Page 66 of The Book That Wouldn't Burn

One sabber thrust his blade at the Assistant only to have it slide off her chest. The Soldier shoved him aside with a force that must have broken many ribs. Guns boomed and their projectiles ricocheted from both the Assistant and the Soldier, some injuring nearby sabbers.

The darkness was smoking from both of them, revealing the old ivory of their flesh with occasional grey seams running through it.

“Why are we here?” The Assistant sounded confused, as if she’d woken from a long sleep. “I said we’d wait until the children came back out.”

“It’s me. Evar.” Evar stood, weak and shuddering with the after-effects of his contact with the Soldier. It had been worse than the slaughter of Clovis’s people he’d just witnessed. That at least hadn’t physically touched him. The memories coursing through his mind now weren’t just images but the feel of it, gore coating his arms, the sick pain of wounds, the primal thrill of carving flesh, the hard cold core of survival that selects the least bad option and commits to it with single-minded totality. The Soldier hadn’t just killed sabbers in his time, he’d killed people too, with the same savagery. “I’m here. Can you see me?”

The Assistant looked through him. She tilted her head as if she might have seen some faint hint of him. The Soldier meanwhile knocked down the last few sabbers within reach.

“Evar’s out here,” the Assistant said. “Very close.”

“He’s still in the Mechanism too,” the Soldier grunted. Blood drops beaded his skin, a broader splatter of crimson running from shoulder to hip.

Evar watched the Soldier with faint horror, the echoes of what lay beneath that ivory surface still trembling through him. Training with Clovis was intense. Evar had the skills to take on many opponents. But training was one thing—actually spilling blood, watching the pain you’ve caused, butchering your foe... those were entirely different things. Having tasted them vicariously Evar had no desire for first-hand knowledge. If the same beast that lived in the Soldier also lived in him Evar was fine with never waking it.

The Assistant turned towards the Mechanism door. “It’s been used very recently.” Her eyes darkened. “Clovis has joined them.”

“And your boy?” the Soldier asked.

“Still inside... but also outside.” She reached out to touch the door. Instead of melting as it did when the Mechanism was empty it resisted the Assistant’s touch. “Let me see...” She applied more pressure, and her fingers began to sink into the door. A projectile bounced off her shoulder and whined away through the air. “Inside. With the book.” It seemed now that rather than pushing through the door she was being pulled into it. She looked back at Evar, seeing him clearly. “There’s nothing for you here.” The door swallowed her, cutting off any more words.

“Wait!” The Soldier took her trailing hand and tried to pull her back, but the inexorable force drew him in too, and when he refused to release her to the door it swallowed him along with her.

The sabbers approached cautiously, in no rush to help their injured comrades, some groaning on the floor, others insensible, or maybe dead. Evar could see where Clovis’s mother fell, her body just another of his ancestors lying curled about their wounds in spreading pools of their own blood.

Suddenly Evar wanted nothing but to be away from this place and to put the sad inevitability of it behind him. The Assistant was right: there wasn’t anything for him here. To watch and be able to do nothing as the sabbers hunted down the last survivors was not something he could bring himself to do. Neither would he follow his sister into the Mechanism. Even as a ghost he doubted himself immune to its effects. Just touching the Soldier had plunged him into a world of nightmare whose remnants still clung to him.

Evar wanted the peace and solitude of the wood that lay between this place and that. The wood that lay not only between worlds but between times too. He walked away, slow beneath the burden of what he had seen, aiming for the pool once more.

Trust is the most insidious of poisons, but there are many alternatives that serve almost as well. As with comedy, delivery is a vital component. If the target is aware of the attack, the chances for success are immediately much reduced.

Venom, by Sister Apple

CHAPTER 30

Livira

The greenish-yellow cloud that poured from the laboratory to engulf Livira, Arpix, and Malar smelled the way a knife feels. So sharp it felt as if it was skinning her. The poison stung her eyes so badly that she had to screw them shut.

Think. The choices weren’t good. Try to get into the building—but that was where the stuff was coming from. Try to find the stairs—but a broken neck from falling down those wouldn’t help her situation. Get to the wall at the edge of the courtyard—but the drop to the gardens beneath had looked fatal.

Livira crawled towards the fountain she’d drunk from. Or at least where she thought it was. She could hear an awful choking behind her. She crawled with the breath straining in her lungs and the demand that she replace it growing rapidly. Blind hands found the fountain and she plunged her face into the water, letting it soak her robes. She held the wet cloth over her mouth and nose then risked opening one stinging eye. The wind had kept the worst of the cloud from the wall.

The noises from inside the billowing fumes were truly frightening. It sounded as if people were dying in there. As much as she didn’t want to, Livira went back, aiming for the sound of choking. The wet cloth dulled the edge of the poison though the taste of it made her want to vomit and already a slow fire was starting in her lungs. She tripped over someone after half a dozen paces and started to cough as she drew too deep a breath. Grabbing a handful of their clothing she tried to haul them towards safety. Thankfully whoever it was had enough strength to crawl after her.

“Arpix!” The boy was red-faced, frothing at the mouth, and looked as if he’d been poked in both eyes. Livira flung a double handful of water into his face. “Arpix! Hold this here.” She pulled his wet robe up making him keep it over his face then threw more water. “We have to go back for Malar.”

Arpix shook his head, gasping, fighting for breath. The cloud was beginning to dissipate but it would still take too long for the wind to take it away. Judging by Arpix’s condition, Malar didn’t have that long.

“Fine.” Livira paused to cough painfully. “I’ll go.”

The sickly green enfolded her once more. She found the next person with her feet, just as she’d found Arpix, and took hold. She resisted taking the deep breath such effort demanded, then began to haul. At first, she might as well have been pulling a dead horse for all the give she got, but then, somehow, there was movement. A nightmare of straining followed, sucking awful breaths through wet cloth and coughing them out from a chest that seemed to be on fire from the inside.

Gradually the cloud thinned around her, and she realised she had hold of Malar and that Arpix was helping. The soldier was trying to crawl, failing but making it easier to drag him.

The cloud had dissipated long before any of them were able to speak again. Livira felt as if she had coughed up some vital portion of her insides. Certainly, there was blood on her hands.

Alchemists emerged from the laboratory in strange masks, looking out at the world through round glass plates. They checked the old doorman first—he looked dead to Livira—then came to help the trainees and their guardian.

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