Principles of Angels

by Jaine Fenn

  ‘Nual has her own topside agents monitoring all enquiries made about her. Being hunted by your entire race makes one justifiably paranoid. The first attempt was enough to drive her into hiding. I doubt she even knew of the second, as she hasn’t spent more than a few minutes topside since then - until today, of course.’

  The Minister paused and Taro asked, ‘How does Consul Vidoran fit in with this?’

  ‘Patience, boy, patience. Certain circumstantial evidence - particularly the nature of the sidestreet infobroker’s untimely death - suggested a link between the psychopath that Yazil had rather ill-advisedly assigned to the Consul and that infobroker. Combined with earlier events, that was enough to convince me that Vidoran had to die, and Nual, whose loyalty I was no longer sure of, had to perform the hit.’

  ‘You mean you rigged the Concord?’ Taro had never bothered much with the ins and outs of how a politician came to be marked but he’d always assumed the system was, at some level, fair.

  ‘Goodness no, I don’t do that - at least, not as such,’ the Minister protested. ‘But the citizens of the Confederacy of Three aren’t always aware of - or interested in - the big picture and sometimes I have to give them a bit of a nudge, just to ensure they make the right decision. It’s generally just a matter of throwing money at the media and letting them do the job for me: tell people someone is bad enough times and they’ll start to believe you.’ He smiled benignly.

  Taro decided to let that one go. This was the head of the Kheshi League of Concord he was talking to. Respect for life was obviously not top of his agenda. ‘So what was this earlier stuff that Consul Vidoran did?’

  ‘A few weeks ago Salik Vidoran made an unscheduled and highly uncharacteristic trip to the outer habitats of the Tri-Confed system. During his absence certain political misdealings of his were uncovered, but when attempts were made to contact him, he had disappeared. He turned up some days later claiming to have been stranded at the extreme edge of the system on a transport that had experienced technical difficulties. By the time he got back to Vellern his career was on the slide and my suspicions were alerted. I checked with the pilot of the transport, who swore blind she had never met him. Maybe she hadn’t; maybe she just thought she hadn’t. That kind of thing happens a lot with the Sidhe. And then Vidoran’s Screamer tried to find out about the Sidhe who is now the Angel Nual. That was enough for me.’

  ‘You put him on the hot-list just ’cause he might’ve left the system without tellin’ anyone an’ ’cause he might have been asking about Nual?’ And he thought Nual was paranoid!

  The Minister observed Taro from under the brim of his hat. ‘No, I decided that his otherwise minor political mistake would cost him his life because I believe he has had direct dealings with the Sidhe. And I will not permit Sidhe influence in my City.’

  ‘But I thought they never came here.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. They constructed everything on Vellern.’

  ‘The Sidhe built Khesh City?’ A day ago Taro had barely heard of the lost race; now he found he was living in one of their Cities.

  ‘A faction within the Sidhe built Khesh and the other two Cities. That faction was made up of rebels who were opposed to the Sidhe Protectorate: hence the impressive array of scanners at immigration, all tuned to detect Sidhe minds and devices. The founders of the Confederacy were very keen to keep the other Sidhe out, and this remains true today. The Sidhe are as much my enemies as they are Nual’s.’

  Nual finds herself standing in the bedroom of the house she shared with Elarn for those few confused but happy months seven years ago.

  The detail is perfect, provided she doesn’t look too closely. The pale yellow-and-gold carpet is soft and warm beneath her bare feet. The walk-in wardrobe is there, the shelves with the statuettes of saints carved from translucent pink coral above the hardcopy antique books. And there is the bed of sea-oak beams with its coverlet of azure silk: the place where Elarn finally discovered what Nual was.

  The Sidhe made this, creating a perfect illusion in Elarn’s mind. It is a trap; Nual is not sure of its nature and purpose, but she knows she has fallen into it. She tries to withdraw her presence, to bring herself out, or at least to raise herself up from the depths of Elarn’s unconsciousness.

  The room wavers for a moment, solidifies again. She is still here, in Elarn’s reconstructed memory.

  The only choice is to go on. She walks round the bed, slowly.

  A storm is in full force outside, but above the rain and wind she can hear another sound coming from the wardrobe. It sounds like someone crying. She tries to extend her mind out to sense the presence, but nothing happens. She is as limited as a human here.

  She walks towards the wardrobe. As she does so she sees her own reflection in the burnished front.

  She is seventeen again, waif-thin, with cropped hair, wearing the long umber robe she favoured when in the cliff-house. Naturally she would look like this here. After all, this is how Elarn remembers her.

  The sobs are suddenly silenced, as though the person hiding in the wardrobe has sensed that someone is in the room.

  Nual pulls open the door.

  Elarn is crouched in the corner of the wardrobe, dressed in her white nightgown, hair a messy halo, face puffy with tears and white with terror.

  She flinches at the figure looming over her, then recognition dawns in her eyes. ‘Lia?’

