The fatter of the two moons hung low and large in the sky over Ridley Station. Where Malifaux Station was built to boast of the Guild’s triumph over a dark frontier, Ridley Station was far more utilitarian, though no less impressive. Heavy machinery with fearsome mechanical arms hunched over the rail cars behind the engine, plucking them from track to marshalling yard and back again like a child with his toys. Another class of machine, connected to giant silos alongside the tracks, filled the cars with freshly mined ore that would be processed elsewhere to extract the valuable Soulstone. Had it been raining coal scuttles Rasputina did not think the din could have been any greater.
She, like everyone in the modern age, had heard of Soulstone. Like all but the very richest, she had never possessed one. These gems were said to have mystical properties and were single-handedly responsible for bringing about the Second Age of Magic on Earth. According to Guild reports, only ten percent of the ore mined in Malifaux contained Soulstone crystal. Of that ten percent, only a very small fraction was of suitable size and purity for sorcery. The remainder was used for alchemy, enchantment, charm-making, and even perfume which claimed to magically ensnare anyone the wearer desired. It was very popular among New World debutantes, Rasputina had heard. She had no idea what a debutante was, but was fairly sure she would despise them.
“Ma’am.” The coachman bowed deeply. “Your wagon is ready.”
“Misha,” Rasputina called, and the cat-like creature at her feet leaped through the wagon door and made itself comfortable on the padded bench. Rasputina followed, and the coachman closed the door behind her. He leaned on the sill after he turning the latch.
“As I said before, Miss, we only go so far as the Delta Six site. Beyond that and the terrain is far too marshy for the horses to continue.” He glanced at her spotless, fur-trimmed cape. “You won’t find much but swamp and worse past there.”
“I understand. I’ve already made arrangements to meet with a wilderness guide and a marsh boat at Delta Six. Your service to that site will be sufficient.”
“As you say, Miss. We depart presently.” The coachman climbed aboard his stoop, and with a lash of the reigns, the small wagon was underway.
Rasputina held Phillip Tombers’ journal tight in her lap, but it was the strange scenery of this world that fixed her attention. Back on Earth the stunted woods, smoke burnt skies and ash-laden fields would have been an unrelenting grimness of grey, but here the landscape was shot through with vivid streaks of bold colour, arresting speckles and startling swathes from some defiant painter’s brush. For a fanciful moment, Rasputina imagined the countryside fighting back against these foreign interlopers and their dark and furious mills, and the thought warmed her. She had been brought to this land in chains, for a crime so terrible she could not speak of it, even in her own defence. Those chains had been real enough, but she had brought others with her, ones her mind had forged for her, out of a guilt no mother could ever escape. Those chains had been no less real to her. She had thought she deserved her fate and, without the power or the desire to fight back, had suffered greatly and for a long time. But then He had found her. He had shown her the power of winter and what she could one day accomplish with it. He had given her the strength and the will to fight back, and so she had. But she was painfully aware that whatever He was, He would exact a price for his assistance. Nothing in this world was ever free.
As Ridley Station was left behind, the knotted, writhing trees closed in around the little coach. The canopy of sparse leaves and skeletal branches blocked the glow of the moon, and leaning out of the window, Rasputina saw that only the coachman’s lantern provided any light to guide them down the narrow track.
The rhythmic vibrations of the coach, and the shadows that danced around her, had a soothing effect, and Rasputina soon fell asleep. She dreamed of snowy peaks that rose over mines far below. A tribe of gaunt people lived there in her dream. They wore cloaks and furs, and beneath a steel sky they danced around a great effigy. Made of wood and stone, the effigy had hollow eyes and a wide open mouth. The giant pointed teeth within came from the tusks of many sacrificed mountain creatures. The tribespeople chanted as they danced, the same strange word again and again in voices that were harsh and alien. Rasputina did not recognize the word, could not pronounce it, even in the strangeness of the dream, but she knew the effigy by a different name: December.
