Blightcross: A Novel

by C. A. Lang

  She was about to finish him when she caught a flash at the other side of the alley. She planted her boot onto the man’s throat and glared at the shadow men approaching from the other side.

  “Alim...”

  He was busy with two soldiers.

  “Alim, they’re here...”

  He killed one, and knocked the other to the ground before finally acknowledging her.

  One of the shadows stood an arm’s length before her. She raised her knife. Met the thing’s eyes—blue, almost glowing. And mesmerizing...

  No, don’t fight. Just listen to what he has to say.

  Her grip slackened, and she looked upon the shadow man with a calm that chilled her, but there was nothing she could do to fight it.

  “I wanted to tell you something, Capra.”

  “Yes?”

  “I wanted to ask you not to tell anyone about what you saw here.”

  “Oh?”

  The thing nodded. “It is a secret, you see. If you tell anyone about this event, everyone will know. We will be very disappointed in you. Can you hold that secret?”

  “You’re killing them.” She heard her own voice as childlike, singsong.

  “No, Capra. We are helping them. Don’t you want to help people? You would never kill an innocent again. If you tell anyone, more will die. This is a secret, and I need you to keep it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know you will.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  The shadow man took her hand, and from his palm came a cold shock that slithered into her lungs, froze her breath. She tried to snap her hand away, and only gave a pathetic tug.

  “Now that you know our secret, you have to help us. You belong now. Isn’t that great?”

  “I belong?”

  “That’s right, you can stop running now. You can take part in parades, and we will give you a medal. Come to the tower. We need one like you to fulfil a new role.”

  Beneath his words swam some other meaning—a feeling of regret, like her own, a wistful desire for home, for the ability to belong once again, and not in the superficial way she thought she had in the Little Nations.

  I did not want to leave. I had to. Why won’t they forgive me?

  “Yes, you understand now, don’t you? We can take you to the tower now, if you like.”

  From behind the shadow man came two real men. Over one’s arm dangled a set of shackles.

  “For your safety, of course,” the shadow man said.

  This made sense to her clouded mind, and after a second of hesitation, she pressed the lever on her knife to retract the blade and clipped it to her armband. “For my safety, yes.” She presented her hands, wrists limp.

  A warm feeling came over her, as though she were going home, going back to her parents’ townhome in Lagaz. They—or someone—would tell her that it was okay, that she did the right thing by leaving and that they were all so sorry they had made her—

  Just get it over with. Reach into that satchel, pull the fuse, and toss it into the hut. You don’t even have to look inside. Nobody ever does. Just throw it in. They are murderers, remember.

  —fight their enemies, made her contribute...

  And in an instant, this strange mirror world she had dropped into, where the shadows spoke truth, where she was going to belong again, shattered with the sound of a hand-cannon roaring across the alley. The man with the shackles spurted a fountain of blood from his head and fell, and seconds later, another shot rang through the alley, and there was a meaty thud as the other man’s chest shot a plume of blood and bone fragments.

  There was the sound of a familiar voice hollering at her, but her ears rang and she reeled, in a daze from her encounter with the shadow man. Sound swirled around her, none of it discernible.

  One more crack sounded, and the shadow man vanished.

  At the alley’s end stood Vasi and Dannac, and in his hand was his new toy, its barrel tonguing the air with a thick wisp of smoke.

  “Capra, answer me. Are you okay?”

  She stumbled forward, and suddenly the dreamy wash that had overtaken her senses left her entirely, and she once again lived in the stark reality of pitted concrete, shit-stained alleys, and black smoke.

  “I think so.” She touched the gash on her arm, smeared blood between her fingers. “What just happened?”

  Alim came beside her. “You were almost taken by the shadows.”

  “As if things could not get worse,” Dannac said, with a glare towards Alim.

  She winced. “Relax, Dannac. I think it’s safe to say there are bigger things to worry about than allegiances in a border conflict across the ocean.” She rubbed her eyes. “How did you scare off the shadow, anyway?”

  Vasi smirked. “I charged his cannon shot. It seems to disintegrate their manifestations for a while.”

  “What is the situation like back there?” Alim asked.

  Dannac was still glowering at him. “We were pushed eastward. I would advise against turning back, since they are concentrating around the core of the city.”

  “Look, the cranes have stopped moving. The harbour and ships are deserted.”

  Capra moved to the crest of the hill leading down into the port area. What specks she saw below moving around the docks were leaving the area, either walking up into the city or hopping into carriages. No noise or smoke came from the cranes, and under many, shipping containers dangled in mid-air.

  And, strangest of all was that there were no shadows hovering above the harbour, as there were deeper into the city.

  “Why, I wonder?”

  “I wouldn’t question it right now.” Alim took one last appraising glare at Dannac, and slid his sword back into its sheath. “I say we go down to the harbour.”

  “And after that?” Vasi raised her head as she walked past Alim as if he were the mongrel servant of a feudal palace. “We have to find a way back to the refinery.”

  “We could take one of the boats,” Dannac said.

  Capra thought for a moment. “I don’t like putting ourselves in such a vulnerable position.”

