Page 138 of The Simurgh

As the colours shifted, Silas thought he spied a match for the gown worn by the woman at the loch in his visions. Visions that had not visited him in a long while.

Scarlet leapt into rapturous celebration, hands a blur as the wisp clapped like a miniature maniac. They turned circles over the simurgh’s head as the creature moved its wings.

‘What are you having your minion do, Vassago?’ Lucifer demanded.

‘I’m not telling Scarlet to doing anything, Reginald.’

The simurgh’s tail was as spectacular as its wings, long ribbons that unfurled from where they’d been tucked up in the folds of the cloak. Streaming from the creature’s body, contrasting the purple of the wings with alternating shades of pink.

The simurgh settled its wings, and lifted its gleaming beak. Its head turned, and its eye found them. Pitch made a small sound and pressed against Silas.

‘What is it? Is it hurting you?’

There was a pause, lengthy, before the prince answered. ‘No. I just thought…’

‘What is going on?’ Lucifer bristled, fists clenched. ‘Do not send it away. That will not bode well for either of you.’

Silas turned his back on the king. He was interested in one daemon only. ‘Tell me what is happening.’

‘Nothing…nothing yet.’ Pitch’s gaze was emerald bright, no hint of his flame, which would have been reassuring had the daemon not looked so…desolate. ‘I thought it was going to try and return to me, but I can’t take it, not yet. I need some time.’

He pressed his hands to Pitch’s shoulders, keeping their eyes locked. ‘That creature will never be forced on you again, I swear to you. Does it bother you now?’

Pitch’s hand went to his belly. ‘No, no. But I think perhaps…’ He shook himself. ‘Perhaps I am being paranoid. It clearly does not want me, does it? Maybe I’m quite done with being its vessel? ’

The hope, and helplessness, made Silas’s heart twist. ‘Maybe. It was hardly going to stay with you forever as it was, I’m sure.’ Except he knew nothing whatsoever of divine magick and Cultivations.

‘Are you done with whispering sweet nothings?’ Lucifer called, his voice faint beyond the murmur of Pitch’s flame. ‘You are running out of time.’

Silas could see it for himself. At their feet the waters crept in. Playing at their heels, where there’d been only rock before.

‘At least he is telling one truth.’ Pitch said drily, his tensions softening. ‘But with those currents I’m going to suggest swimming to the entranceway is out of the question.’

Silas nodded grimly, stifling the niggles of panic that came with looking out over the expanse of roughened water. This view was far too aligned with what he’d seen, when it all began. When his own brother pushed him from a boat and sealed Silas’s fate forever.

But his thoughts snagged on the notion of a boat. It was exactly what they needed here. Could he have the scythe form something so elaborate? A row boat, something simple, just enough to carry them back to the stained glass window…wherever that might be. The boots were a problem. How could they lead him back if he couldn’t walk?

As if reading his mind, Pitch asked. ‘Your boots, you said they will lead back to Tyvain, but we are seriously devoid of roads here.’

‘Maybe he can walk on water,’ Lucifer called, clearly amusing himself. ‘Perhaps that’s in his power now, too.’

‘Gods, why are you still here?’ Pitch’s flames brightened. ‘ If you are truly having some midlife crisis, and not destroying me, or the simurgh, then what the fuck are you doing, save for looking utterly ridiculous with that horrid moustache and armour that does nothing for your shoulders at all.’

Lucifer was indeed clad in armour, which Silas had paid scant attention to since he emerged from the fog of Morrigan’s destruction.

Now that armour reflected all the colours of the simurgh as the beast flapped its wing, Scarlet stood right at its head, sweeping its minuscule blue hands upwards, like a master of ceremonies ordering the rise of the curtain.

The simurgh lifted up, languid sweeps of its wings that stirred the air even where Silas and Pitch stood. The beast, the wildness, the reason for so much suffering, rose higher, against the downpour which sparked off its feathers like flecks off a struck anvil.

The simurgh flew away.

And the wisp went with it, Scarlet babbling in their nonsense way, waving both hands, then pressing them forwards, like a policeman halting the traffic. They repeated the strange sign language a second time, and then they were swallowed up by the heavy rainfall. Even their colours faded to nothing in the grim torrent.

‘Bring it back,’ Vassago,’ Lucifer shouted.

‘I didn’t send it away, you idiot. It’s not my fucking hunt hound to command about.’

The king’s face contorted with rage. ‘You are lying.’