The Stone Golem

Chapter One

Gentle hands shake me awake. I try to remember where I am and why the room seems to be swaying beneath me. My bleary eyes focus and I see Dham’s face. He’s got a finger on his lips, and is lightly touching another to mine. The events of the past two days come into sharp, almost crystalline, clarity, and I wish I was back in the oblivion of sleep. I don’t want to remember.

Dham is staring at me, the wrinkle between his brows deep with worry. I nod slightly and he sits down next to me, no longer needing to warn me to be quiet. I can’t blame him really; I haven’t been exactly quiet at night lately what with my nightmares and insomnia.

I sit up, putting my back against the metal wall. The ship’s motion through the water isn’t so bad down here. We’ve got to stay below decks and out of sight, at least until we manage to get close enough to the coast of Brittany to take the raft in to shore. I’m grateful for the enforced solitude; I don’t feel up to being around many people right now. I’m angry and sleep-deprived and as likely to explode as a landmine. Between the bad dreams I’ve been having and keeping a lid on my grief and anger over Ryland’s death, I’m not fit company for anyone.

Except—maybe—Dham. He comes over and checks on me, sitting in silence with me for what seems like hours. I haven’t felt much like talking since our last night in London, at the warehouse that cost me the only father figure I’d ever known. Neither has Dham, not with the discovery that Dham’s traveling companion, Peter, was really a traitor, a spy for the Inquisition. Had it only been two nights ago? It feels like another lifetime ago with so many things changing. It’s good to know I’m not the only one who lost someone they cared about when that warehouse door slammed shut.

But it doesn’t help.

I stuff down the burn of rage, the bitter grief, and all the feelings of loss that threaten to consume me. It’s not just the loss of Ryland. It’s everything: Auntie’s boarding house in flames, the old Tube tunnels that the Resistance called home blowing sky high, the possession of my dearest friend Patrick by a demon. I stuff it down until it is nothing but a small, fiery ball in the middle of me. It feels like I’ve swallowed a comet, but it’s better than the emptiness. Or so I tell myself. Sometimes I wonder if the emptiness might not be preferable.

Shouldn’t be too much longer. Dham’s voice is soft and warm in the darkness. It’s what I imagine whisky would sound like if it had a voice. Kevin sent me to wake you.

I look over at him, the dim light painting him chiaroscuro. It makes his familiar face look strange, all strange shadows and angles. If I look at him right, he almost looks like a total stranger. I turn away, staring at the wall. I don’t want to see shadows where there should be none. Dham has always been light. Even now with his grief, it’s only dimmed. I treasure his light, especially now when all I feel is darkness. Thanks.

He waits for a few minutes, then gets up with a sigh. I can feel him looking down at me and it makes me uncomfortable. Finally, I meet his eyes.

Amaranth, you’re going to have to talk about it eventually. His voice is quiet. I’m surprised at the concern in it.

So are you. It comes out rougher than I mean it to.

The smile I get from him is sad and rueful, as if acknowledging he asked for it. He shakes his head. I will if you will.

What are we, five? I manage a small smile to try to take the sting out of my words. I change the subject. I don’t think he’s ready to talk about Peter’s betrayal any more than I’m ready to talk about Ryland’s death. Especially when Peter was the one who caused it. I gesture at the ship’s walls. You seem to be faring better this time around. Dham’s crossing from New York to England had not been an easy one for him. He’d spent most of it being sick belowdecks.

Dham sits down again. Much better. He holds up his wrist and I see a coppery bracelet hugging his arm. I haven’t felt sick once.

I draw my legs up and wrap my arms around them, resting my cheek on my knees. No hurling? I tease him about his trip across the ocean.

No puking. His good humor dissipates somewhat. You haven’t even mentioned Ry—

I get to my feet quickly, cutting him off. I am not willing to discuss that, not here, and not now. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t cry until the mission was over, the demons were sent back through the gate, and I had fulfilled everything Ryland had wanted for the Resistance. There was still too much at stake for me to bawl like a baby. Crying won’t bring him back. It hadn’t brought my mother back all those years ago.