She woke with a start, and with Misha, her hoarcat companion, pawing at her arm. The coach lurched from the path, and then jerked to a halt as the horses reared with fright. There was a scream of terror, and Rasputina leaned out the window of her carriage just in time to see the coachman knocked to the ground. He had barely landed when a flock of child-sized creatures swarmed him out of the darkness. Glints of talons and sharp teeth in the wildly swinging lantern light were joined by dark, red blossoms as the man’s body was torn asunder before his initial scream had time to fade.
Rasputina fumbled at the latch to escape, but the mechanism refused to budge. Panicking, she kicked hard and the door flew open. At the same moment something struck the wagon so hard it felt as if a train had ploughed into it. The world revolved and the air filled with splinters and dust as Rasputina was hurled clear from the destruction. Either the initial blow or the landing against the roots of a tree wrapped iron serpents round her lungs as she gasped for breath. She tasted blood in her mouth as she tried to rise, legs suddenly weak as water. Where the wagon had been there was now a sight that had her wondering if the blow had robbed her of her wits as well as her breath. The lantern had shattered and oil burned fiercely in the dry brush. Towering over the wreckage, black before the orange fire, was a giant monstrosity, a creature born from hell, with great horns upon its head, cloven hooves that trampled the timbers, and huge wings that fanned the flames.
The creature snarled at her and advanced, the bulk of its body casting a dark shadow over her. It was not the creature that spoke, however, but a soft, seductive voice from the darkness, as if the dry leaves themselves spoke. Even dazed, Rasputina knew instantly who it was.
“You were sweet not to die on me before I had a chance to kill you myself.” It was Lilith, one of the leaders of the Neverborn, although Rasputina still could not see her.
The creature hunkered down over Rasputina as she willed strength back into her battered body. She could feel the hot blast of its breath spill over her and she gagged at the noxious scent of decay. Black lips drew back over jagged teeth in a mockery of a smile just inches from Rasputina’s face, and she suddenly thought of Misha, toying with a mouse.
But this mouse had teeth of her own. Rasputina’s hand lay on a large splinter of wood. “I’ve learned to take my chances,” she replied. She struck deftly, plunging the wooden stake into the eye of the beast. A gory geyser of fluids erupted, and the beast staggered back, clutching its ruined face in agony.
A cold wind sprang up, fanning the flames of the lantern’s spilled fire so that it swelled into an inferno that engulfed the trees. Rasputina found her feet and ran. The wind was with her, and in it was the chill of winter. The wind was her weapon, a scythe to cut through the bones of men and freeze their spirits. The wind steadily grew in power, becoming a ghostly howl that whistled through the trees.
Amidst the howl, the seductive voice laughed softly. “Winter is coming, but not in time to save you. The white veil of snow will not hide you from me. This is my land, my soil, my trees. This time, you will die.”
Rasputina stumbled through the black woods. “Lilith! I am nothing to you! It is him you want!”
Lilith’s tone turned quickly to rage, her voice coming in the rattling of the branches overhead. “He is with you! He is in you! He will watch you die, and I will savour the ruin of all his plans!”
“I am my own!”
“You are his!” Lilith’s voice came as booming thunder from the boles of the dark trees all around, surging on the growing wind. “Let him know he can cheat death no longer. I have found a way to kill him! Tell him! Tell him with your last breath!”
The fire that burned behind Rasputina was lost now, and she ran in darkness, with only blind luck and instinct keeping her from snapping an ankle on a root or her neck on a branch. Just a moment longer, she knew, and winter would arrive, and she would have the power to turn and stand against Lilith.
Lilith struck. She flung out of the darkness, her heavy sword held overhead. Rasputina heard only the sound of her war cry before the pommel of Lilith's sword struck her on the head. The force of the strike combined with Rasputina's own momentum to knock her out cold, her body falling to the ground before Lilith like a rag-doll. The wind that was building died, and the forest fell silent.