  “I agree.” Alim gestured to the bridge. “That area is completely deserted.” He traced his finger along the riverbank, back to where the refinery’s egg-shaped structures and pipes met the river. “If we go along the other edge, perhaps we could arrive there without meeting any opposition.”

  “That is the Hex,” Vasi said.

  “I heard about that.” Capra recalled Tey’s stories. “We would have to take Fasco’s Road, through the slums, and then cross through the desert on the other side. It killed Fasco, so it would probably kill us. And I doubt the prison is going to offer any help to us.”

  Alim looked confused. “Fasco?”

  Capra relayed what she could remember of the story, and Vasi filled in the missing parts.

  “Well,” Alim said, with a stupid grin. “Did it ever occur to you that the reason the shadows are staying away from the dockside slums and the Hex is because of this taint that killed the executioner?”

  Both women glanced at each other, and Capra caught the same sheepish grimace on Vasi that she knew she was displaying.

  “And if this Fasco character made the trip once a week for three years before dying, maybe one trip through the Hex would not be enough to kill us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The walls of Sevari’s office loomed from all sides, now giving him the impression of a miserable cave. No longer did he gush over his traditional decor, the comforting artifacts on his shelves, or the expensive stonework of his monument.

  Even his perfect chair was tainted. His workingman’s throne, the perfect firmness of the seat, the perfect angle of the back... how he used to sit in it for hours and research the old texts or work into the early morning designing his new policies...

  And now he stood beside his window, while the boy spun around on the chair as though it were a carnival ride. The chair squeaked and creaked.

  �
��Careful, Rovan. That chair is expensive and meant for work, not spinning.”

  “I am working, Till.”

  He dug his fingernails into his palms and ground his teeth. Best ignore the little things. He had to remember that the shadows had chosen Rovan as their leader. He still could not determine if the boy had one of the shadows inside him, or if he were simply a rotten little shit.

  “So what do you intend to do, hm? Will you just sit here while your friends ravage my city?”

  “They are multiplying, Till. It’s just a little upset for now, that’s all. You’ll see.” Rovan kicked the desk, propelling him across the room on squealing casters. “You’re lucky I’m giving you this opportunity. The shadows will fix everything. We’ll be rich.”

  “Rich? Is that what you think this is about? You think they are genii who have come to grant your juvenile wishes?”

  “You’re spoiling it. Stop being such a downer.”

  If he kept trying to reason with Rovan, he’d drive himself mad. Rovan was too young to understand the primordial force of the shadow men, of their mission to re-form heaven and earth according to their every whim.

  He knew what to expect. First would come the depravity in the streets. If there existed any plant matter in Blightcross, it would also have been corrupted. Then a darkness would descend, and life would seem to disappear after everyone had destroyed themselves in their mad attempt to achieve order. Then the shadows would be made real again.

  That was what the first people had written.

  Without the fire giants, there would be no opposition to them.

  Sevari went to his former desk and reached for the row of call studs.

  “What are you doing, Till? That’s my desk now.”

  “I am just calling for some assistance.”

  Rovan jumped out of his seat and jogged to the desk. “I can call. What do you need? Another pie? I can get us pie.”

  “I do not want pie.” But, on second thought... “Actually, yes. Send for pie.”

  “Ha. They told me that you like pie.”

  “Did they?”

  Rovan shut his eyes for a moment, then bounced back to the chair, where he began to spin again. “It’ll be here in a minute. You know, I think I want some statues made. They should go up all along the main road leading to the refinery.”

  “Is that so?”

  Rovan began to describe the statue, which would depict himself in golden armour, holding the biggest hand-cannon they could make, his right foot resting on the severed head of a fire giant. Sevari simply nodded and scribbled behind the desk. With luck, the hasty note would be legible.

  It choked him to accept that he had made such a grave error in dealing with Helverliss. But the situation could still be brought under control. Locking up Helverliss with his own work had been the stupidest mistake he could think of, but after he wrested control from Rovan and his shadow friends, he would return to leadership more powerful than ever. The silent weaving of the worldspirits perhaps worked in mysterious ways, and in the end, this turmoil may even have been necessary for further progress.

  He crumpled the note in his hands and clasped them behind his back. When the servant arrived at the door with the pie, he darted across the room to meet him.

  He took the pie, and slapped the note into the servant’s hand. “Take this to the guard lieutenant.” The servant unfolded the note, and Sevari clapped the man’s hand shut. “Go now, and ensure that he gets it.” He glanced back to Rovan. “Do you see?”

  The servant’s eyes widened, and he spun on his heel to leave.

  As long as the servant could perform basic functions, Blightcross might still have hope at containing the shadow beings.

  “Well? What are you waiting for, Till? Hand over the fucking pie.”

  Ooh, you will regret choosing such a naive, ignorant clod as your anchor here, shadows.

  He calmly set the pie on the desk—his desk—and took a slice.

  Too much cinnamon, nothing like Mother’s. If he were alone, he would toss it in the trash, but Rovan was a suspicious creature much like himself, and he thought he’d better choke it down for the sake of appearances.