Nothing will.

Besides, there’s too much at stake. Ryland tasked us with finding out the location of the gate: the magic portal that demons use to enter this world. Once we know its location, we can find a way to close it. And I have a personal stake as well: I need to find out how to break the binding that links Trick to me before we wind up killing each other. These two goals are more important than me or my loss.

At least that’s what I tell myself. I’m a professional grade avoider.

I grab my coat and head topside, leaving Dham behind in silence. The wind whips my hair around my face almost as soon as I set foot on the deck of the freighter. The smell of the sea fills my nostrils, a clean briny scent that scours my brain clear. I make my way over to the hunched figure at the rail, watching the moon’s gleam off the water.

Kevin is watching the boat slide through the waves, eyes on the chop slapping the sides. I lean at the rail next to him. He was Ryland’s trusted second in command and now that Ryland is dead, he’s heading the mission to Rome and the catacombs beneath Vatican City. He seems to be holding it together, until I see him at a time like this—a quiet moment—and I realize that he’s floundering just as much as I am.

You ready? he asks. I can barely hear his voice even though our shoulders touch.

Are any of us ready? We’re taking on the demons that have taken control of the corridors of power, mounting a mission to find a way to close the gate that serves as their entrance into our world. How do you prepare for something like that?

As I’ll ever be. I look around. Where’s the raft? We can’t risk being aboard the freighter when it docks in Marseilles, so we’re going to put off farther down the coast and try for a beach landing. We lost a day in Dover having to wait for a Resistance ship with the right captain and crew, so we’re trying to be extra cautious because of the lost time. The Inquisition can’t monitor every inch of sand, but we know they’ll be monitoring the big wharves and shipping lanes. If we can make it off of the boat and into the cities before the ship docks, we stand a decent chance of disappearing into the crowd.

A chance, but it’s a slim one. The Inquisition is the militant arm of the demons in power. It exists to root out any threat to the current regime. The Inquisition is a ruthless machine, oiled by blood and torture. They keep order through fear and pain. I lost my mother to them eight years ago. I lost Ryland to them two days ago. I’m not losing anyone else if I can help it.

They’re setting it up now. Kevin jerks his head toward the fore of the boat. The moonlight glints off of his graying hair. He’s no more than fifty, but Ryland’s death has aged him. I wonder if it has made me look older. I feel about five thousand years old on the inside.

I look over where he indicates and see several crew members struggling with a heavy inflatable raft. The wind is kicking up, making it hard to maneuver the awkward thing. Ropes are tied to the rings attached to the raft and those ropes are in turn connected to the anchors on the side of the boat’s rail. There’s a small motor on the back of the raft, making it even more unwieldy in the high wind.

I’d better go help them. Kevin joins the group wrestling with our way to the mainland.

I watch, starting at the feel of cold raindrops hitting my skin. Storm coming in. Clouds scud across the face of the moon now, the wind herding them like sheep. Not the best night to be on the water. I can see the lights of coastal towns winking in the distance; they’ve grown closer as the captain of the ship takes us as close to shore as he dares.

There you are, an archly toned voice says in my ear. I was wondering if you’d ever set foot up here.

I keep myself from jumping, but just barely. I turn to look at Trick, the demon that’s taken up residence in my best friend Patrick’s body. Keep doing that and I’ll put a bell round your neck. I turn around so I can see him.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to hearing that strange voice come out of a face I’ve known for most of my life. Knowing that Patrick is in there, somewhere, but unable to do anything to oust his hitchhiker is maddening. And when I tried to help, I only made it worse by binding the demon’s life force to mine. Yet one more colossal failure to be laid at my feet. I’ll soon be tripping over them.

You can try, he taunts. Then he turns serious, his moods as mercurial as the winds. It will be a rough crossing. He looks up at the lowering storm clouds.

Is that a prediction or fact? I am in a foul mood. I want to take it out on something. Fortunately, I don’t have to hold my temper in check with Trick. It’s not as though he cares.

