Northlight

by Wheeler, Deborah

  “Ye — ah,” Etch said, chewing on the word, “Pince’ll keep them hidden for me without needing to know why. He owes me for more than this, though I never thought I’d collect on it.”

  We waited out of sight while Etch went off with the horses. The shadows flowed together as the last light drained from the sky. Avi shifted from one foot to the other, then caught herself and stood still. For all the years she’d lived in the wilds, she was city-bred at heart, and besides Esmelda waited somewhere out there. Once I would have said something, a casual curse on dragon mothers.

  Once.

  I remembered how Avi glided toward Terris, her fingers brushing the hilt of her knife, and the choice I made then. Yet a bit of compassion whispered through me now. I knew damned well it wasn’t for Avi I kept on and on, dragging Terris through miles of dust, even throwing my Ranger’s vest at Darice’s feet. It wasn’t Avi I dreamed of all those years.

  And now I watched her, twitchy half out of her skin with standing still, eyes like discs of steel in the dark, and I knew it wasn’t me she dreamed of, either.

  o0o

  Terris led us through alleys and back streets, zig-zagging our way toward his mother’s house. Here he was no greenie kid but in his element, with a sure sense of where the next Guard patrol would be posted. Even Avi followed him without protest. Jakon and Griss moved like shadows in his wake. Etch didn’t know the district any better than I did.

  We crept along a row of squarish buildings, a small factory, I think. A weedy, overgrown border hedge cast eerie shapes from the solar lights at the nearest intersection. The air smelled of brick and moss-ivy. Terris raised one hand in warning. I flattened myself against a locked door. The others froze in the shadow of the hedge. The next instant, a trio of City Guards strode down the nearest cross-street. One glanced our way, but didn’t pause. I let out my breath and felt Avi do the same.

  Silently Terris gestured us back and between two of the buildings. We cut across what looked like a delivery area, over a fence and up the next street, angling back the way the patrol had come, backtracking rather than cutting across their route. Every step took them farther away from us.

  Around a corner, cobbled now instead of dirt, we ran smack into a knot of hand-held lights, the orange glow of torches.

  “Halt! Who goes there?” A shout hailed us from behind the makeshift barricade. Men silhouetted against a smallish bonfire rushed toward us.

  “Show your curfew passes and state your business!”

  My fingers grazed the hilt of my knife.

  Terris, in front, raised a hand to his eyes to shade the glare. For a moment, it was hard to see anything except there was a bunch of them. I couldn’t make out their uniforms, backlit as they were, but a sinking feeling in my guts told me they weren’t City Guards black.

  Military, then...or those kids from Montborne’s Pateros Brigade?

  A blade whispered from its sheath and glittered in the torchlight. Noiselessly I drew my own. Holding it low by my leg where they couldn’t see it, I stepped in front of Terris. I felt rather than saw Avi on his other side, Jakon and Grissem moving to back us. We didn’t have time for a fight. We had to get out of there fast — and quietly.

  “Eyvian, Stoll, you others, surround them! Look there, we’ve caught us a pack of curfew violators!”

  A shift in the light and everything came clear. The bronze-and-red uniforms, the baby-round faces, eyes thrill-bright, more sticks than knives, the faint lingering smell of honey wine. Numbers, fear and whatever the uniform meant now, that was all they had.

  I stepped out to face the leader, the big loud kid. “We don’t need any passes,” I drawled. “We’re Rangers. We can go wherever we crotting well want.”

  I got the same reaction as if I’d spit in his baby-soft face. He flushed as if he’d never had any brains to begin with, and tried to jab me with his knife. Moved about as fast as a heat-muddled sandbat, too. I pivoted, sent his knife clattering to the cobblestones and finished with him arched back, facing away from me, halfway to kneeling, his head pulled way back and my long-knife across his throat.

  “You want to see a lot of blood or you want to put down your weapons?” I asked the other kids in the same unhurried tone. The way I held him, the leader couldn’t do much more than gurgle.

