The Mortal Knife (16 page)

As if she was reading his thoughts, Clotho smiled. ‘All of you passed through my hands on your way into your mortal life. All of you are known by me and valued by me, however short or long your thread is. Always remember that. Protect the other souls if you choose, but protect yourself too.' Her face changed, growing weary. ‘I am glad to have spoken with you, Adam Mortson but now there is work to do. Other souls must pass through my hands, just as you once did.' Her eyes left him and roamed over the nearest spools of thread. ‘They are waiting,' she whispered and moved soundlessly to the shelves. ‘This one will be short and strong, bright and brittle.' Even as she spoke she was gathering threads: a dark red, a fine gold, a thin black knotted cord. ‘You must leave me now.'

Adam nodded even though she didn't see. Her attention was gone, absorbed in her work as she twisted threads together, dropped her spindle and began to spin. For a moment he hesitated, wondering if he should ask for directions, then decided against it. How could you interrupt the creation of a soul? Imagine the harm that could do. For a moment he thought about the evil humans could sometimes be capable of. Was there just a mistake in their thread? Maybe – but Adam wasn't convinced. After all, as Clotho had said, every human had free will, just as the Fates did. How you used it,
that
was the important thing.

He took a last look at Clotho and slipped away.

Minutes later he was on the verge of regretting his decision. He had assumed the stacks would follow straight lines and lead him eventually back to the point where they had come into the barn – but in fact the stacks were bisected at intervals by other shelves of threads. It was hard not to get distracted and sneak a peek. Some of the threads were beautiful and as he veered off to have a look he would spot others and then others and before he knew what was happening he was in the middle of a great maze of shelves. He wandered fruitlessly, trying to find something familiar but the shelves went on as far as the eye could see.

Adam stopped, unwilling to admit to feeling a pang of fear. He supposed he could call out to Clotho but would she even hear him? He had an awful feeling he could wander here forever, just as a soul could wander lost on the Unknown Roads. He stared around him, trying to get his bearings; trying to come up with some kind of plan that would get him out of there. In the end he admitted defeat and just started walking.

After what felt like a long time, just as real panic might have set in, Adam squinted ahead and realised he could finally glimpse a wall at the far end of the row. He took off at a run, hoping there would be a corridor of some kind and not just a dead end. To his indescribable relief a path followed the line of the wall in both directions. Now all he had to do was follow the wall along until he reached the doorway.

He didn't walk for long before he found what he was looking for. The path ahead was cut off by a bookshelf and just before it was a plain, wooden door set into the wall. He opened it, expecting to see the light outside – only to find pitch-darkness ahead. Adam stopped, frustrated. Where was the door he had come in? This place seemed to go on forever. He could go back the way he came and hope to find another way outside – but what if there wasn't one? Or what if he got lost again? He gritted his teeth. A doorway of any kind had to be better than no doorway at all.

He stepped inside and stubbed his foot on a stair. There were no lights. Bending down and searching with his fingers, Adam could feel the edges of the bottom few steps, rising straight ahead into the darkness. His spirits sank but he began to climb, almost on his hands and knees, hoping that another doorway would reveal itself. The door into the barn closed behind him, plunging him into utter blackness. It reminded him of the stairway last time he had been in the Realm of the Fates but that had been a spiral staircase. This one rose straight up.

Thankfully it was much shorter too. Adam had been tentatively climbing for only a minute when he raised his foot and brought it down into thin air. He almost toppled backwards down the stairs but managed to throw himself forward into the darkness instead, landing painfully on his hands and knees. There was something horribly familiar about it all. He had the same sensation of being a tiny speck at the centre of somewhere huge and cavernous.

He could guess where he was. The trouble was, last time he'd been here Morta had been the one to light the place up. Still, he'd seen Clotho in action – calling for light, bringing rain to a standstill with a raised hand. In this realm things could be manipulated with words and intention. The question was, were the Fates the only ones who could do this? He cleared his throat as quietly as possible and whispered, ‘Let there be light.'

For a long moment nothing happened and Adam felt a jolt of terror, alone in the dark in this forbidden place. Then, just as before, a faint glow crept into the air around him and points of brilliant light appeared on the walls, racing along like sparks on petrol, spreading out and illuminating everything – a vast, globe appearing all around him with Adam the axis at the centre of the wheel. He was standing once again before the Tapestry of Lights.