More of an observation, he answers, nonplussed by my attitude. I don’t care for water. Or boats.

I perk up a bit. If he is being honest with me—and that is a spectacularly large if—I might be able to learn more about what exactly he is and how he functions. He claims not to be a demon, but rather a spirit. I’m still not clear on the difference. I think playing disinterested is the best way to handle it. Why not? Seasickness? I think of Dham, still below deck.

Trick shrugs. More like a natural dislike of the element.

Excuse me? I have no idea what he’s talking about, which is not surprising, as that’s true of almost everything he says.

I forget how ignorant you are. His smile is a masterwork of condescension.

Thanks so much. But he’s right; I am ignorant. At least about everything that a floundering neophyte magician needs to know. If I believe what he tells me, then I have the aptitude for magic, thanks to my father, himself a magician. But there are none left to teach me. The Inquisition hunted them all down years ago. I’m flying blind.

He waves the insult away like so much fog. We spirits— he always refers to his kind as spirits and not demons, instead insisting there is nothing demonic or religious in their nature—have affinities for specific elements: earth, air, fire, and water. His voice takes on a lecturing tone. "And as such, each element has its opposite.

A spirit prefers to work within its own affinity—its chosen element. When we have to be in contact with an opposing element, it can be…awkward.

Awkward? That’s an odd choice of words. It’s magic, not a blind date.

Trick shakes his head. It is difficult to process it into words you would understand.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a rude comment. It’s not like I’m a mental defective or anything. So since you and water don’t get along, does that mean your affinity is fire? Such information would be helpful in controlling him or in locating a spell to unbind him.

Water is not my opposite. It merely makes me uncomfortable to work in it.

Oh, well that clears everything right up! I can’t imagine exactly what he would need to work; it’s not like I’m going to ask him to do anything besides sit there and I tell him so. Well, hopefully you won’t need to do more than sit in a boat, so you shouldn’t be unduly taxed. The sarcasm drips like honey from my voice.

He gives me a dark look, suddenly not amused. Have you been doing any of those focus exercises I mentioned?

Before we left London, Trick told me I needed to work on my concentration if I was to have even the slightest hope of undoing the binding I had accidentally placed on us. I’d tried to work on it while we waited in Dover, but my efforts were not what anyone would term wholehearted. I had too much on my mind. Every time I attempted an exercise, my mind inevitably drifted to our last night in London. And Ryland’s death.

I’m working on it. I sigh. I still don’t understand how I was able to do what I did in the first place.

Trick pushes away from the railing, agitated. That’s what I’m still trying to determine. You have a natural ability. If I knew we could trust it, I would be a much happier being.

I watch him walk across the deck, his rolling gait compensating for the shifting ship beneath his feet. Then I turn back to watch the water. He’s not the only one who’d be a happier being for knowing.

Chapter Two

The raft goes over the side. Kevin climbs down the ladder with another sailor to get the supplies ready. I spit out hair that the wind has whipped into the corner of my mouth and head below to grab my gear. Everything has been wrapped in waterproof oilskin or otherwise secured. I throw my pack and the one containing spare supplies over my shoulders and poke my head into one of the holds.

Dham is pulling a rainproof jacket on over his clothes. He’s already got his supplies protected, most especially his hand bells. The belt that holds his bells is wrapped in oilskin and safely secured in wrappings in his pack. The sound of these bells has a startling effect on demons—sometimes forcing them out of a possessed person, sometimes freezing them in place, sometimes doing nothing at all—and we don’t want to risk them getting lost or damaged. There are precious few sets left and those people who can ring them are even rarer. Ringers and their bells are usually well protected, although we have barely enough protection for one, let alone two. With all of the churches and holy sites destroyed, we have few weapons left that can hurt demons. Bells are one of those few.

Catriona—Cat—comes around the bulkhead, her own pack in tow. She too is a Ringer, only she carries just one bell. Her bell is also carefully wrapped and put away, although if her pack was to go overboard, it would sink like a stone from the weight of the thing. Time to go? Her eyes linger on Dham and I know that she still likes him, despite her assurances to the contrary back in London.

