Fourth Under Sol (Digitesque Book 5)

by Guerric Haché

  Sulakaz seemed to understand exactly what she meant, and responded with a series of encouragingly enthusiastic sounds that were exactly as unsettling as she should have expected. She flared her nostrils as it roiled around in the air, and decided to focus on the path forward. Her path, found or chosen or hacked from the untrodden wilds.

  “Let’s find a barge, kick some hornet nests, and point them all at Azure. How hard can it be?”

  Finding barges was easy - as she hopped and floated her way down the crumbling, dusty ruins of Red Rise, she saw many twisted hulls littered between ash and stones. Finding an intact barge was another matter - all the ones that could still fly appeared to have been taken.

  But Sulakaz had indeed learned about the things it had devoured, and two-thirds of the way down the mountain they found one that looked mostly whole. It was a small thing, surely good for no more than a dozen people, and its tattered banners were red. Sulakaz leapt at it with sudden enthusiasm, its shape pulsing and coiling around it, and she wondered for a moment whether it had simply gotten hungry again.

  Whatever it was doing, she set to gathering a few of the larger pieces of red banners scattered across the area, and tied some of them awkwardly to the poles on the barges, unable and unwilling to figure out the mechanism that somehow anchored the banners inside the metal. Knots would have to do. After some flickering and warbling from the wraith, the airship suddenly sprang to life just as she was about to add another, and she jumped back. “What -!”

  The wraith cooed appreciatively, or so she thought. Did it know how she interpreted its noises? She certainly hoped so, and smiled.

  “Okay - great.” She hopped up onto the barge as it hovered at waist height, then glanced at the controls. The wraith had coded something onto the back of the pedestal, black etchings flowing around a crack of damage in the old metals.

  Then she laid her hands on the controls, and felt her head suddenly spin. She snapped her hand away again.

  “Oh gods, I hate these.” She glanced at the hexapod on her shoulder. “Why? Isn’t there a better way?”

  “Do you find it disorienting?”

  “Yes, of course I do, it’s like - it’s like it’s my body.”

  “That is the intent, yes. It was designed to be used without training.” Crimson’s sympathy sounded in short supply. “If you take a moment to explore the sensations, you should find functionality that allows you to point the barge and let it cruise on its own. It is a mostly straight line from here to Hundred Steps, where the refugees and fleet have gone.”

  She could fly there, maybe. Or glide. But after exhausting herself for the sake of healing Hail, she did not want to do so again. She nodded and tensed up, grabbed the controls again, and was the barge. And she shot up with it, and it swept the wraith up into the air with her.

  Up, up, forward -

  Once she was over the lip of the mountain she felt the thing Crimson had mentioned, oddly like the way she might lock her knees. “Which way? Gods, hurry up and tell me -”

  “Turn left -” She did. “Stop. This is close enough that you will see the refugee camp when you arrive.”

  She locked the barge into its motion and let go, feeling blessedly comfortable again in her own body, nothing more. She stepped towards the front of the controls, feeling the wind at her face, and sat down, leaning back against the pedestal.

  Sulakaz approached, apparently unbothered by the wind, and shrank onto the deck in front of her. It took on an odd shape, like some kind of upside-down toadstool at first, the peak suddenly blooming into odd little branches. Then the fringes of its upper coils began flickering gentle pinks, and the whole structure swayed a little, completely ignorant of the real breeze around them.

  She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it wasn’t frightening to look at. She allowed herself a smile, watching its weird impression as the mangled barge and its tattered banners zipped along under these still-unfamiliar skies. When it grew dark, and she ate some rations, Sulakaz’ little coloured bits started to glow.

  Around that odd campfire, the hunter and the warrior, the pathfinder and the medic, the dragoness and the human, the daughter and the daughter, the lover lost and the Herald and all the things she was. All of them staring into the little floral lights; none of them fighting her.

  The world was a landscape of wonderful and monstrous accidents, and she was off to kill a god. The emptiness that left within her felt oddly… peaceful. Simple. It wasn’t emptiness, really, so much as room .

