek sat on the carriage staring across the intersection.

  ‘Is that,’ he asked in a timid voice, pointing at the dark cathedral, ‘where it is? The plate of Bael.’

  Where has he heard these things? ‘The apostle plate of Iscariot is in the cathedral, yes.’

  Alek nodded. Jarrah looked down to see he was gripping his dagger again.

  ‘Jarrah!’ Eddie called out. ‘Come over here man, Wilbur here says he knows a place we can get some good steel for you. I am thinking of getting a new blade myself. A little bit of a present for a successful adventure.’

  Jarrah only looked away for a second, just one second. There was no sound; there was no smell, no sensation or otherworldly premonition. One second looking at Eddie with the greasy, washed-up, worthless knight named Wilbur and then it was too late. Alek was gone. It felt like time slowed as Eddie’s eyes widened in surprise, he reached his hand forward as if he would have any chance of grabbing the kid before he threw his life away; his one and only second chance.

  Silence spread over the intersection, louder than anything Jarrah had ever heard. A rippling wave of heads turned towards its center. Inside the circle, Alek walked. His boots clacked and he never looked back, he never cried out, he never clawed his own eyes out. He marched dead ahead towards the cathedral on the other side, oblivious to the silent chaos around him. He looked in a daze. When he passed directly under the angel several winced, perhaps expecting the shock to catch up, but it never did. Alek kept walking until he reached the other side.

  It was wrong. More than anything else the kid ever did, this was the most disturbing. Every fiber of his being should be convulsing.

  He was half way up the cathedral steps when the guards snapped back to their senses. They ran towards him. Jarrah thought he should do the same, try to save the kid from what would come. Fight by his side if he must, but Eddie’s hand gripped his wrist. It’s too late.

  A holy-squire with white hair, wearing ash-knight armor was coming down the steps and was one of the first to wake up. Without a moment’s hesitation, she slammed the butt of her spear into Alek’s temple; he never saw it coming. The kid collapsed like a bag of rocks.