Read Online Abarat: Absolute Midnight by Clive Barker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Clive Barker
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Motley’s gift to give or take as she saw fit, and only a fool or a suicide walked where she walked without caution.
With such a powerful overseer, work on the demolition and removal of rubble proceeded at great speed, and in a matter of days the plateau where the many towers of the Iniquisit had stood there now stood a monumental structure. A single tower, designed by an architect of genius, incantatrix Jalafeo Mas, who used her knowledge of magic to defy the laws of physics and raise up a tower taller than the sum of the thirteen that had once stood there.
It was here, in the red-walled room at the top of the tower, that Mater Motley assembled the most trusted of her seamstresses: nine of them.
“The years of labor and faith are over,” Mater Motley said. “Midnight approaches.”
One of the nine, Zinda Goam, a seamstress half a thousand years old who had arranged to have her familiars raise her from the grave after her death so that she might continue to serve Mater said, “Are we not at Midnight now?”
“Yes, this is a time called Midnight. But now it’s Absolute. There is a greater Midnight than any in the making. A Midnight that will blind every sun, moon, and star in the heavens.”
Another of the women, whose emaciated body was draped with veils of fine cobwebs, could not silence her incredulity.
“I have never understood the Grand Design,” said Aea G’pheet. “It doesn’t seem possible. So many Hours. So many heavens.”
“Do you doubt me, Aea G’pheet?”
The seamstress, though her skin was pale, became paler still. She hurriedly said, “Never, m’lady. Never. I was just astonished is all—overwhelmed, really—and misspoke.”
“Then be careful in the future lest you find yourself without one.”
Aea G’pheet lowered her head, the cobwebs shimmering as they shook.
“Am . . . am I . . . forgiven?”
“Are you dead?”
No, m’lady,” Aea said. “I’m still alive.”
“Then you must have been forgiven,” the Old Mother said without humor. “Now, back to the business of Midnight. There are, as we know, many forms of life that have taken refuge from the light. Even the light of the stars. These creatures will be freed when my Midnight dawns. And they will make such mischief . . .” She paused, smiling at the thought of the fiends unleashed.
“And the people?” said another of the nine.
“Anyone who stands against us will be executed. And it will fall to us to spill their blood when the time comes, without hesitation. And if there is any woman here who is unwilling to fight this war upon those terms let her leave now. No harm will come to her. She has my oath on that. But if you choose to stay, then you will have agreed to do the work before us without fear or compromise.
“The labor of Midnight will be bloody, to be sure, but trust me, when I am Empress of the Abarat, I will raise you so high all thought of what you did to be so elevated will seem like nothing. We are not natural women, henceforth. Perhaps never were. We have no love of love, or of children, or of making bread. We are not made to tend fires and rock cradles. We are the unforgiving something upon which despairing men will break their fragile heads. There is no making peace with them, no husbanding them. They must be beneath our heels or dead and buried beneath the earth upon which we walk.”
There was a ripple of pleasure around the chamber at this remark. Only one of the younger seamstresses murmured something inaudible.
“You have a question,” Mater Motley said, singling her out.
“It was nothing, lady.”
“I said speak, damn you! I won’t have doubters! SPEAK!”
The seamstresses who had been surrounding the young woman now retreated from her.
“I was only wondering about the Twenty-Fifth Hour?” the young woman replied. “Will it also be overtaken by Midnight? Because if not—”
“Our enemies could find sanctuary there? Is that what you’re
With such a powerful overseer, work on the demolition and removal of rubble proceeded at great speed, and in a matter of days the plateau where the many towers of the Iniquisit had stood there now stood a monumental structure. A single tower, designed by an architect of genius, incantatrix Jalafeo Mas, who used her knowledge of magic to defy the laws of physics and raise up a tower taller than the sum of the thirteen that had once stood there.
It was here, in the red-walled room at the top of the tower, that Mater Motley assembled the most trusted of her seamstresses: nine of them.
“The years of labor and faith are over,” Mater Motley said. “Midnight approaches.”
One of the nine, Zinda Goam, a seamstress half a thousand years old who had arranged to have her familiars raise her from the grave after her death so that she might continue to serve Mater said, “Are we not at Midnight now?”
“Yes, this is a time called Midnight. But now it’s Absolute. There is a greater Midnight than any in the making. A Midnight that will blind every sun, moon, and star in the heavens.”
Another of the women, whose emaciated body was draped with veils of fine cobwebs, could not silence her incredulity.
“I have never understood the Grand Design,” said Aea G’pheet. “It doesn’t seem possible. So many Hours. So many heavens.”
“Do you doubt me, Aea G’pheet?”
The seamstress, though her skin was pale, became paler still. She hurriedly said, “Never, m’lady. Never. I was just astonished is all—overwhelmed, really—and misspoke.”
“Then be careful in the future lest you find yourself without one.”
Aea G’pheet lowered her head, the cobwebs shimmering as they shook.
“Am . . . am I . . . forgiven?”
“Are you dead?”
No, m’lady,” Aea said. “I’m still alive.”
“Then you must have been forgiven,” the Old Mother said without humor. “Now, back to the business of Midnight. There are, as we know, many forms of life that have taken refuge from the light. Even the light of the stars. These creatures will be freed when my Midnight dawns. And they will make such mischief . . .” She paused, smiling at the thought of the fiends unleashed.
“And the people?” said another of the nine.
“Anyone who stands against us will be executed. And it will fall to us to spill their blood when the time comes, without hesitation. And if there is any woman here who is unwilling to fight this war upon those terms let her leave now. No harm will come to her. She has my oath on that. But if you choose to stay, then you will have agreed to do the work before us without fear or compromise.
“The labor of Midnight will be bloody, to be sure, but trust me, when I am Empress of the Abarat, I will raise you so high all thought of what you did to be so elevated will seem like nothing. We are not natural women, henceforth. Perhaps never were. We have no love of love, or of children, or of making bread. We are not made to tend fires and rock cradles. We are the unforgiving something upon which despairing men will break their fragile heads. There is no making peace with them, no husbanding them. They must be beneath our heels or dead and buried beneath the earth upon which we walk.”
There was a ripple of pleasure around the chamber at this remark. Only one of the younger seamstresses murmured something inaudible.
“You have a question,” Mater Motley said, singling her out.
“It was nothing, lady.”
“I said speak, damn you! I won’t have doubters! SPEAK!”
The seamstresses who had been surrounding the young woman now retreated from her.
“I was only wondering about the Twenty-Fifth Hour?” the young woman replied. “Will it also be overtaken by Midnight? Because if not—”
“Our enemies could find sanctuary there? Is that what you’re
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