He knew he shouldn't be here but seeing the Tapestry so close and on his own sent a thrill through Adam. Every soul in the world glowed in the wall before him. His eyes darted from country to country, thinking about all the people he knew. Threads blazed red and gold and green and white, like a rainbow of fireflies. He stepped away from the stairwell and searched until he found the tiny knots of Britain and Ireland, high up out of reach, perched alone on the edge of the vast darkness of the Atlantic. Up close the lights seemed magnified. The threads were no ordinary pieces of cotton or wool. They were alive and moving, a great swirling river of lights weaving together in a kind of harmonic dance.

Adam wasn't sure how long he stood there for. It was mesmerising, letting his eyes roam endlessly over the Tapestry, knowing that his own light glowed there somewhere. Absorbed in what he was seeing something jarred him back to the present with a faint sense of irritation. It took a moment for his mind to register the sounds behind him and when it did it sent alarm bells ringing in Adam's head.

Voices. He could hear voices. Someone was coming.

There was no time for panic or even thought. Adam took the instinctive path of every hunted animal and fled towards the darkness – but there was nowhere to hide. The chamber was empty of furniture and decoration so even if he was able to will something into existence all it would do was draw attention to him. He ran towards the wall in the black space of the Atlantic where only the occasional tiny pinpricks of light shone and threw himself flat on the ground.
I need to hide
, he thought fiercely.
Make the shadows darker, blacker. Make me invisible.
There was no way of knowing if he had succeeded in changing anything.

The voices were close now. In Adam's eagerness to see the Tapestry he had completely failed to notice that his stairwell wasn't the only one still there. A few seconds later Morta's familiar face appeared. She rose up from her stairwell and stalked into the chamber looking beautiful and furious and deadly, the Mortal Knife gleaming at her side. Adam willed himself into the floor and felt himself sinking down into the shadows.
Not too far
, he thought hastily. He didn't want to suffocate.

Morta was talking in short, angry bursts. A figure rose up behind her – a man – and as he turned Adam felt a cold shock of recognition. He was looking at Darian. Adam frowned from the shadows, some of his fear displaced by anger. There was something a bit too convenient about all this. Adam knew that the Frenchman hated Nathanial, blaming him in some way for thwarting his plans to marry Elise. It didn't help that Darian was a Seer like Adam and one of the few people who could know that souls were being saved. Finding him here with Morta was more than a coincidence, Adam was sure of it.

Morta was close now; close enough for Adam's senses to scream in warning. Fortunately her focus was on the wall where Adam had been standing just a minute earlier, staring at the Kingdom of Britain. Her eyes were furious but her voice was calm. ‘I have taken many extra souls and yet you tell me there have been no more souls saved?'

Darian moved smoothly behind her. ‘The last I know of was three weeks ago in our physical time. But I cannot always be in Britain. My duties with the Concilium force me to travel frequently. Soon I will be able to return.' He hesitated.

Morta's attention was on the lights ahead of her but she seemed to sense the Luman's anxiety. ‘Speak freely.'

Darian grimaced. ‘Your freedom with the Mortal Knife has caused  …  concern. We Curators have been called to session frequently. If you were to relax your efforts somewhat I could return to Britain for longer. My absence would not be noted. I could gather information. Find the rogue and bring him to you.'

‘The son is the rogue.' Just as Adam's heart might have exploded in his chest Morta continued. ‘The second son. The boy Luc. I am certain of it.'

Darian looked at her curiously. ‘What makes you think this?'

‘He is in love with danger, as I was once.' Morta smiled, almost fondly, and studied the glowing map of Britain. The tip of the Mortal Knife glinted as she turned it over between her fingers. ‘Such a bright light. Such a great shame to cut it off and yet  … ' She shrugged. ‘I shall take my time and enjoy it.'

‘I must prove it.' Darian's voice was low and urgent. ‘There must be evidence I can bring before the Concilium. Do nothing yet Morta. Be patient.'

Adam could tell straight away that Darian had said the wrong thing. Morta pulled back from him and her face became cold. ‘Be patient? You tell
me
to be patient? Believe me,
mortal
, no woman survives in the Luman world without understanding
patience
.'

Darian's face was calm but his voice betrayed him. ‘I only wish to do things properly. The Kingdom of Britain is in disarray. The rogue alone is not to blame. The High Luman must bear his share of the blame.'

‘Perhaps you have been mistaken Darian. Perhaps there is no rogue, robbing me of souls. Perhaps you wish to use me for your own purposes.' Morta stepped closer to Darian and slid the tip of her blade towards his belt. She moved her hand and the knife trailed up his torso, caressing his neck and coming to a standstill under his chin, tilting the Frenchman's head back. ‘What game are you playing with me, Luman?'

