The Invasion of the Tearling

The Queen struck again, pushing it back toward the ground. But she could strike no more than a glancing blow. The thing’s flesh was strange, shifting; she could not grasp its outline, could not find limbs or organs or tissue. There was nothing for her mind to lay hold of.

A bright jet erupted from the fire, coming straight toward her. She dove to the ground, rolling away toward the wall, and felt a rush of warm air as the sofa burst into flames behind her. The room suddenly stank of scorching fabric. The Queen tried to scramble to her feet, but a hand grabbed her arm and flung her across the room, into the wall. Something crunched deep within her shoulder, and the Queen screamed, a loud, hoarse cry. She sank to her knees and found that she could not push herself back up. Heat baked her face; the enormous carpet in front of the hearth had now caught fire as well. Her shoulder was a thicket of agony.

Fists thudded against the door, and the Queen heard a babble of voices outside. But she could not wait for them, nor could they help. She found it again, coming for her now, moving silently through the smoke. It grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet, and the Queen hissed as strands ripped from her head. The dark thing pulled her up and dangled her on her tiptoes.

“We had a bargain, Mort whore.”

“The girl,” she gasped. “I can still get the girl.”

“The girl is mine already. She was an even easier mark than you.” It smiled wide, shaking her back and forth. She screamed again; her shoulder felt as though it was tearing in half. “She belongs to me, and I have no further use for you, Evelyn Raleigh. None at all.”

The chamber door burst open, the lock flying across the room. The dark thing’s attention was diverted, only for a moment, but in that moment the Queen suddenly saw it clearly: a shining silver shape in her mind, bones limned in red light. She found its rib cage, grabbed hold, and squeezed, catching its entire midsection in the vise of her mind. The dark thing snarled, but the Queen bore down, tighter and tighter, until it released her hair and dropped her back down to her feet. Its red eyes were only an inch from hers now, and the Queen shuddered at the disdain she saw there: disdain not just for herself but for everyone, all of humanity, whatever might get in its way.

“You cannot kill me, Mort Queen,” it whispered, its deep red lips parting in a grimace. Its breath stank of blood, of decayed flesh. “You are not strong enough. The girl will set me free, and I will not need fire to find you.”

The Queen sensed her guards bounding through the doorway now, vague shapes against the smoke. Beryll, too; she could feel him, loyalty and anxiety rolled up into one, all the way across the room. The dark thing squirmed within her grasp, a terrible feeling, as though worms were writhing together in her mind. She tried to crush it, but she simply didn’t have the force.

“Get the fire out!” she screamed at her guards. “All of the fire! Put it out!”

Her guards obeyed instinctively, rushing over to the bed to grab the linens. The dark thing tried to break free, but she tightened her hold again. Its outline was extraordinarily clear in her mind, but the edges were painful, a current like lightning moving beneath her hands.

Power, the Queen thought dizzily. How did it acquire so much?

The dark thing giggled, a lunatic chortle that almost made her lose her grip. “You will never have what you seek, Mort Queen. You will never be immortal.”

“I will,” she panted. She thought she felt something weakening in its ribs, but could not be sure. The sizzling sensation beneath her hands made everything difficult to judge. “I will.”

“I have seen your flight, you know. Pursued by a man in grey, the girl at your side. I have seen the cataclysm behind you.”

The Queen closed her eyes, but she could not shut the words out.

“The immortal need not flee, Mort Queen. But you, you will flee, and die, and all the accoutrements of hell will await you. Believe me, Mort Queen, for I have been there.”

The Queen bared her teeth as she felt something give inside its body, some small fault cracking open. The dark thing emitted a high screech, and the Queen howled in triumph. Blood trickled from her nose, but she barely noticed. She had hurt it. Only a bit, but that was enough. The dark thing was not immortal either. Perhaps she didn’t have enough power to kill it, but it could be killed.

Dimly, she sensed her guards bringing the fire under control. But they were ignoring the hearth.

“All of the fire, damn you! The fireplace as well!”