  She did like the silence, it turned out.

  Chapter 18

  Just as the sun began to rise again she spotted warm firelight in the distance. She reluctantly found the controls and brought the barge in quickly to the ground - whether the ratty banners were enough of a sign of friendship, she didn’t know, but she was not bothered.

  She spared Sulakaz a glance. “Might be safest if you stayed here, for now.” She smirked. “Not that I can stop you.” It warbled quietly in response, unmoving, as she stepped out onto the soil itself. She heard nothing dangerous as she approached - just the sounds of a busy camp beginning to stir in the morning.

  She glanced up at the fading stars, wondering whether she might unknowingly see Earth, or anything else waiting for her out beyond the sky. She brought the locator stone to her lips. Along the way here, in the quiet, she had felt remarkably at peace; Crimson had gifted her with an understanding that stripped away everything she had struggled for, but also everything she had struggled against. People would surely complicate that in a moment, but for now, it was nice to imagine she simply had to act.

  She set off, and soon reached the seething mass of tents and ramshackle shelters pitched at the crown of what must be Hundred Steps. Thousands of people were here, morning sounds reaching her from afar, and soon enough thereafter came smells that told her they hadn’t found a good solution place to dispose of so much waste. She wrinkled her nose, wondering how much this was a downside of her pathfinder’s gift.

  Martians stared as she walked into the camp, of course. Dark olive complexion, brown hair, and short stature all set her apart from these thin, pallid giants, but she hoped that would work to her advantage. She locked eyes with the first person to openly stare at her for too long and tried to be quick and to the point. “Hello - I’m looking for a man named Tharrak. Or any other leader you might have.”

  The woman shook her head and said something about not knowing the name, turning away to tend to something in her bags. People generally gave her a wide berth, turning or stepping away when they realized she was looking at them. A more inquiries got her nowhere, until a commotion off to the side made her turn her head.

  He stepped out of the crowd looking much like she remembered, and indeed much like Tharson - though Tharrak’s face was pained, and she could see the mourning all over it. He seemed to recognize her instantly, though, and to her surprise he spread his arms and embraced her when she walked forward.

  “Isavel.” He looked at her. “I expected I would see you again.”

  She raised an eyebrow, taken aback, arms still awkwardly folded at her sides; she had barely said a handful of words to the man. How did he even know her name? “What are you talking about?”

  He frowned, stepped back uncomfortably, and stared off into the distance as though he had suddenly remembered he didn’t know her. “Of course. I… The Red Sword…” He shook his head, the distress on his face well-worn. “I saw into his mind, his memories, before.” He took a deep breath. “I know you, a little. But I don’t know what you hope to find here.”

  She stared at him, wondering what exactly he had seen, and what she should say to him. He had seen into Tharson’s mind, in those last moments? She did not envy him that, and could only hope to take his mind off it. She pointed at the nearest of the flying barges, their banners blushing red as the sun grew brighter. “I’m hoping to convince whoever flies those to help me kill Azure.”

  Such words spoken out loud, without fear,
drew a few glances from the camp. Tharrak’s own eyes widened for a moment before he laughed bitterly. “Kill Azure? You think you can storm his City?”

  She crossed her arms, hefting the hexapod, trying to give a wry grin. “Amber and Crimson think so. They’ve agreed to help.”

  At this his face darkened, and he looked away in thought. “So you did get there.” He huffed through his nose, nodding with a kind of approval. “I’m sorry - you don’t know me. In Red Rise I hosted a place people came to drink and sing and dance. Sometimes even eat. Some barge leaders were frequent visitors. A few together could push the fleet one way or the other.” He looked sadly at her. “I… I have an idea. It could help. Tharson would want me to.”

  “Thank you.” She believed what Tharrak said; the confused and haunted look on his face, Tharson’s but younger, felt too precise to be an act. She laid a hand on his shoulder. “He was a good man, little as I knew him. He regretted falling out with you.”