  There were enough of them to make things messy for us if they had the will and training to fight, which they didn’t. The speed of their surrender, though, was not going to convince Jakon that Laurean youth could fight anything bigger than cockroaches. I shoved the kid, uncut and sprawling, into the arms of his friends.

  “We’re letting you go this time,” Avi said. Her voice dripped quiet menace. She looked as if she’d as soon chop them into little pieces and boil each one separately in acid, as look at them. That dragon mother of hers couldn’t have done it any better.

  “If even a whisper of this secret mission gets out...” She pointed a finger at each one of them in turn. “You will wish, you will pray, you will beg her” — a slight tip of her head in my direction — ”to cut your throats, rather than face what I have in store for you.”

  She took a step toward them. “Got that?”

  They nodded, looking about to piss their pants. From the shifting fear-stink, at least one of them already had.

  “Go on home!” Avi said. “Now!”

  They scrambled and bolted in their separate ways.

  “Let’s go,” I said. I was in front of Etch and Terris, feeling the street out like I’d feel the Ridge, a little cocky because I could see so far along the avenues with their wide-spaced trees.

  Just as we reached the next branching, where the main avenue continued in one direction and two smaller ones veered to the sides, I heard the slap of boots on paving, behind us. I spun around. Guards, three of them, came pounding down the street. They had weapons out, what kind I couldn’t see.

  Damn! They must have heard the ruckus with the Brigade kids.

  “Avi, Jakon, Griss!” Terris barked in a voice that would have made a stone jump. “Go!”

  He whirled and sprinted down the main street, me and Etch on his heels. A man just stepping from a doorway scuttled back out of our way. Air blurred past me and I hardly felt the stones under my feet. I hadn’t run so fast since the morning Pateros was killed. I spotted an alley, felt Terris shift to dart down it —

  The next thing I knew there was a hsst! through the air and we all had tagged darts sticking out of our rumps. I reached around and yanked mine out with my free hand, pissed as hell for not seeing the attack coming. I stared down at it and its puke-color tags, then my sight went wobbly as if I drifted down a long wavy-sided tunnel.

  I couldn’t feel my hands or feet. The clatter-skitter of my knife on the pavement sounded like far-off tinkle bells. The last thing I remembered seeing was a woman in a black uniform leaning over me.

  Chapter 35

  Up and down...

  Everything blurred, weaving in and out of what was left of my brains. Slung face-down across the back of a galloping pony, I felt too addled-witted to know which way was up. Under the saddle pad, the pony’s body rose and fell, lurching so hard my head reeled and spun. I must have been deaf, too — I couldn’t hear any hoofbeats. Couldn’t smell the wire-grass or the bitter-salt stink of a lathered pony. I was sweating cold, my mouth all cotton.

  Up and down...

  The next moment my stomach decided it had enough of this up and down business. I thrashed around and somehow managed to sit up. My eyes told me I was nowhere near a pony of any kind, let alone norther, but in a half-lit gray room. And, more importantly, something that looked like a porcelain latrine was mounted on the opposite wall.

  I reached it just in time and crouched there, my arms tight around the cold, white, disinfectant-smelling bowl, heaving and retching and spitting, dripping ropy green saliva out of my mouth and nose. Feeling like crotting shit.

  Finally I sat back on my heels, holding on to the latrine and thinking longingly of
fresh water. I found it in the basin by my right shoulder. I got slowly to my feet and turned the single tap on full. There was no way to plug the basin, but I shoved my head under the faucet and let the water gush over my neck until my muscles cramped and my hair was soaked. I cupped my hands and washed my mouth out again and again. Water spurted up my nose, cool and soothing. I collapsed on the floor, still within easy reach of the latrine, and considered my current situation.

  Other than the antics of my innards and the tendency of my vision to slip sideways, I felt fit enough. No Ranger’s vest or knives in my boots or thigh sheath, but they — whoever they were — had left me my belt. The more fools they.

  I remembered a drug dart, which explained the whirly stomach, and someone hovering over me, wearing a black uniform.

  City Guards. Let’s see what their idea of a prison cell looks like.

