things.
He batted away the thought as abstract and a detour. They needed to get out of this place. He reached out and started muttering incantations.
“Grab the wizard’s hand!” Twitch called down to Eddie.
Adrian looked Eddie in the eye and Eddie stared back, concentrating on covering the last feet to Adrian, throwing himself up at a reckless pace, hand over hand and foot over foot. Dangling from Eddie’s chest and bouncing around inside the hairs carpeting the wall, Adrian again noticed a tag. It was like a dog tag, only the size of a tea saucer and golden. They all had them, he realized. He hadn’t noticed them in the climb because they’d all been covered in the vine-like growth of hair.
The plate bore Eddie’s true name.
Adrian didn’t need that, but suddenly he wondered about the Fallen. The Fallen had true names, didn’t they?
He tore his eyes away from Eddie. The three Fallen dragged themselves up the side of the wall, moving as fast as Eddie moved and maybe even a little bit faster. In New York, this wall had been twelve feet tall, if that. Here it seemed to be thirty, but that was no comfort. They were all bearing down—bearing up —on Adrian with alarming speed.
Gold saucers bounced on the chests of the Fallen, too.
Adrian’s heart leaped to attention. If he could see those names, he could end this, right here and now. Knowing the true names of his enemies and being the only one—he hoped—with access to ka-power should give him the ability to command them, bend them to his will. Maybe he could force them to help him and the band escape. Or he could escape, forcing them to stay behind. Their ba-less bodies in the physical world would be inert and useless. The band could collect their gear, walk past the Fallen like so many tons of sleeping elephant, and hail a cab.
Okay, a cab wasn’t quite their style. But they could steal a car.
“Semyaz!” Adrian yelled, trying to get the Fallen’s attention. The two former angels kept climbing and ignored him. “Yamayol!” he tried again, and this time one of them looked up.
Adrian got a glimpse of the Fallen’s name-plate and his heart sank. There was writing on it, all right, but it was in one of the Primals. Infernal, probably, if Adrian had to guess. Adrian had been born after the Tower of Babel and the Confusion of the Tongues—a long time after—and he could recognize Infernal, but he couldn’t read it. Much less speak it out loud, which is what he’d have to do.
So much for that hope. Adrian focused on the spell he was weaving. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing, so he improvised. He started with incantations he used in setting wards of obfuscation and he reversed them, imagining them as spells of pathfinding, and envisioning the golden umbilical cord as a path.
A path that went straight up into the sky.
He tried to remember the wards inside the Silver Eel’s restaurant, shaping his incantations to leave them intact, but let him and his friends—those touching him—pass through.
Without warning, the third Fallen emerged from the sphincter, nearly leaping out, the portal was so worn now. Maybe that one was Semyaz, Adrian thought, and then he saw that the last of the Fallen carried a prisoner in his arms.
It was Jim.
He was as tall and heroic-looking as ever, with his sculpted face and long hair, and he wore his prairie shirt, jeans and rider’s boots with flair. But Semyaz carried him tucked under one arm easily, like a small child. Jim snapped his head back and forth, but to no effect. Tendrils of darkness wrapped around his chest like chains, pinning him and leaving him unable to free himself. Adrian felt his chest constrict and his breathing become shallow.
Jim was trapped. Adrian had reshaped the wards of restraint and imprisonment, and in this twisted house of flesh that was Adrian’s shadow, he had trapped Jim in the role of dream-Ade, the helpless little boy.
Holy crap.
Eddie lurched forward, his hand
He batted away the thought as abstract and a detour. They needed to get out of this place. He reached out and started muttering incantations.
“Grab the wizard’s hand!” Twitch called down to Eddie.
Adrian looked Eddie in the eye and Eddie stared back, concentrating on covering the last feet to Adrian, throwing himself up at a reckless pace, hand over hand and foot over foot. Dangling from Eddie’s chest and bouncing around inside the hairs carpeting the wall, Adrian again noticed a tag. It was like a dog tag, only the size of a tea saucer and golden. They all had them, he realized. He hadn’t noticed them in the climb because they’d all been covered in the vine-like growth of hair.
The plate bore Eddie’s true name.
Adrian didn’t need that, but suddenly he wondered about the Fallen. The Fallen had true names, didn’t they?
He tore his eyes away from Eddie. The three Fallen dragged themselves up the side of the wall, moving as fast as Eddie moved and maybe even a little bit faster. In New York, this wall had been twelve feet tall, if that. Here it seemed to be thirty, but that was no comfort. They were all bearing down—bearing up —on Adrian with alarming speed.
Gold saucers bounced on the chests of the Fallen, too.
Adrian’s heart leaped to attention. If he could see those names, he could end this, right here and now. Knowing the true names of his enemies and being the only one—he hoped—with access to ka-power should give him the ability to command them, bend them to his will. Maybe he could force them to help him and the band escape. Or he could escape, forcing them to stay behind. Their ba-less bodies in the physical world would be inert and useless. The band could collect their gear, walk past the Fallen like so many tons of sleeping elephant, and hail a cab.
Okay, a cab wasn’t quite their style. But they could steal a car.
“Semyaz!” Adrian yelled, trying to get the Fallen’s attention. The two former angels kept climbing and ignored him. “Yamayol!” he tried again, and this time one of them looked up.
Adrian got a glimpse of the Fallen’s name-plate and his heart sank. There was writing on it, all right, but it was in one of the Primals. Infernal, probably, if Adrian had to guess. Adrian had been born after the Tower of Babel and the Confusion of the Tongues—a long time after—and he could recognize Infernal, but he couldn’t read it. Much less speak it out loud, which is what he’d have to do.
So much for that hope. Adrian focused on the spell he was weaving. He didn’t know exactly what he was doing, so he improvised. He started with incantations he used in setting wards of obfuscation and he reversed them, imagining them as spells of pathfinding, and envisioning the golden umbilical cord as a path.
A path that went straight up into the sky.
He tried to remember the wards inside the Silver Eel’s restaurant, shaping his incantations to leave them intact, but let him and his friends—those touching him—pass through.
Without warning, the third Fallen emerged from the sphincter, nearly leaping out, the portal was so worn now. Maybe that one was Semyaz, Adrian thought, and then he saw that the last of the Fallen carried a prisoner in his arms.
It was Jim.
He was as tall and heroic-looking as ever, with his sculpted face and long hair, and he wore his prairie shirt, jeans and rider’s boots with flair. But Semyaz carried him tucked under one arm easily, like a small child. Jim snapped his head back and forth, but to no effect. Tendrils of darkness wrapped around his chest like chains, pinning him and leaving him unable to free himself. Adrian felt his chest constrict and his breathing become shallow.
Jim was trapped. Adrian had reshaped the wards of restraint and imprisonment, and in this twisted house of flesh that was Adrian’s shadow, he had trapped Jim in the role of dream-Ade, the helpless little boy.
Holy crap.
Eddie lurched forward, his hand
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