  “He did.” At that, the brother gave a wry smile. “I think that was why Kelena made us share the sword. I felt the regret, like…” He shook his head, and then laughed again, a bitter and throaty laugh. “In the evenings, in my little tavern, I used to sing songs of bad-tempered brothers getting into fights. Lively tunes making fun of impatient men. I don’t think I will do so any more.”

  Unsure of what to say to that, she nodded, and he beckoned for her to follow. For all that she had first thought he looked a fair bit younger than Tharson, he seemed to have aged in the flight from the city. She followed him through the camp, between tired-looking people and nervous animals, all the way to the edge of the cliff. The slope was gentler here, the city a haphazard mangle of stairs and terraces and huts of ancient metals stacked from the plains below all the way to the edge of the mountain proper.

  The red-flagged barges had lined up along that edge, level with the top, such that their crews could simply hop through the weaker gravity from the face of the mountain to their vessels. There were dozens of them, including some of the largest twinned barges, but again Isavel was reminded of how much fewer they were than what Azure had brought against them.

  Amber had said the wraith destroyed a great deal of Azure’s fleet with its blast, but how much more could they expect to face if they took the fight to Azure himself?

  Tharrak led her to one of the largest barges, the two-hulled flagships that bore Mars’ heaviest weapon between them. She made sure the hexapod still clung to her arm; she should call on them judiciously, if she could.

  A few inquiries with the crew brought forth an unusually burly-looking martian woman. She struck Isavel as the kind of person who believed a god’s interest in their followers was commensurate with how much of the god’s colours those followers wore, having adorned herself in various shades of red from her boots to her sleeveless jacket, all the way to a red bandana bound around her head and red lines painted down her face. She stared openly down at Isavel, even as she spoke to Tharrak.

  “What’s this? What are you doing running around with little demons, Tharrak? Did you bring drink, or are you just here to bother me?”

  Tharrak smirked, as though the brusqueness were to be expected. “Dejah, this is Isavel. A friend of Tharson’s.”

  Isavel met Dejah’s continued stare, but the martian woman still didn’t address her. “ You weren’t even Tharson’s friend, and you were his brother. Is that supposed to recommend her to me? She’s an earthling, I imagine?”

  She was quickly feeling attacked, and squared her shoulders at the taller woman. “I’m surprised your imagination stretches that far.”

  The woman paused for a moment before splitting into a grin, but her eyes still weren’t smiling. “The demon speaks. So what? Unless she can sing and dance or came with some some bottles of -”

  “You can ask me directly.” She crossed her arms. “I’m going to kill Azure. I’m hoping to find someone who has the guts for revenge, but since you’ve already mentioned drinking twice I’m going to assume that isn’t you.”

  Dejah simply stared at her for a few more moments and then turned around and made for her ship. Tharrak scampered after her. “Dejah wait! Listen to her.”

  “I’m not going to listen to some little stranger too short for the tall tales she’s telling, Tharrak. This isn’t the time or -”

  “Hey!” Isavel ran after them, stumbling over words if not feet. “I’m only short because you people are built like weeds!”

  Dejah balked at her. “What does that even mean? What does that make you, a potato? Honestly, Tharrak, what do you -”

  Isavel snapped her wings out, and the electric hiss of red blades fanning out from her back silenced everybody nearby and sent several of them scampering. It also fixed Dejah’s eyes on her; Isavel hoped she’d picked the right shade of red, and after a moment Dejah’s renewed grin encouraged her.

  “Well that’s new. But what am I supposed to do? That black monster destroyed one fleet, but I’ve seen more blue flags than I care to in my life, and I’ve seen the City Azure. You’re obviously not breaking in quietly, if you’re coming to me, but all the barges of Olympus couldn’t take down a god.”

  She nodded. “Amber will bring down godfire on the city and its defenses.”

  Dejah’s eyes narrowed. “Amber? The coward’s god?” Isavel’s arm tensed, but the hexapod did not react. “Tharrak, are you sure she isn’t just delirious?”

  He glanced at her with a pained look. “Everything I know suggests she isn’t much of a joker.”