I nod. Almost. I yell over to Dham, Meet you topside! Then I hustle out with my packs.

The wind has gotten worse and the ship is pitching a bit in the heavy weather. The rain is still holding off for the most part. I hurry over to the ropes mooring the raft to the side and look down. Kevin is hunkered down, trying to hold the raft steady. Trick is already seated, looking more miserable than I’ve ever seen him, his black hair plastered against his face by the wind-whipped salt water.

I throw my leg over the side and start down the ladder. My hands slip almost immediately, the weight of the packs throwing me off balance. I scrabble frantically. I don’t want to drown. My hands latch back onto the metal rungs. I cling for a moment, afraid to move. I have to stare at my hands and force myself to loosen my death grip on the sea-slick ladder enough so I can step down to the next rung.

Slowly I make my way down the side of the ship until I’m at the last rung. Kevin is holding onto one of the ropes, trying to keep the raft steady. I plop into it gracelessly, never so happy to be anywhere. I stow my packs as best I can and go grab the second rope to help Kevin keep the raft still for Cat, already on her way down. I look up and see Dham watching the process with a concerned look on his face. Can’t say as I blame him; I don’t get seasick and I’m dreading the ride to shore.

Cat steps in, moving to the side to give Dham room. She also stows her pack and moves up to the front of the raft, near Trick. The wind is trying to rip the rope from my hands, but I hang on. I can feel the rough fibers tearing my palms up, until the cold and wet makes my hands go completely numb. The rain is only a drizzle yet, but there will be heavier to come by the way the clouds are gathering. I can’t see the moon anymore.

Dham is finally in and Kevin unhooks his rope from the latches on our raft. I do the same. He moves the small motor into place, gesturing for us all to hang on. I move over to Dham in the middle of the raft, listening for the sound of the motor catching. The waves are beginning to buffet our small craft now that we aren’t protected by the bulk of the freighter.

The motor starts with a dull growl that’s barely audible over the water hitting the side of the ship, and we begin to make a heavy progress through the rough sea. Kevin points us to the coast line as the waves get progressively choppier. I grip Dham’s hand in mine; he squeezes it gratefully. He looks like he might spew at any moment.

A wave crashes into us, nearly swamping the engine. I can hear it splutter, but worse yet, I hear a cry and a splash. Dham and I had our feet hooked into the sides of the boat, trying to gain purchase, but Cat must not have done because when I look for her she’s gone.

Trick is already at the side, eyes searching the murk. They’ve taken on that odd glow that I last saw in the warehouse, a glow that marks him as more than the unassuming looking young man he’s inhabiting. There! he shouts, pointing into the pitching water.

CAT! Dham is already leaning out of the raft, hand outstretched. I can see pale hair not far from the boat, but the water’s getting more violent by the minute, pushing us away. Kevin’s trying to bring us back around, but he’s having to fight the current.

Hang on! I grab a coil of rope, knotting it around my waist. I hand the free end to Dham and Trick. Pull me in when I’ve got her. Without waiting for an argument, I dive in.

It’s freezing in the water. The shock takes my breath away, but I plunge on. I can see flailing arms and hair spreading in the water like seaweed. I point myself in that direction, kicking out away from the raft. My clothes and boots threaten to take me under with their wet weight. The rope is a drag on me. I plow through the waves, each stroke bringing me a bit closer to Cat, who is also trying to swim towards me.

She’s not a strong swimmer though. I’m almost to her when a wave tosses her back, sending her under. I don’t hesitate, diving toward where she was. My hand goes down, searching for her. I feel something thready and don’t think. I wind it around my hand and yank up.

Cat comes up with a shriek of pain, her hair in my fist. I wrap my arms around her and give the rope a hard tug. Then we’re being pulled toward the boat which I can no longer see. There’s no way Cat could have made her way back to it in this weather. I kick my legs to try and get us there faster. Cat tries to help with kicks of her own, but I stop her. She’s going to need her strength to pull herself back into the boat, even with the boys’ help.

