Page 15 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6
‘I’m not sure I can’t promise that won’t happen again, not to begin with,’ Silas said. ‘I’m terribly sorry for ruining their pond, truly, but I am in a grim predicament. You know what we face, Matilda. And I want what the kappa want, after all: to be able to enter that pond without losing my mind.’
He tried to imagine holding perfectly still beneath the surface, the crush of the water upon him. Oh shit. The thought was nothing but acrid horror. Best they get on with this before he turned tail and fled back to the house.
‘He is right. You do apologise far too much,’ Matilda’s voice was monotonous to the point of distraction, but he had no doubt of whom she referred to. And reminder of the prince only girded Silas’s determination to carry out this god-awful idea.
‘Chinami, please,’ he beseeched the kappa. ‘If you wish to rid your pond of my presence, then assist me now. For I shall plague your waters with or without your agreement. I’m sor…’ Silas left the word on his tongue. No more apologising. ‘It must be done. That is simply that.’
The kappa tilted its head, a move that should have spilled the water from its bowl cavity, but the liquid caressed the edge and went no further. Chinami opened its mouth and darted a rather putrid green tongue over its own eyeball, the quicksilver gone. A bark came from further out in the pond, the cough of a gentleman who enjoyed cigars too much. The smaller kappa peeked its head out of the water, the soft frond of pond slime around its crown floating atop the surface.
‘Ezume says it is best you stop loafing about on the mud then,’ Matilda said. ‘If you wish to love the water.’
‘“Love” is rather a strong word,’ Silas replied. ‘But they are not wrong otherwise.’ He waded in until the water cupped his knees. Perhaps he was entirely numb because the touch was not so icy as before. But he hesitated, rubbing at his bearded chin before turning back. ‘Matilda, I wonder…if you have the time…might you stay with me?’
Silas was drawn to the undine’s unflappable manner, to her curious talk of him being a child of the water. It calmed him in a way that surprised him. Not to mention, he expected she could deliver quite the harsh scolding should he resurface in a mindless panic. A good incentive to hold it together.
‘I am not leaving you, Mr Mercer.’
‘Thank you, very much.’ He turned back to the pond, which did not seem quite so fathomless now.
Chinami croaked and sprang from the muddy shallows, leaping into the depths with a great splash. Ezume barked and performed a splendid flip before disappearing too.
Without hesitation, barely a hint at all, Silas dove in to follow.
CHAPTER FIVE
PITCH TOOKEdward’s hand, and the wildness charged from its hiding place.
Plunged its claws into his heart.
And the room gave way to fire.
Pitch winced beneath the roar, the crackle and hideous snap of an inferno that consumed all in its path, including the daemon who bore it. He bowed beneath the onslaught, curling his shoulders against the blaze, melting away into nothingness as his world, his existence, became a raging fire. He was the core of a sun that had erupted, and its molten innards spewed from him, spreading over him in enormous wings of flame.
If this was the wildness, it had not only stepped from its cage, it had incinerated it.
Pitch bent beneath the great weight until he thought he would break in two. He was no stranger to this formation of his flame. The winged expanses had been useful at Goodrich Castle, certainly at the Fulbourn. But even on the day his control had abandoned him, the day Seraphiel fell, the flames had not been so riotous as this.
These wings could shadow the world. Reach all the way into Arcadia and brush their tips against White Mountain. They were all-consuming. Overwhelming. A wingspan far too magnificent for any paltry daemon to control.
The wings began to beat. Stirring hurricanes around him. Horrendous blasts of heat that sought to eviscerate all.
Pitch thought he was screaming. His mouth was wide open, his throat ached, but he could not say if he made a sound, for the tremendous hunger of the flames ate at everything.
There was no containing this monster. This wildness.
Pitch sank to his knees.
Your avoidance of the prophet is costly.The Seraphim’s voice slipped through the fire, and his words burned.Your endurance falters, and the prophet is of weak flesh. You are failing me.
Gods, the angel was a cunt even now.
‘How I’ve missed you.’Pitch’s words, but he could not say if they were spoken or merely thought as he cowered inside a firestorm. ‘Were you ever fucking dead? What is this?’
I am neither life nor death.
Though still ever the arcane bastard. Gods, Pitch abhorred the opaque nature of the higher angels.
But whatever Seraphiel might be, he was not happy. Beneath the roar of the winged bonfire Pitch was alerted to a sensation he knew well. The simmer of the angel’s anger. The Seraphim may claim to be neither here nor there, but he was still capable of being pissed off.