Darian stared straight ahead and didn't flinch. ‘I would never be so foolish, my Lady Fate.'

‘No.' Morta studied him for a moment, then tapped the flat of her blade against his cheek. ‘It would be foolish indeed.' She bent her head and kissed the hollow of his throat, then turned back to the wall. Behind her Adam watched Darian relax. Morta stared at the Tapestry of Light for a long time. ‘A little longer. I shall give you a little longer. And then I shall bring such a wave of deaths that the rogue will have no choice but to intervene. And you will be waiting to expose him.'

She turned and strode back to the stairwell without even looking at Darian. The Frenchman watched her and Adam saw the spasm of fear and hatred that crossed his face – but a moment later he followed her, impassive once more. Leaving Adam alone.

It took Adam a few minutes to find his courage and leave the shadows. His mind was racing. All the extra deaths in the Kingdom of Britain – they weren't an accident. They were there to try and draw him out. All he had wanted to do was save some lives. Now because of him more people than ever were dying.

He felt hot and sick with guilt – then forced himself to stop and think. This wasn't just about him – it was about Morta and Darian. After all, Clotho said the old Atropos had chosen wisely and spared as many souls as she could. Morta on the other hand seemed to delight in the deaths. He thought of the caressing way she held the Mortal Knife and shivered. Who in their right mind would give someone like Morta that kind of power? He knew the Fates were only another link in the chain. There were higher powers than them. Somebody somewhere had appointed Morta – and they had made a mistake.

As for Darian  …  Adam felt a fresh wave of rage. Darian didn't care about the law or the Fates. All Darian cared about was Elise and getting back at Nathanial. Without meaning to Adam had given him the opening he needed.

Worst of all – they thought it was
Luc
! Adam could understand why. Luc was cool and in control and a little bit devilish. Maybe this was why girls liked him so much – even Morta. It was also why Adam felt invisible beside him and for once this might be a good thing. But how could he stand by and let Luc get killed for something he didn't do? What if Morta lured Luc to see her, just as Clotho had persuaded Adam back into the Realm of the Fates? Luc was just arrogant enough to believe that a Fate wanted to meet him for a date, not that she wanted to kill him!

His thoughts were whirling. He had to get out of there. But how? Stealthily he slipped back towards the stairwells and began to creep down the stairs. Halfway down he paused. There was no point just going back into Clotho's weaving room; he could wander there forever. He needed another doorway, one that would take him back into the Hinterland. He'd been scared of the Hunter before but Morta was turning out to be much more terrifying.

As he descended the stairs Adam tried to visualise what he needed.
A different doorway. A doorway that will take me away from here and back to my world.
He pictured it almost fiercely: pale wood, a plain metal handle and beyond he pictured the endless grey light of the Hinterland.
I want to go home
.

And at the bottom of the stairs instead of one door into the barn there were two. He looked at the new doorway with a mixture of fascination and relief. A world where you could just imagine things into existence. He could get used to this.

He eased the door open and crept back into the Hinterland. Thankfully there was no sign of the Hunter. Adam didn't hang about out of curiosity. He'd seen as much of the Hunter as he ever wanted to. He clutched his keystone and swooped home, hoping no one would be in the garden. At least he knew Morta hadn't been cutting any threads when he left. She'd probably been plotting with Darian or kissing him or cutting him into little pieces with her knife. Adam had a feeling she would enjoy any of those activities equally. Whatever she was doing at that moment, hopefully she wasn't killing anyone.

The garden was empty and Adam scurried off into the paddock, dabbing his nose and trying to kill time. His hours in the Hinterland had only been a moment in the physical world and he didn't want to arrive home too early. No point raising suspicions. Now that he was safely back he felt weak and shaky. It was a relief to be on firm ground again.

Darian was more of a threat than Adam had ever imagined. Before he'd thought Darian was simply snooping about, trying to make a good impression on the Concilium. After all, Darian was one of the youngest Curators in Luman history. Now Adam realised that he had underestimated Darian's hatred of Nathanial. The question was, what was Darian hoping to achieve? Elise and Nathanial were lawfully married. Divorce was incredibly rare in the Luman world. Even if Nathanial lost his position as High Luman, Elise would still be married to him. The only thing that would separate them was death  … 

Adam froze. Was it possible? Was this why Darian was so desperate for proof of the rogue Luman's wrong-doing? After all, Adam had sneaked a peek at
The Book of the Unknown Roads
and the penalty for interfering with the Fates had been all too clear – the death penalty. Was Darian hoping to implicate Nathanial too, hoping that he would share in the rogue Luman's fate and face execution? A coldness stole over Adam that had nothing to do with the spring air. It made a twisted kind of sense. With Nathanial dead and the family in disgrace and stripped of their Keystones, Elise would have no choice but to marry whoever would have her.