  Four walls, all smooth and gray. Latrine and washbasin, no towels. On the opposite wall, built-in bookcases, empty, and cot. A few scratches on the wall, the usual Orelia sucks crot. No imagination. No blankets, either. The other two walls stopped being solid a foot from the ceiling, where they were broken by slits, each about six inches wide. One side opened to the night air. The other proved to be a door that slid open with a faint grating noise.

  I stared at it, thinking I should get up and be ready, but my body wouldn’t move. All I could do was stay as I was, sprawled on the floor by the latrine and wishing my stomach would hold still.

  First in was a City Guard, a bit soft in the paunch but grim-faced, clutching his riot stick. Keys dangled from a clip on his belt. He gave an imitation of a meaningful glare and slapped the stick in his open palm. The noise reverberated through my skull. On his heels came a bald-headed gaea-priest. I blinked and struggled to sit up straighter.

  “Oh yes, I see what you mean,” the priest said. “You were quite correct in summoning me.” He knelt beside me in a rustling of rainbow-colored silk. The amulets around his neck clinked together. He smelled of fish. My stomach heaved.

  “There, there, poor child.” He stroked my forehead with one hand. His flesh felt baby-soft and moist. “Don’t be alarmed. You’re reacting to the drug on the restraint dart. It’s only natural, given a slight overdosage.”

  I opened my mouth to curse him, but found my nose pincered closed, my head jerked back and something tasting of bitter citrus poured down my throat. I swallowed, sputtered, lashed out at him with fists and feet, only to meet empty air. I caught a glimpse of an empty glass vial before he hid it in the folds of his robe. My eyes watered.

  He stood above me, well beyond my reach, gazing down with a beatific expression. I guessed he’d done this before. I swore at him in earnest.

  “The antidote will take effect in a few moments. You’ll be quite well, I assure you.”

  I started to clamber to my feet, although my belly advised against it. I’d paid it all the attention I was going to.

  “Don’t even try it!” the guard snarled. “You can answer his questions right where you are!”

  I decided not to tell the guard what I thought of his ancestry, eating habits, and choice of bed partners, which shows that my brains were getting unscrambled. That antidote worked fast.

  “Are you now or have you ever been,” the priest began, rocking back and forth to the singsong phrases, “in possession of knowledge regarding or contact with any unapproved, secret, or illicit technology, no matter how harmless it might seem? Think carefully before you answer, my child, for it is your precious ecosoul, the hologram of your being, at stake here.”

  “Unh!” I buried my face in my hands, hoping to appear sicker than I felt. Contact with secret technology? In my mind, I saw the cold, piercing brilliance at the heart of the Northlight, the arching metallic ribs of the dome, the stones underfoot worked with such marvelous skill. I ran laughing on the pebbled beach with Terris. I trembled with the beauty of the steppe. I stood in the poisoned swamp, trying to understand its lesson.

  I lifted my eyes to the priest and saw now the glossy shaven skull, the opaque eyes, the frozen smile, the little pointed teeth.

  “I am a Ranger,” I said. “I stopped the northers at Brassaford with my own blood. I risked my life for you, time and again, on Kratera Ridge. I have done nothing but serve Laurea,” I went on, “so the likes of you can sleep safe in your beds at night.”

  I struggled to my feet and this time the guard made no move to stop me. “How dare you treat me like a common criminal! I ought to slit your guts open for even thinking such a thing!”

  The priest’s mouth opened and shut, like that of a fish stranded on land, but no sound came out.

  “I think she means no,” said the guard. He’d turned a shade paler.

  “Yes, very well, I don’t think there will be any further questions. Not at this time, anyway.” The priest moved toward the cell door.

  “What about my friends?” I said.

  The guard fumbled with the lock and jerked it open. “They’re safe enough. You’ll see them at the hearing,” the priest said as he pushed past the guard.

  “What hearing?” I stumbled after them. The door clanged shut in my face.

  “The hearing for your trial,” came wafting down the corridor.