  She glared at him, but he gave an innocent shrug that seemed to suggest he was kidding, so she turned back to this absurdly overdressed woman and pointed behind herself. “I came from Crimson’s temple, just behind Red Rise. I spoke to her.”

  “You were in the temple?”

  Dejah’s eyes had widened a little, and Tharrak was nodding. “They were headed there when they reached Red Rise.” Isavel uncrossed her arms to try and seem more accommodating; mentioning her god seemed to open the woman’s mind to more. Good. This was the time, then. She tapped the hexapod.

  “You can speak to Crimson too, if you want.”

  “Well.” Dejah’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose I should trust the demon-girl with some ancient artifact fixed on her arm, shouldn’t I? Why on Mars wouldn’t I?”

  She scowled and jostled the hexapod, and to her satisfaction Crimson understood her immediately, her voice splashing out like deep red wine. “ Dejah song Olympus. Fourteen years ago, in the summer. Your ship broken and adrift off Arabia. Your crew dead. Your knife, your hand.”

  Isavel thought the god had suddenly gone mad, but the change that overcame Dejah’s face was cataclysmic, like she had been speared through and frozen in place all at once. Even Tharrak seemed concerned, but as he reached out to the woman she suddenly shook away from him and pointed at Isavel. “You. You? You - an earthling. A gods-damned demon. Why - Crimson, why - ?”

  “They are not demons.” The hexapod pulsed gentle red. “She is useful. And if she dies, no martian life lost.”

  Then it flickered yellow. “And I am not the coward’s god.”

  Dejah’s face contorted into something like horror, for a split second, and then suddenly she laughed. “Tharrak - Tharrak, you stupid man, how can you bring me this and not bring me any drink? You tended the damned tavern -”

  “Jugs of wine don’t need saving.” His face darkened. “It was a day of death, Dejah.”

  She glared at him, then back at Isavel. “You couldn’t possibly know what she meant, could you?” She twisted her lip. “So, potato girl, would you give me some time alone with my god?”

  She shrugged, gripping the hexapod with one hand and taking an odd little pleasure in handling over an avatar of gods like a piece of firewood. Its legs flailed awkwardly, but it didn’t need them. “If you’re going to help, Dejah, it has to be soon.”

  Her red-painted hands gently accepted the machine, and she kept her eyes fixed on it now. “Calm down. Azure m
ay yet pay for what he did to such a beautiful city. Can it actually be done, Crimson?”

  “It can be, yes. But success will depend on what happens in the few days.”

  Dejah sighed, glancing at Isavel. “I will follow your word, Crimson, you know that. And my crew - I believe they will as well. But we can’t go splashing the pot without the other barges.”

  Isavel bit her lip, and for a moment she feared what might happen if the woman squirreled away the gods’ little avatar. Then again, she doubted the outers would be much interested in hearing from Crimson. “I understand. But the sooner -”

  “No.” She reached over patted Isavel on the head, doubly patronizing for their height difference. “Sit and wait with Tharrak; the man’s just lost a brother. I’ll find you. Tharrak, teach her some manners, this isn’t the blue hell.”

  Isavel stared openly at the woman as she walked away, then turned to follow Tharrak deeper into the camp. “Blue hell? Is she always like this?”

  “The blue hell is Earth. Seas of blood and all. You got off easy with her.” Tharrak was shaking his head. “Consider yourself lucky most of Red Rise’s drink didn’t make it out of the city. But she’s the first person I’d go to, given what you’re asking.”

  She sighed; she had a fire burning, now, and she didn’t want to just sit around and stare at it. She wanted to fight . But if she had to smoulder, for now, then so be it.

  Tharrak led her to a little ramshackle pile of carts and cloth that had probably once been latched to the two galhak sleeping next to it. He exchanged pats on the shoulder and short words with a man sitting near the animals, and they sat just far enough away that they weren’t in a circle together. He produced a small pouch of seeds and dried fruit, and let her take a handful before taking some himself.

  He seemed to be lost in thought, and she was tempted to ask how long they would have to wait around for Dejah, but something else he had said in that conversation piqued her. “You said Tharson shared with you. What did he share?”