Angel Arias

by Marianne de Pierres

  Lenoir studied the young one who refused him. Her clothes were torn and her skin streaked with dirt and moisture. Blood had congealed on her neck and at her wrists. She was unfamiliar and yet something of her tone tripped a warning in him. Her hand, which held the knife to Tanel’s throat, was perfectly still.

  ‘What brings you to this, baby bat?’ he said more gently.

  ‘He – hurt – her,’ cried a voice from behind him.

  The boy Naif called Rollo stumbled to stand by the girl’s side. He carried his own stick and was panting, having run down from the gate at the top of the amphitheatre. ‘He took her from outside Danksoi and brought her here where no one would look. We came and freed her.’

  ‘How did you know where she was?’

  ‘The uthers showed us,’ said Dark Eve.

  Lenoir stiffened. ‘The uthers?’

  ‘The rope is made by them. Strong enough to bind even you, Lenoir,’ said Dark Eve.

  Lenoir resisted kneeling down to finger it. He could see the complex weave.

  ‘You might have saved our lives at Danksoi, but we won’t let your kind abuse ours. Brand tried it with Naif, and others before,’ said Clash, ‘and now this.’

  He raised his own stick above Tanel’s head, a vicious twist to his mouth.

  ‘Even Ripers can be ended,’ added Dark Eve.

  ‘Tanel?’ whispered Lenoir. ‘Explain.’

  The rogue Riper twisted against his bonds but they held fast and tight. ‘I was hungry. I needed sustenance,’ the Riper gasped.

  Lenoir frowned. ‘Why did you not go to Varonessa for food? The young ones are not to be touched. That is our arrangement.’

  ‘Not to be touched! You mean not to be touched too early. Not until you’re ready to let those things in the dark suck us dry,’ spat the girl with the knife. ‘Let’s gut them both, I say.’

  ‘Suki,’ said Rollo, clutching her free arm. ‘Steady.’

  Suki! Naif’s friend. Recognition struck Lenoir like a blow. A growl tore loose from his throat. He wrenched the stick from Clash’s hand and stabbed downward at a sharp angle, piercing Tanel’s throat under his chin. As he pulled it back out, blood pumped from the wound in great pulses.

  Tanel opened his mouth to speak but only a gurgle escaped. His body went into spasms, straining against the uthers’ rope, and then eventually became still.

  The young ones stood in shocked silence, even Suki.

  ‘That is what it is to kill someone,’ said Lenoir hoarsely.

  Rollo was the first one to find his voice. ‘Lenoir . . . why?’

  Lenoir stared at every one of them in turn. ‘It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Death to a being who has lived thousands of years. That will happen to us all if we don’t feed on you. We will die. ’

  ‘You cannot scavenge our life to save yours,’ said Dark Eve gravely. ‘We will fight you to the last, to stop you from doing that.’

  ‘Then prepare yourselves,’ he said grimly. ‘Because that is what it will be.’

  A wild throb of anger pierced through Naif’s exhaustion, making her jerk upright.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Jarrold.

  She pressed her hand to her stomach and prayed for the intensity of the emotion to abate.

  Lenoir? What’s wrong?

  But the Riper didn’t speak in her mind.

  Instead, she was forced to answer Jarrold.

  ‘A pain,’ she gasped. ‘Perhaps I twisted something climbing.’

  ‘Hunger, more like,’ said Jarrold. ‘Can you make it?’

  She nodded but let him help her up the stairs and down a dusty hallway to the kitchen.

  ‘In that cupboard,’ he said.

  She opened the shuttered door and found some objects wrapped in brown paper: dates, some dried apple and a greasy cheese round that smelled slightly off.

  While she gathered the food Jarrold opened the back door and leaned out. When he straightened he had a bucket in his hand.

  ‘Bit mucky from the roof run-off but it’s water.’

  He came back and tipped some of the water into her hands so she could wash them.

  She returned the favour and when he’d finished, Naif spread the parcels out on the bench. They drank the rest of the water and pinched off pieces of cheese to put with the dried fruit.

  After they’d eaten enough, they put the remains back in the cupboard. Jarrold led Naif up the corridor then, and stopped at a door.

  ‘Keep low now. Sometimes the wardens watch these areas with their eyeglasses.’