Thanks! She has to shout to be heard over the surf and wind. But you didn’t have to yank my plaits out.

So sorry, I pant, getting slapped in the face by a wave and spitting out water. Next time I’ll just let you drown, shall I?

I don’t say anything else, just concentrate on swimming. I’ve been avoiding Cat as much as I can lately, and not just because she punched me during the fight in the warehouse. I’ve come to understand why: I was endangering our lives and the future mission and she had to snap me out of my hysterics after I was forced to leave Ryland to die. I can forgive that, especially since I would have likely done the same thing had our positions been reversed. She did the right thing. I can see that now.

No, I feel awkward with her because of what she told me about Dham back at the pub the night before the failed raid. She had admitted to liking him. And in the same sentence she also admitted that Dham liked me. It was the first time in our brief history that Cat and I seemed to have something in common. But it also made me feel uncomfortable. Even though she had come to understand that Dham wasn’t interested in her, and even said that she was okay with it, I still feel like she is watching me. Waiting. Our relationship was never easy, but now I feel the weight of it even more. I don’t know how I should act around her.

We’re almost to the raft when she speaks again, this time barely heard over the roar of the weather. I’m sorry I punched you.

I understand why you did. And I do understand. I was raving after Ryland—the closest thing to a father I had ever known—was shot in front of me. I had been desperate to get to him. I didn’t care about my friends or my team or my own safety. Her punch had pulled me out of my hysteria and brought me back to myself. Doesn’t mean that I liked it.

Cat nods. Forgiven?

I remember the threat I made that night. I’d said that I hoped she’d know what it felt like, to have someone she loved ripped from her. I had meant it at the time. Grief made things muddy. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone and certainly not Cat.

She was right to hit me. I suppose so.

We’re at the edge of the raft, the boys’ faces above us. Dham sticks his hand out and Cat grabs it. She scrabbles a bit until I give her a boost, pushing her bum up and over. Trick has his hand out to me and both he and Dham haul me in like a mackerel.

Are you completely barking mad? Trick yells at me as I slither my way into the raft.

Getting there, is my reply. I feel weak to my very bones.

Have you forgotten that if you die, so do I? He sounds more put out than scared.

I glare at him and take a look at Kevin. Thank goodness for the bad weather that is making it impossible to hear. Neither he nor Cat suspect Trick is anything other than my best friend, Patrick, here to help us. I haven’t been able to find the right time—or the right words—to explain how a demon had come to take possession of my dearest friend. Or how Ryland had been the one to capture and keep that friend prisoner, specifically for this mission.

Dham shouts, his tone of voice wry. If everyone can just stay in the boat now, we might have a chance of making it to shore before we’re swamped and killed.

It’s not like I fell out on purpose, Cat gasps from where she’s lying in the bottom of the raft.

I lay in the bottom of the boat next to Cat, sucking in great lungfuls of air. Rain is coming down in earnest now, plastering my already soaked hair down against my head and splashing into my face. I look over to see Kevin still manning the engine and the tiller, trying to get us to shore. He gestures for the boys to hunker down and gives the engine more throttle.

Thank you, Cat whispers from beside me. She’s huddled in on herself. I can feel the shudders wracking her body.

Now that the adrenaline of the moment is leaving me, I feel it: the shakes. It starts small, just tremors that make my skin twitch like a dead frog under current. They grow, increasing in length and power until I shiver beside her. My waterlogged clothes and the cold wind and rain don’t help. I have to keep my teeth clenched together to stop them from chattering.

You’re w…w…wel…c…c…c, I stutter as my teeth clack together.

Sk…kkkk…kkkip it. Cat wraps her arms around herself and tries to get warm.

You ju…ju…just h…h…h…had to go sw…sw…swimming, d…d….didn’t you? I lean my shoulder against her, hoping we can share what warmth we still have.

Sh…sh…shut up. But she leans into me too.

Chapter Three

The rain is lashing at us as we pull the boat onto shore. My body shudders with cold, to the point that I’m little help in dragging the raft, or pulling out our supplies. Dham