"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."
― Friedrich Nietzsche
Cortez didn't think he could ever tell anyone all of what he'd done. His many sins and lies weighed heavy on his shoulders, a burden that he bore for the greater good. At least, he hoped it was the greater good.
Julian had recovered from the shooting and made to go after him but Cortez waved him off. He vaulted to the rocky shore alone. The docks were rotten and mostly submerged, as they were the last time he'd come. He shuddered as he looked up at the white stone buildings crowning the Everest chain.
Somehow, it always came back to this wretched place. Even when the world was flipped upside down.
The wind ripped at his clothes with a vengeance, pushing against him as he climbed the smooth steps. It howled through the empty towers and streets, almost mirroring the screams of its people dying.
The sound only served to remind him that this was just another string of calamities.
Worse had happened before.
Probably.
Cortez came to a stop at the edge of a cliff. The sea roiled dark below him, boiling among jagged rocks several meters away. He shoved his fists deep in his pockets and looked around.
Wet footprints marred the otherwise untouched cobblestones. They still glistened wet, leading up directly from the cliff as though someone had climbed it. Someone had climbed it. Cortez allowed himself a small smirk as he followed the tracks deeper into the city.
He stepped between two buildings, and the harsh lack of wind made his ears ache. He flexed his jaw and lifted a hand to rub at it.
"You're alive."
He whirled on his heel. He didn't have any weapons on him, but he didn't expect to need them.
A young woman with long red hair sat on a stoop. Her white dress was damp and translucent, sticking to her pale legs. She pushed her hair over to one shoulder and propped her hand up on her chin to watch him.
"Ilse," Cortez said. He looked her over, frowning at the lack of gemstones. "The hunters will know you're here."
She shrugged, her freckled shoulder looking whiter than her clothes. Something was wrong. Her eyes slid listlessly away from him. "You went to the Citadel, didn't you?"
"I --"
"Don't bother lying, I can feel it on your clothes," Ilse said. "You didn't tell me you had plans for that human Queen."
Cortez looked down, wiping at the fine gold dust still clinging to his trousers. "It's not like you followed the plan either. Hadrian took out the entire damned island -- there's nothing left, did he tell you that?"
Her eyes closed. "His mother insisted that we push him as far as it took. We never imagined he'd go this far."
Cortez scoffed.
Ilse folded her hands across her knees, changing her fingers' placement every so often. "He's forsaking everything that used to keep us safe. The covens are with him, but a few don't agree. He's strong enough that it doesn't matter who's with him or not -- he'll do it all on his own."
"Do you know his plan? Any details that might help us stop him?"
"If I tell you, will you tell me what you wanted with the Queen?"
Cortez breathed hard through his nose. He slammed his back against the wall, arms crossed, and looked around. "Where's Pierce, anyway? He's meant to be here."
"Hadrian killed him."
His eyebrows rose as far as they would go.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Really?" Cortez rubbed his face with both hands. "You told me that he's -- he was supposed to be better than Greymark -- strong enough to kill him and end this stupid system -- and now you're telling me we've replaced one evil god with another?"
Ilse gave him a sharp glare. "He's not evil."
"Well, he is to me." Cortez gritted his teeth. "Between what he's done and what's been done to him, I'm having a hard time imagining any situation where we make it out of this in one piece. Who knows what he'll do if he finds out about our alliance."
She scowled. Cortez suddenly wished he'd embedded himself as a hunter, at least then he'd be able to hold his own if Ilse decided to shut him up for good.
"He won't find out," Ilse said.
"He found me out. He'll get you eventually, especially if you stay too close."
"I've known him since we were kids. He wouldn't hurt me."
Cortez wanted to scream. It wasn't that he particularly cared about what happened to Ilse, it was that she might be the only person standing between Hadrian and the world. She was smart, strong, and could lie better than Cortez. But her new king was a force of nature. "You know him as a friend. I knew him as an enemy and that is fucking terrifying."
"Well, what about the huntress? He likes her. If you really want to stop him so badly, you can start working on her."
He shook his head. "She's useless. Lost her sigils getting to the Citadel to save the Queen, I think she got hurt in the fight. Might even be dead."
Ilse hissed something that might have been a curse. Latin, maybe, or one of those many languages that all witches seemed to know. She rubbed her brow. She reached behind the stoop and pulled out a flask, gesturing for Cortez to take it. He did.
He gave it a cautious sniff. Hard cider. Of course. "Do none of you witches drink real alcohol?"
"Shut up." She grimaced at him. Then, Ilse froze, eyes wide. Her gaze listed to the side like she was watching something he couldn't. Cortez looked in the same direction and stiffened.
Footsteps, faint but fast approaching.
"Oh, mothers," Ilse breathed. She grabbed the flask back from Cortez and took a swig, cheeks bulging.
"What? Who is it?" Cortez stepped away from the sound, putting Ilse between him and the threat.
Ilse shook her head and swallowed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
That was reassuring.
A figure popped out from behind the wall.
Spiky blond hair and a reedy figure caught the sun.
Janus, dead king and complete bastard, strolled towards them with a massive smile and his arms outstretched. He wore an old-world button-up and belted trousers as well as a pair of cotton shoes. His eyes were red and slightly sunken, dark bags overwhelming his skeletal face. Even so, he slung an arm across Cortez's shoulder and beamed up at him. He smelled terrible.
"Honestly, I am so glad you two made it. You were my favorites, no offense to Pierce and Honora. Full offense to Alekhine, that creepy nerd." Janus reached over and plucked the flask from Ilse's hand. He took a dainty sip, melting into it. "Oh -- you know, I've been sober this entire time and it really sucks. But hey; it's hard for a dead guy to get drugs out in the boonies."
Cortez pulled away, mind spinning. "You were supposed to die."
Janus couldn't have looked more offended if Cortez pissed on his mother's grave. "And you thought I was actually going to die? Please. I mean -- no disrespect to the former Witchking, hope she's at peace and stuff -- but that's bananas and I decided not to."
"No," Cortez's hands shook, "you were supposed to die. Your death was supposed to push Lin to --"
"And it did. Chill." He turned to Ilse and raised his brows. "Damn, he been this cranky all day?"
She shrugged.
"Okay, Lin's on a hair trigger every day, all day, on her good days. She doesn't need to witness my brutal murder to go batshit. But if she sees I faked my brutal murder, she'll go batshit again, probably on me. So. Hush?" He spread his hands placatingly.
Cortez grabbed the flask and took a drink. He counted to ten, taking deep breaths. He counted to ten again. "Alright."
Janus crossed over to sit right next to Ilse. She leaned away from him. "What's the plan, now? Got any cool plots hatching? Assassinations?"
Cortez and Ilse shared a long-suffering look before she stood up and brushed her skirt off. "No. I think we have different goals from here on out. I'd suggest you pick a side and stick with it, Janus, because the world's going to change."
"We tell no-one about this. Any of it," Cortez said. He stared pointedly at Janus. "As far as anyone is concerned, we've never met."
"That mean we're enemies?" Janus asked.
Cortez didn't answer.
Ilse did.
"Yes."
--
"Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin" (Aramaic, "you have been weighed and found wanting")
From the Bible. The writing on the wall, interpreted by Daniel to mean that God had weighed Belshazzar and his kingdom, had found them wanting, and would destroy them.
--
END OF PART ONE
continue reading in THE WITCHKING
( see next chapter for character index )