Nightside 06 - Sharper Than a Serpents Tooth

Father Time said sharply. "Far too much temptation for any mortal. Let alone you. But… I'm going to give it to you anyway." He looked briefly at the huge hourglass. "Partly because time is running out for the Nightside. Partly because try as I might, I can't seem to find anyone else more fitting to give it to… But mostly because a future version of myself came back in time to tell me to give it to you, and I really wish I wouldn't do things like that to myself."
    The lid of the case snapped shut, and the black box dropped unceremoniously into my hands. Time sighed heavily, shook his head, and snapped his fingers. And all at once, I was somewhere else.

Thirteen
    Mother Love

    I was back in the Nightside, in Time Tower Square, and my first thought was how quiet and peaceful everything was. I looked slowly around me, and no-one looked back. The mobs and monsters had all moved on, probably because there was nothing left in the Square to destroy, and no-one left to kill. The buildings were fire-blackened frameworks, collapsed inwards or outwards, cracked stone and broken bricks. There were bodies lying everywhere, men and women and others so damaged or torn apart it was impossible to tell who or what they might have been originally. They looked like so many broken toys someone had got tired of playing with. Nothing moved, anywhere. There weren't even any rats nosing among the bodies. Maybe they'd all been killed, too. Out beyond the Square, the War was still going on, in the distance. I could hear faint cries and roars and explosions, and now and again there'd be a sudden surge of light, pushing back the darkness. But the Square was still, and silent.
    I couldn't help thinking of the devastated future Nightside I'd seen so many times. The dead lands, the broken world, and all because of me. A future that insisted on edging nearer, no matter how hard I worked to push it away, becoming more real, more imminent, detail by detail. Maybe some futures are inevitable, after all.
    I slowly became aware of a soft, repetitive sound, and I looked round to see my mother, Lilith, sitting at her ease on the pile of rubble that was all she'd left of the Time Tower. In her large colourless hands she held a severed human head. Its face had been ripped away, leaving only a bloody mess, but that didn't seem to bother her. She was pulling out the teeth, one at a time and tossing them aside. And all the time her black mouth was moving silently, saying He loves me, he loves me not… She looked up abruptly and stared right into my eyes. She smiled brightly and rose to her feet, casually throwing the head to one side.
    "John, darling! My most treasured son…"
    "Don't move any closer," I said. "I'm armed. I have the Speaking Gun."
    "Of course you have, sweetie. That's why I'm here."
    She walked towards me. I held the black box up where she could see it, and she stopped just out of reach. She was calm, collected, utterly at her ease, and a slow anger burned within me. I gestured roughly at the bodies, at the wrecked buildings, at the War still going on in the distance.
    "How could you do all this?"
    She shrugged easily. "It's mine. I made it. I'll do what I want with it."
    "Where are your children?" I said. "All your monstrous offspring? Where are your precious followers, your madmen and murderers?"
    "Keeping themselves busy. I don't need them here. I thought it was time you and I had a nice little chat, in private."
    I frowned, as something else occurred to me. "How did you know to find me here? Even I didn't know I was going to be here."
    She nodded at the flat black case in my hands. "The Speaking Gun called to me. I always know where it is. It is flesh of my flesh, after all, and as such my child, every bit as much as you. It's your brother, John, in every way that matters. Thank you for bringing it back to me. I have a use for it. Just as I have a use for you."
    I opened the black box, snatched out the Speaking Gun, and pointed it at Lilith. She didn't flinch, or back away. I let the box fall to the ground as the Speaking Gun thrust its poisonous presence into my thoughts. It felt hot and sweaty in my hand, and burned like a fever in my mind, vicious and raging, like an attack dog tugging at its leash. It breathed wetly in my hand, wanting to be used. It needed to kill, to destroy, to tear down the whole world and everything that lived in it. The Speaking Gun hated, but it couldn't operate without someone else to pull its trigger, and