  Nual decides against asking Elarn to use her chosen name; this is Elarn’s dream, after all, and she would be wise to obey the logic of the dream world. She nods.

  Elarn regards her warily, the fear still in her eyes. Outside, the storm throws itself at the house with renewed force. ‘How do I know it’s really you? How do I know they haven’t chosen to wear your face to trick me?’ Her voice is rising into a hysterical scream, mirroring the howling wind. ‘After all, you left me and now you’re back—’

  ‘I didn’t leave you,’ says Nual, her calm assertion cutting across Elarn’s terror, ‘I wanted to stay with you, to regain some of the unity I lost when I left my people. But in order to do that, I had to show my true self, and that was not something you could deal with, so you told me to leave. And I did. I was hurt, but I understand now why you did what you did. I forgive you. I hope you can forgive me for being what I am.’

  ‘Lia, it’s really you, isn’t it? How did you get here? Wherever here is . . . I’m not sure where I am, or how I came to be here. I mean, I think this is my room, but—’

  If Elarn starts to question the illusion it may start to unravel, taking both women’s sanity with it. ‘Elarn.’ Elarn looks at her, her eyes wild and unfocused. ‘What are you hiding from?’

  ‘You know what. Them. They’re coming for me. And for you. And when they find me they’ll bore their way into my soul and leave their seed in me, the scream—Oh God, I can’t—’

  Nual reaches in and takes Elarn’s hand. Elarn lets her. ‘Then perhaps we should not be here when they arrive.’ Nual starts to help her up.

  Elarn stares at Nual, then nods. ‘Yes. Why didn’t I think of that? There are still places to run . . .’ She levers herself up with Nual’s help, then stumbles out into the room, frowning at the familiar but not-quite-perfect illusion.

  Nual, wishing she could tell how much of what is happening now is Sidhe programming and how much is Elarn breaking free of that programming, follows her.

  Standing outside the bedroom, they hear a door slam in the house below - the wind, perhaps. Or maybe not. Elarn freezes. Nual pulls at her, but the other woman does not move. Elarn’s much-repressed maternal instinct had been stirred up when Nual - Lia - first came to her; she can use that.

  ‘Please Elarn, you have to protect me from them,’ she cries. ‘They have come to take me back.’

  Elarn shakes herself, looking at Nual as though seeing her for the first time. ‘Yes, I have to help you. There’s a way down, one they don’t know about—’ She starts to walk slowly, and around a corner they find a door which, a
s far as Nual remembers, should lead to one of the spare bedrooms. Elarn opens it to reveal a metal staircase spiralling down a rough-hewn tunnel. Crystals in the wall emit a pallid yellow-green light.

  From her knowledge of the human psyche, Nual is far from sure that down is the right direction, but fear of their enemies’ proximity is sending chill prickles down her spine. She is losing her objectivity, being drawn deeper into Elarn’s nightmare.

  There’s a footfall from behind: someone is on the landing.

  Nual hurries onto the stairs, Elarn following. Behind them, an incoherent shout - of victory? frustration? - echoes down the hall.

  The stairs burn cold on Nual’s bare feet, but the terror is real now as recollections of her own flight from her people flash through her mind. She must run, run, run!

  The staircase ends abruptly: one moment they are in the green twilight, the next, on the beach below - except it is not the beach Nual remembers. There is no storm and no sea either, though the rising sun fires the wet sand before them into molten gold. For the first time she notices smell in the illusion, less like the tang of salt than the scent of fresh blood. And there is a reason the sand is whiter and harder than the sand below the cliff-house. It is not sand; it is finely ground bone.

  In running away they have done exactly what the Sidhe wanted.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ‘Is that why you let Nual in? ’Cause she’s one of these Sidhe rebels?’

  The Minister laughed. ‘Goodness, no. That rebellion ended a thousand years ago. Perhaps she would have been, if she had lived back then; she’s not a normal Sidhe, if such a creature can be said to exist. That’s why I let her stay here. The surviving Sidhe, hiding behind the complacent humans they secretly control, know what Vellern is and they steer clear. They’d never be stupid enough to send a Sidhe here. And then this child turns up, lighting up my monitors like a star. My first thought was to have her killed, but she was young, confused, and all but destitute. I let her live, watched her and arranged to meet her. After talking to her I decided to give her sanctuary here - under certain conditions - and here she has remained. You would think that after all the help I’ve given her she might try trusting me occasionally.’ A small, tight smile crossed his face.

  ‘Why don’t she? Trust you, I mean.’

  ‘She believes that I would betray her to the Sidhe if it were the only way to save the City.’

  ‘Are things that bad? And—’ He paused, but continued, ‘would you?’

  The Minister tilted his head to regard Taro. ‘My, my, boy: you appear to have developed quite a backbone. Until recently you were terrified I’d kill you.’

  ‘That was before I met Nual, an’ before I knew you broke yer own rules,’ he said boldly. Which didn’t mean he wasn’t still scared; he just wasn’t going to let fear stop him from finding out what was going on.