Even so, the whole thing was mad! This was his
mother
they were talking about! Yes, she was beautiful, but she was hardly some supermodel or rock star! Darian was a Curator. He could marry
anyone.
Some of the most powerful Luman families in the world would gladly hand over their daughters for betrothal. Why the obsession with Elise?

Adam frowned. There was a back story here and there was only one person who could fill him in. Unfortunately even Auntie Jo was going to get suspicious if he grilled her two nights in a row. He had never exactly been a keen student of Luman history and gossip. She was going to be curious about why he was suddenly so interested in the Luman world.

Luck, however, was on his side. When he finally risked going into the kitchen Aron and Luc were missing but everyone else was there – and so was Uncle Paddy. Better yet, there were two bottles of Irish whisky on the table, one of them half empty. Auntie Jo was sitting beside Uncle Paddy with a brimming glass, already looking merry. Hopefully she would be feeling talkative later on. ‘You nearly missed our visitor Adam!'

‘Yeah, I was at school,' Adam said, not quite meeting anyone's eye. ‘Hi Uncle Paddy.'

‘How are you Adam?' Uncle Paddy was grinning at him. ‘I love your duds.'

Adam grinned in spite of himself. ‘Thanks. What's for dinner?' This was usually the first question he asked when he got home so he reckoned he was just playing it cool and acting normal.

Elise was standing at the counter mixing something in a bowl. ‘Cassoulet.' She stirred in short, angry bursts.

Uncle Paddy winked at Adam. ‘Don't they always say the girls can't resist a man in uniform? Is that what this school business is about? Come on, you can tell me. We're all friends here.'

‘No girl worth knowing will be impressed by a school uniform. A coming-of-age shirt is a different matter.' Elise's smile would have frozen lava. ‘Will you be joining us Patrick?'

‘Stay if you can Patrick,' Nathanial said quietly. He was sitting at the table nursing a small glass of whisky. He looked shattered. ‘I can't promise I'll be joining you all for dinner but I'd like to catch up afterwards.'

Uncle Paddy stood up and shook his head. His face was sympathetic. ‘I won't keep you Nathanial. Here's hoping you get to eat a meal in peace.'

‘Are there loads of sudden deaths in Ireland too?' Adam asked on impulse – then bitterly regretted the question when everyone turned and looked at him.

Luckily Uncle Paddy didn't seem to find it strange. ‘No Adam. If anything we're quieter than usual. Our new Lady Fate seems to be keeping that knife of hers busy in the Kingdom of Britain.' The way he said ‘lady' implied the exact opposite. He clapped Nathanial's shoulder. ‘I'll send Ciaron over to help out any time you want. Just say the word.'

‘I'm sure that won't be necessary Patrick,' Elise said. ‘Now that Aron is Marked we have extra hands.'

Uncle Paddy shrugged. ‘Well, the offer's there.'

‘Thank you Patrick,' Nathanial said. ‘And Ciaron is always welcome here, any time he wants.'

‘He'll be glad to see you all. Especially one young lady not too far away.' Uncle Paddy winked at Chloe.

Elise pursed her lips and stirred harder.

It was late before Adam managed to corner Auntie Jo. To everyone's surprise there had only been one call-out that evening. For the first time in several weeks Nathanial had eaten at the kitchen table with the whole family. There had been fervent speculation as to why Morta was allowing them a quiet night. Adam had eaten in guilty silence, thinking about the conversation he had overheard. It seemed Darian had been granted his wish. Fewer deaths in Britain meant lighter duties for the Concilium – and more time for him to snoop about and catch the rogue. Adam was going to have to tread carefully.

Although he hadn't forgotten Darian's words.
No souls have been saved for three weeks
. It was true. Adam hadn't saved anyone since the girl on the bus on his first day back at school. Thinking about it made him feel sick and guilty – but what choice had he had? His doom sense had been quieter than usual, probably because he had been so happy most of the time. Even during the last week when Morta had wielded the Mortal Knife freely he had only felt some of the deaths as they happened and none before. And knowing now that Darian and Morta were working together – what else could he do but be
glad
he hadn't walked into their trap?