  “They say that you have this thing about pie, you know. I wonder if it’s true.”

  “Who says this?”

  “My friends.”

  “They are hardly friends, Rovan.” As soon as he finished the sentence, he winced. It had been reversed—Rovan was the Leader now, and he had to abandon his pedantic tone, or risk the wrath of the shadows.

  “Hah! You’ll learn, Till.” He ate half of the slice, tossed it across the room, and picked up another. “Hey, stop stressing. I won’t turn on you. I’m like that guy you love so much. Iermo, that’s his name, right? We’re like a team of heroes, aren’t we?”

  The son of a bitch. Was Rovan serious, or just trying to goad him into a confrontation?

  “Yes, Rovan.” He made a difficult swallow. “It’s quite like that.”

  Now he went back to his window to gaze at the armoury. A cloying spicy taste hovered in the back of his throat, and he wanted to throw the boy to the ground below, but his one bit of solace was the steel and canvas towering above the armoury. More accurately, what lay beneath the temporary covering.

  The guard officer unfolded the paper, leaned into the light of the hallway lamp, and squinted at the hen scratch in watery faded ink.

  Attn Guard Personnel please hurrb expadoto massc— gramma to defer cite and kill shallot mom...

  “I haven’t any clue what this means,” the officer said to the servant.

  “Sevari was under duress, I think. Whatever these phantoms are, they have corrupted one of the Ehzeri workers. It seems I now take dessert orders for the boy, instead of Sevari.”

  The officer snorted. “That’s ridiculous. The Leader must be bluffing or biding his time.”

  “He looked desperate. Are you sure you can’t read the note?”

  He adjusted the paper’s angle and tried again. This was not the firm hand of Till Sevari, and not the stern, impeccable penmanship of the many execution orders the officer had taken. It was a hasty cry for help, as if he had been unable to even look at his work. It was frantic and, like the servant suggested, desperate.

  Attn Guard Personnel please hurry expedite deployment of mechanical golem to defend city and kill the shadow men and their pawns. Use any means to deploy. You have full authority to confiscate fuel necessary Section Three must be informed you may threaten execution if refuse to press into service please hurry.

  The officer shoved the servant out of his way and ran for the nearest signalling station.

  The damned thing wasn’t ready. Were things really that bad? It was supposed to defend against a surprise attack from the Bhagovan Republic, or even Tamarck, should they decide that they wanted the district’s fuel for themselves.

  But would it really work against these phantoms?

  Though she didn’t want to admit it, Alim was right: by the time they reached the waterfront, they found only doors swinging on hinges and crates sitting in the middle of the road, waiting for the cranes above to lift them. A few times, she swore she caught glimpses of the shadow men, only to focus her eyes and find nothing out of the ordinary.

  It wasn’t completely deserted, though. Capra caught the flicker of a lamp in one of the windows as they made their way to Fasco’s Road. After a short debate, she broke from the group and went inside.

  The shelves were stocked with chains and rope and hooks. At the counter stood a woman close to her age with sunken cheeks and dry, frizzy hair.

  “What happened here?”

  “They all left. Them things came, started talking to everyone. Told them things I ain’t ever heard before. They sounded like preachers or aldermen.”

  “Did they talk to you?”

  The woman coughed in a way Capra had only heard from lung-rot patients and phosphorous grenade victims. She backed away accordingly. “They won’t come near me. One of them
said something about the ethers or some such garbage. If you ask me, it’s just a ploy by the government. Aw yeah, they just want us all to move out of here so they can build more pipes or whatever they want to do. That’s the word out at the estates, anyway.”

  Capra recalled overhearing conversations in the city about “the estates”, this spoken with a note of disdain. “The slums, you mean?”

  The woman spread her hands in a defensive gesture. “Not my words, missy.”

  The slums—the area off the south end of Fasco’s Road. A whole population of people untouched by the shadows, but tainted by what, exactly?

  “The owner here went along with the others. I don’t know why, but I doubt he’ll be back today. Maybe that Sevari’s going to lock ‘em all up and cook them in his great ovens, who knows?”

  “I think you should just close up and go home for the day.”

  The woman made a noise that could have either been laughter or a retch. “You ain’t from this area, are ye, missy? You got a job down here, you make the most of it and get yourself as much time in a clean space as you can. I ain’t a going back unless I got to.”

  On one shelf Capra spotted a bottle of oil. Never one to argue with a nagging in her gut, she bought it. She was, after all, going to climb through a running machine, and the last thing she needed was to be caught in a seized gear.

  Back outside, she expected to find either Alim or Dannac cast into a gutter with a broken neck, but she found them strolling down the deserted cobblestones together. Perhaps it was the mediating presence of Vasi between them that stopped them from destroying each other. Dannac would never join a Valoii. Capra was the exception, and the first few months together had involved more than a few fistfights.

  Something was bothering him.

  “You decided to join us,” Alim said when she took position on Dannac’s side of Vasi.

  “She was alive. Barely alive, from the sound of her, and the shadows didn’t want her. Apparently the slums have been untouched. Anything along this end of Fasco’s Road.”