Page 141 of The Simurgh

‘There, there is colour there.’ He pointed over Silas’s shoulder. ‘Is that it?’

‘Yes, yes, that’s the window.’

Never had Silas imagined he’d find a stained glass window to be the most glorious sight he’d ever seen. The disembodied pane of glass was a welcome beauty in a grim, grey world.

They were still at a distance far enough to make the details unclear, but the colours were just as he recalled, the blue of the gentle virgin in her woodlands, the kitsune’s darker burrow in the bank behind her. Lucifer suddenly slowed, ushering Silas past.

‘Go, damn you, faster. I’ll do what I can but you have no time left to you.’

Silas did not question the order, or the daemon king’s motive. There was no time for anything but trust. He pushed himself, he pushed the boots, till they were surrounded by a blur.

The droplets became a shower, became rain, became something near to hail.

Freezing drops that stung with their intensity.

The aching groan from the walls was deafening. The collapse announcing itself with horrifying clarity.

‘No, no.’ Silas hissed, pushing yet more from his burning lungs.

Lucifer’s flames burned at their backs, and spoke of a majestic attempt to give them more time.

The glow of the window brightened through the blur, and fresh colours emerged from the subtler blues and greens and browns of the glass.

The sun rose from the scene, tore itself away and raced towards them. A wild beast that had for so long fought to escape, now made its way back.

‘The simurgh,’ Silas cried.

‘Too late.’ Pitch loosened his flame, a powerful blast that bloomed over them.

The enormous walls of water collapsed.

Crashed down with a power that had Pitch crying out, and Silas driven to his knees. He brought the scythe to bear, forming a shield, thinking to add it to Pitch’s barrier somehow, but the pressure bearing down on the prince was crushing his body against Silas with such force they were both being buried in the mud.

A soft cry left Pitch. ‘It’s too much.’

The mud sucked at their legs, whilst the water’s weight bent their backs. Silas couldn’t reply, the force on his lungs too great. Nor could he reach for the daemon, touch him when the end bore down on them. Which horrified him far more than the crush that was going to destroy them.

He was so busy with his lament, Silas did not see the simurgh again until it was right upon them. Bursting out of the water and through the flame.

In its flashing talons hung a length of storm-cloud strands.

Lalassu’s mane streamed behind the creature, trailing into the churning waters. The simurgh shot in low, around him, releasing the mane where the strands wrapped about Silas’s waist.

‘Oh, shit.’ Pitch let out the startled cry, right as his weight was torn from Silas’s back.

Silas opened his mouth to call to him, and the floodwaters rushed in. With the removal of the daemon’s fire Silas was buried beneath an ocean of Wrath. His body jerked and snapped and bent with the violence of waters unleashed. Lalassus’s mane was tight about him, dragging him through the maelstrom. His scream bubbled from him.

Not this way.

He could not go this way again.

Silas searched for Pitch, for hint of that sublime fire that would tell him the prince survived.

But it was not the daemon he found.

The stained-glass window loomed. Right there.

Silas lifted his arms, ducking his head, realising right at the last that he’d not taken a breath, nor needed one.