  ‘Ah. Touché. Nual chose well when she decided to trust you. What do you think, then: when all this is over, should I perhaps consider replacing Malia with her son?

  Taro said nothing. Not so long ago, this would’ve been his dream come true, but so much had happened in the past few days: the world wasn’t the place he’d thought it was, and his place in it wasn’t what he’d imagined. Besides, the Minister hadn’t answered his question yet.

  ‘It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?’ the Minister continued. ‘I prefer to avoid Angel dynasties, and there are very few male Angels but, as you say, exceptions are some—’

  The Minister stopped speaking, biting off his words mid-sentence.

  For a moment Taro wondered if there was some threat approaching that he hadn’t noticed. He tensed, ready to leap up and defend his master but the Street was quiet, people going about their business as usual.

  Taro looked back at the Minister. He had stopped with one hand half-raised and a gappy look on his face. He looked like he’d just passed out, but forgotten to fall over. Though he didn’t see his lips move, Taro heard him mutter, ‘I think we may have underestimated our enemies.’

  Nual turns to beg Elarn to go back, but the crystal-glazed rocks behind them are featureless and there is no sign of the staircase. Her companion is staring out towards where the sea should be, her face calm and expectant. Nual follows her gaze; now she can make out something on the horizon, a glint, like water held in check. At the edge of hearing is a faint rumble.

  ‘Elarn!’ she cries, ‘this is wrong! We have to leave, now. I cannot help you; you must find the power within yourself to fight this. Elarn, it is still your mind. Reclaim it!’

  She gives no sign of having heard. Instead, she opens her mouth and starts to sing:When my true love comes to me,

  We will walk on the clear blue sea,

  Our skin will thrill to the ocean breeze,

  When my true love comes to me.

  See, my true love comes to me,

  My soul and his will at last be free,

  Our flesh is nothing, shed with ease,

  Come my love, now come to me.

  Nual recognises the words, a sentimental ditty they used to sing together.

  Elarn stops singing and looks sideways, past Nual, down the beach. As her voice dies away the sound of rushing water grows to a roar.

  Nual steps across to block her view and tries to reach for her, but suddenly Elarn is too far away. Elarn frowns at her and Nual’s arms drop to her sides. A little petulantly, Elarn says, ‘Please, don’t be difficult. I have to do this.’

  Nual knows now that she can do nothing that interferes directly with Elarn’s mission, so she stays still. At least she can still speak. ‘Do what?’ she asks.

  Elarn shifts so she can see down the beach. Nual looks too. There is someone coming towards them, walking like a sleep-walker along the base of the cliff.

  Elarn sighs. ‘You shouldn’t have tried to help me. This was going to happen sooner or later, but you’ve seen this place, so it has to be now.’

  Nual gives up trying to make out who the approaching figure is. She looks at Elarn. ‘You have to fight this, Elarn. You are doing exactly what they want.’ The noise of distant water is loud enough now that she has to shout; below the roar there is another sound: a high single note, mesmerising and perfect, sung in Elarn’s voice. It chills and fascinates, and Nual has to resist the urge to stop talking so she can hear it more clearly.

  Elarn looks sad but calm. ‘I can’t fight them. I never could. But if I do this one thing for them, they’ll leave me in peace. I’m sorry you’re here too, but it can’t be helped. You’ll have to stay now, even though this wasn’t meant for you. This is who it was meant for all along. See? Here he comes.’

  Nual turns to see a boy of about the same age she is in this dream. He wears a one-piece suit of unfamiliar design, and walks stiffly, eyes half closed. His is not a single face but a collection, all manner of men’s features of all ages, from youth to old age. The features flicker and change from one to another as Nual watches. A distinguished gentleman seems half-familiar but then he is gone, morphed into a younger, leaner man she has never seen before. Then it shifts again, into a face she knows well.

  The face of the Minister.

  Meraint sat behind his desk, watching the two women on the far side of the room. They were holding hands loosely and their faces looked relaxed, as if in a trance, their eyes staring sightlessly at each other. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he had fallen into one of the ancient stories and here were two Sidhe queens silently battling over the fate of humanity.

  When he had awakened this morning Meraint had been looking forward to a quiet day with the family, maybe they’d even visit the Zoo . . . He had still been under the illusion that he could make a life here.

  Not any more. Once these two had finished doing - well, whatever it was they were doing - and the Angel was safely out of his office, he would go home to Bera, tell her how much he loved her - and then insist that they leave this place as soon as arrangements could be made. Damn maki
ng their fortunes. Khesh City was no place to bring up their children.

  Just as soon as the Angel was gone.

  While she was climbing the stairs up to his office he had activated the desk’s defences so he could shoot her if she threatened his client - not kill her; he would never kill one of his City’s agents, but he could stun the Angel if things turned nasty. But when she came through the door and looked him in the eye he knew he could never harm her. He had never met an Angel before; he had had no idea how magnificent they were. No wonder they were the mistresses of the Undertow, revered by all. And now he would stay here and watch over her, just as she had asked.