Prologue
A BEDLAM OF BEASTS
Whereby, in an ancient and forgotten Garden,
the House of Blank falls
The girl pressed herself into the shadows, her heart threatening to give her away as a monstrous roar shook the Great House. Veryan Blank peered cautiously down the dark corridor, listening for sounds of pursuit. Although none of the rampaging beasts appeared to be following her she knew she wasn’t safe from their appetites or their claws just yet.
She left her hiding place, finding the spiral staircase that led up to her father’s study, and trying her best to ignore the increasing mayhem from the floors below as the monsters tore her home to splinter and scrap. It was only when the servants’ pleas for mercy reached her that she guiltily pressed her hands hard over her ears. This was the sound of Veryan’s world ending, of the House of Blank, in wood and mortar, flesh, bone and spirit falling.
Oh Papa, what is happening? she thought, imagining her father at his desk, unaware of the terrible fate befalling his household as he wrote away the midnight hours. Lord Augustus Blank had worked his pen through his grief each and every night since her mother’s death, scribbling the same word over and over, and over again: why?
Veryan had asked that same question of her pillow every night as she cried herself to sleep. Why Mama? Why did you go and die?
But that wasn’t the only question Veryan asked. Other strange things were happening. Her beloved brother, Peregrim, had suddenly become so secretive as well. And what of the monsters that had appeared from this sudden storm, invading her home and devouring all who stood in their way. Why were things going so terribly wrong for the House of Blank all of a sudden?
The staircase came to an end at the door of her father’s study.
Thank the Garden! She rested her head against the wood, catching her breath. Papa will know what to do. He has to!
Pushing on the handle, she half expected the door to be locked but it opened easily. Inside, the study was dim, lit only by the lightning flashing down through the glass roof. The smoke of the storm pressed its face to the glass, threatening her with its growls.
She could just make out the room: a quarrel had taken place, and recently by the look of things. Logs smouldered outside the hearth, flicking shadows up into the deep scars now running the length of the walls. The guts of cushioned chairs were bleeding onto the rug beneath her father’s desk, its own face polished with gouges. And his heavy journals were strewn everywhere, their spines broken, their pages shredded so that his single question littered the floor like melancholy confetti. But there was no sign of her father wherever Veryan looked.
‘Papa?’ she called. ‘Father? Are… are you here?’
There was no answer but for the darkness in the far corner of the room shifting. It rolled toward her, an eerie singsong whispering freezing her to the spot.
‘Change… fluctuate… alter… mutate…’
As the darkness crept closer Veryan saw that a piece of the storm, like a thunderhead, had found its way inside the room. It muttered to itself with all the bitter unpredictability of a crazy man, flashes of lightning bursting within its body which caused it to cry out in pain.
The thunderhead twisted and sniffed about Veryan’s toes, and then coiled up over her. It scrutinised her with an intense eyeless stare, and she tried hard not to shudder.
‘Oh me, oh my! What delicious treat do I spy?’ it wondered aloud, giggling to itself.
Veryan held her breath, not trusting herself to answer. She now recognised what this thing was. It was a morpheme, a magic of sorts, and the rarest kind. Born from a word, as all magic was, this indecent miracle had been given a living consciousness and the free will to carry out its goal as it saw fit.
Now Veryan did shudder: this thing was obscene. The morpheme giggled, running its clammy fingers over her skin.
‘What have we here, I wonder? A child! A small snot of a thing,’ it sneered. ‘Scrawny of limb and fiery of heart, but a little girl nonetheless, and only ever at best.’
Be cautious! Veryan chided herself. It was now even more apparent to her there was more going in her Father’s house tonight than just the invading beasts.
She closed her eyes, concentrating on composing her thoughts and her breathing, hoping the thing would grow bored and leave her.
The thunderhead pawed its way round her, scratching at the floor with legs of lightning. When it failed to get a rise from her it chuckled to itself.
‘Quite your father’s daughter, aren’t you, little snot. He refused to give in, right up until the end.’
‘What?’ Veryan asked, breaking her silence as it leaked toward the open window. ‘What do you know of my father?’