  White fire sizzled along my nerves. The words I’d thrown at the priest echoed through me. I hadn’t realized how true they were.

  I might have broken my oath to Pateros, but not before I’d tried my damnedest to keep it. All those years — at Brassaford, on the Ridge — I’d kept it in blood and sweat and nightmares. But loyalty must be paid for, and Montborne had broken his own promises a dozen times over. I no longer belonged to him...or to Laurea.

  o0o

  “Kardith!” Etch’s voice called from my right along the hall. “You all right?”

  “Better than my stomach is,” I said dryly. “You?”

  “I came out of it maybe an hour ago. It’s worn off now. When you didn’t wake up...” His voice sounded shaky.

  I leaned my forehead against the wall. It was smooth and cool and steady. What had Etch said before we split up — ”Don’t ask me to leave her now”? I didn’t have time for that, even if I could figure out how I felt about it.

  Back to business. “Terris?” I asked.

  “He’s not here. Montborne’s men came in a little after I woke up and dragged him out. Not the kids’ brigade like last night, either. These were real military.”

  Military? My stomach lurched.

  I chewed on the inside of one lip and thought hard. “We’ve got to get out of here.” I slipped off my belt and freed the short-bladed buckle knife.

  A short time later, by dint of both of us screaming at the top of our lungs that I was barfing blood all over the floor, we attracted a little official attention. It came in the form of two black-coats. The man from earlier stood by the opened door. The other, a woman, bent over me where I lay on the cot, squirming realistically.

  “I don’t see any — ” she began, and the next moment she shut up, because the point of the buckle knife was pricking blood right over the big vein in her neck and my other hand was clamped around one wrist in a leverage that forced her off-balance. For good measure, I hooked one leg around the back of her knees, breaking her stance. It was possible to get out of this hold, but for myself, I’d rather wait for an easier opening.

  She would too. She’d had enough unarmed fighting experience to know there weren’t a lot of other options. She didn’t lack courage, I thought, but she’d never come up against anything tougher than a bunch of drunken ramblers.

  I dug the knife point in deeper. She flinched enough for me to jerk her further down as I rolled up to sitting. Quickly I reversed the leverage and flipped her over on her belly with her hand up behind her shoulder blades and the blade of the knife across her throat.

  The male guard’s eyes popped with surprise. He raised his riot stick, the other hand reaching for his knife.

  “Do it and she’s dead!” I snapped.


  He dropped the stick and raised both hands. “You won’t get away with this.”

  Is there some academy of wishcrap slogans somewhere? “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” I said. “Very, very carefully. You wouldn’t want my knife to slip.”

  He moved carefully. A cooperative man, or maybe he cared what happened to his partner. He took out the keys, threw them in the corner and then lay face down and spread-eagled on the floor.

  It was a tricky situation, managing both of them. Aram had taught me some pressure points that put them out for a while, long enough to relieve them of their standard-issue knives — the kind that could be used either right- or left-handed and that never fit anybody really well — then I gagged and tied them with strips of their own pants.

  I looked down at them, trussed like a pair of barnfowl. I could have killed them both, and once I would have. What possible difference did it make whether they were found alive or dead?

  By the bloody balls of chance, I’m getting soft.

  I checked the knots one more time, put on the woman’s black jacket, and picked up the keys. The door to my cell slid shut with a hissing noise. It took only a moment to open Etch’s and close it behind him. He slapped my arm and grinned when I handed him the man’s jacket. It was a little tight across the shoulders and wouldn’t fool anyone in decent light, but with his dark pants and in the shadows, it was worth a try.

  As we passed the row of cells, a slurred voice called out, “Harth’s own sweet luck to you, friends!”

  o0o

  The guard’s keys let us through the barred gate at the end of the corridor. We found a chair and table, cup of tisane half-full and still warm, and two locked doors of solid wood. I couldn’t tell where the other guard had come from or how long before the absence would be remarked. We didn’t have much time, that was sure.

  I leaned against one wall, trying to think straight. If we could find a back entrance, maybe the one the guards themselves used...but which? My head throbbed in answer.