Page 7 of The Simurgh

Silas swore. ‘Is she in great pain?’

‘Difficult to bloody tell with ’er. She’s so busy reassurin’ everyone, tellin’ ’em to not mind ’er. That it’s ya daemon who’s important. And that we should be keepin’ our eyes on you, Mercer. Makin’ sure you’re doin’ okay.’ Tyvain glanced over her shoulder, the gaslamps backlighting her auburn strands. ‘Talkin’ of pain, ’ow are you? I ’eard what you did for Syb. You ain’t run up debts you can’t pay with all that fancy bringin’ ’er back from the dead stuff, then?’

Silas shrugged off the question and gestured for her to continue on.

‘Mercer?’ She’d not be so easily moved. ‘You gonna answer? I can stand ’ere all day.’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine. Can we please move on?’

She eyed him awhile longer, heartbeats of time he did not wish to waste here beneath the house. ‘Fine, eh? You look like shite, and I know you ain’t eaten a damned thing since they brought your sorry arse ’ere. ’Ow’s about I get some scissors to that ’air of yours, a razor to ya beard, and we ’ave the cook fix ya some broth–’

‘I don’t want broth, Tyvain. Or a bloody shave.’ He considered shoving past her, despite the fact that he’d have to crush her up against the wall to do so. She was right, about it all…not eating, looking a sight…but how did any of that matter? ‘Just take me to Lucifer.’

‘To do what? You don’t seem the torturin’ type.’

It frightened him, what type he felt he could be. ‘I want to be there, if he draws anything of note from the kitsune…I want to be there. Because I…’ He pressed his lips together.

‘Because you’re scared they won’t tell ya somethin’ important. And you don’t want ta miss a single thing that might help ya find ya fella.’ The soothsayer turned then, and headed on. Leaving Silas blinking at her back.

‘I just…yes.’ Silas continued after her, his limbs like lead. Christ, he was tired. ‘Do you think me foolish?’

If anyone would tell him, it was Tyvain.

‘No. I think you’re a man ’ho’s ’ad ‘is heart ripped out and stomped on and smells a bit on the ripe side.’ Despite himself, Silas laughed, a rough jerk of his chest. ‘And all you know is that your lover is in strife and needin’ ya, while alltheysee is their weapon in the wrong ’ands.’

The flooring was stone. Silas had no idea when they had shifted from wood to dense rock. He was dizzy, with fatigue and his own desperation. ‘I have to find him, Tyvain…I promised him…but so much time has already passed and I’m here, wandering about with no direction to go in. What if I cannot do it…save him, I mean? What if my promise is empty and…’ Oh god, the words were like razor blades up his throat, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed them out of his head, he needed them shared. ‘What if I am already too late and they have killed him?’

A distant sound found its way along this seemingly never-ending passageway, but Silas kept staring at the back of Tyvain’s head, his breath held in wait.

The soothsayer turned and reached a hand towards Silas. He took it and did not realise his own hands were shaking until her steadiness stilled him.

‘Ya know what I spent most of last night doin’?’ She did not wait for a reply. ‘Doin’ me tarot. Over and over and over, till I couldn’t see straight. ’Cause I kept gettin’ this same three feckin’ cards comin’ up. All in a row, same positions every time.’

The sounds came again from up the corridor. To Silas’s distracted ear, they sounded like the chants of a monk, deep and resonating. Tyvain shoved her free hand into her pocket and drew something forth.

‘These…’ She fanned the cards between her fingers, pushing them up so close to Silas that he had to shift his head back to see clearly.

Death. Devil. Two of Cups.

‘I don’t read tarot…’ he said uncertainly. ‘But I assume that is me?’ He touched a fingertip to the Death card.

‘Yeah, I’m thinkin’ so, though it ain’t in the usual tradition of the card. Death card don’t mean corpses…but then nothin’ much traditional is ’appenin’ these days.’ Tyvain let go of Silas’s hand to touch at the Devil. ‘And that’s ’im, your daemon.’ Silas no longer corrected people when they spoke that way. ‘Wild and without inhibition, upsettin’ the usual balance of things. And this.’ A touch to the Two of Cups. ‘Comes out in the upright position, every time….Two of Cups. A lovers card…’ She shook her head. ‘Nah, more than that. It’s about an affinity between two people…a union of souls. You and ’im. Bound together. I tell ya, Silas, if I know nothin’ else, I know ‘e’s still with us. ‘And ’e’ll be waitin’ on ya.’ She took his hand and pressed the cards into them. ‘And you’ll find ’im. Better than that, you’ll bring ’im home.’

Silas’s eyes stung with unshed tears. ‘Thank you.’ He curled his fingers over the cards gently and slipped them into his coat pocket.

‘Meh, would be a lot more feckin’ useful if I could tell ya where the feck ’e is.’ Tyvain sniffed, raising her arm to wipe at her face. As she did so it pulled the fabric of her shirt, causing a pocket at her hip to gape open. There was another card there.

‘What is that one?’ Silas tilted forward so he might see the face of it. A spire upon a mountain, a lightning bolt striking at the tower. ‘Is it part of your reading?’

Tyvain slapped at her pocket, cursing beneath her breath. ‘Darn you boy, you got eagle eyes or somethin’?

‘Tyvain, what is it? Is there something wrong?’

‘Nah, there’s nothin’’

But he’d already heard the lie. ‘Tyvain.’

She shivered as he spoke her name, and little wonder. He barely recognised his own tone. Commanding and indisputable.