‘Your father?’ it whispered over its shoulder with a malicious cackle. ‘Your father and I were on very close terms… once. But sadly no more…’
‘What do you mean?’
The morpheme didn’t answer, slipping from the study and leaving its cryptic answer hanging in the air like a rotten smell. With the fog of its body gone Veryan saw it had been concealing more than just itself in the corner.
A keening shriek shook what books that were still on the shelves to the floor. A monstrosity, no more than a walking bag of bones, shambled toward Veryan. She couldn’t help herself; she screamed.
The monster’s head was lumpish and huge, hanging from a neck so thin it was clearly unable to support its weight. Its skeleton pierced the skin at uncomfortable angles so that the monster mewled in agony with every step. Spit drooled from a lolling tongue, down into the torn ribcage below. Veryan’s eyes widened: where the monster’s heart should have throbbed there was only darkness, an emptiness that terrified her. How could this thing be alive?
The beast bellowed, and she stumbled back, falling as she did. Snatching down a heavy curtain embroidered with her father’s crest, it threw the drape about its shoulders to hide the ugliness as best it could. Only then did the monster calm a little, and turn to look at Veryan. For a moment they stared at one another, and the fear and the danger between them seemed to dissipate.
Perhaps there is more to this monster, she found herself thinking, than meets –
‘Sister!’
A boy, perhaps a year or so older than Veryan, burst into the room, pushing himself between her and the monster.
‘Peregrim! Don’t!’ Veryan cried as her brother pulled a short blade from his belt, ready to defend her.
The monster growled at the boy, and Peregrim brandished his knife in response. The creature easily swatted the attack aside but Peregrim countered quickly. He thrust the meagre blade forward, back and then forward again as confidently as if it were a long-handled sabre. Strangely, though the beast could easily have overwhelmed him, it fell back and refused to fight.
Peregrim stood his ground, squaring up to the monster. They eyed each other warily, wondering at the other’s next move. The creature abruptly sighed, turning its gaze from Peregrim back to Veryan cowering behind him.
‘Look away, sister,’ Peregrim commanded. ‘Look away, I say, before this creature bewitches you!’
‘Oh my!’ Veryan gasped, seeing something she hadn’t noticed before: the monster’s eyes were the same colour, the same hue, as her father’s had been. Exactly the same colour. She screamed, clutching hold her brother’s knife arm and pointed at the beast.
‘Aye, Veryan, I know. This creature, it… it has devoured our father!’ Peregrim cried, moving to block her view. ‘And now it is looking to eat you too!’
She hid her head, doing as her brother told her.
Could what Peregrim says be true? Is father really dead, and in this creature’s belly? But if it is so dangerous why was is the monster not attacking?
Beast, boy and girl regarded each other silently, and then Peregrim said quietly, but firmly: ‘Go. Leave now before you force me to kill you.’
The monster threw one last, sad look at Veryan before it fled through the window and was gone.
‘You’re safe now, little one,’ Peregrim whispered, pulling his sister closer and smoothing her dark hair gleaming hoary in the lightning. White filigree fell through his fingers, and Peregrim realised his mistake: it wasn’t the reflection of the storm that had bleached his sister’s crest white but the madness of what she had witnessed that night.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he cooed as she gibbered in his arms. ‘You’re safe now. Trust me.’
‘Wh… why?’ Veryan stammered, staring down at the pages of their father’s journals crumpled about them.
‘Why?’ Peregrim asked, not really understanding her question. ‘Because I’ve driven all the monsters away, little one. Because there are none left inside the Great House now. The nightmare is ended. There’s only you and me now, I promise.’
But even as he said this Peregrim knew he was lying. In the shadows behind them the briefest hint of a smile, so perfect and beguiling flashed momentarily. And then was gone. A shameful tear escaped down Peregrim’s cheeks.
Oh father, what have I done?
And despite her brother’s assurances Veryan Blank also began to cry, a howl so deep and so anguished it seemed to have no end. Peregrim was wrong: she wasn’t safe at all, no one was. There were still monsters inside the Great House, terrors hidden so deep and so cleverly disguised she felt her insides crawling to escape her skin.
Who will save us? she thought, hearing herself scream uncontrollably. Who will save us from ourselves?