  She followed his lead by dropping to her knees and crawling over to the window. Peering up out of one corner, he pointed past the churned soil and roughly built fence erected to separate this end of Deope from the rest of the city, to an ugly, square building crowned by a large cross. From their vantage they could only see the roof as it rose above the houses on the opposite side of the fence. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘The Holding House?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘See the spires alongside it? That’s the market tents. Em will be there now with Mother.’

  Naif looked up into the sky. The sun, though behind a thick layer of cloud, seemed to be almost at its summit. It had taken them all morning to get here.

  ‘Will the Holding House be guarded?’

  He nodded. ‘Probably. But I can make some trouble in the markets and they’ll come to sort it out. You might be able to get past them.’

  It seemed the best idea and was clearly one he’d already thought about. ‘It’s dangerous. What if they catch you?’

  ‘What if they catch you?’

  She took his point. ‘We need to get some clean clothes. People will notice us.’

  He shrugged. ‘How? These places are empty. There’s nothing left.’

  ‘Maybe some clothes have been forgotten.’

  Jarrold yawned, sleepy now after eating. ‘We could look, I s’pose.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Naif. Her energy had returned quicker than his. But then, he had lifted her most of the way up.

  ‘If you go out the back door, you can go from house to house without being seen. But stay away from the front of the houses. If they’re watching and see you, they’ll send the hounds in.’

  ‘I won’t go far.’

  He took a deep tired breath and she noticed he was nursing one arm.

  ‘Did you hurt yourself?’

  ‘No.’

  Naif let it go. Jarrold, like Joel, wasn’t the kind to admit to an injury.

  ‘Will you watch the Holding House?’ she said.

  ‘Uh huh. And you watch your step. You can’t tell what’s safe around here. Stay off anything that’s mouldy or damp.’

  Naif crawled back to the corridor where she stood up and glanced back at him hunkered against the window.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘I just wondered . . . why are you helping me?’

  ‘Don’t you think you can trust me?’

  She didn’t reply but kept up her steady questioning stare.

  ‘I want to leave with you when you go,’ he said.

  ‘With us? Why?’

  ‘Just because . . .’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘I do.’ His face took on a stubborn set. ‘I’m leaving this frossing place, and I’m never coming back.’

  He turned his whole body away from her so that his chin was resting against the window ledge.

  Naif sighed. She would argue with him later.

  Jarrold had kept to the sides of the corridor when they entered the house, so she mimicked his route on the way back. She crept along slowly, placing one foot carefully in front of the other and testing each step. It took her an age to reach the back door, then the back fence, then the tree whose roots had penetrated so far below the surface, and finally, the narrow high gateway to the next house.

  This home was much the same as the one she’d left; two storeys of dust and rotting wood. She could smell the damp earth below rising
up through the floorboards, and all the cupboards had been stripped bare, leaving only traces of rats. No clothes.

  She threaded back through the yard of the house in which Jarrold waited, and crossed to the opposite yard. This house was much the same, though she discovered an extra loft at the top of the stairs, like the one in Emilia and Jarrold’s home.

  At the back of the loft, tucked next to a thick wooden vertical beam, she found a blanket chest. Inside it was an old coat and a set of curtains, forgotten by the owners.

  The coat was for a child but was just large enough for her small, light frame. She slipped it on and bundled up a curtain to take back to Jarrold, thinking he could drape it around his shoulders.

  As she walked carefully down the stairs, she thought she heard a faint shout. Jarrold? She felt a tremor and a sudden sense of urgency filled her. She must get back!

  Halfway across the yard, she stepped into a small pothole and her foot stuck. As she tried to lift it free, the hole became wider beneath her moving weight. The sides collapsed and she was plunged to her waist, the moist dirt compacting around her.

  No!

  She became very still, not wanting to deepen the sinkhole, and looked for something she could use as a lever. The yard was littered with bits of wood and stones from a ruined outdoor baker.

  In the warmer months, Grave residents liked to cook their meat outside to keep their homes cool. The roughly cut ovens were made of rock and held in place by a wooden frame. The stones on this one had crumbled away leaving only the joists.

  If she stretched to her right, she might just reach one of them. But she would only get one chance. The movement would likely make the sinkhole widen. Already she could feel the soil loosening beneath her feet.

  Images of the dark emptiness under the hidden bridge filled her mind.

  She wanted to call Jarrold for help. But what if someone heard her? What if there were wardens close by? If they sent in the hounds, they would both be captured.

  Jarrold had done so much to help her already and there might be more sinkholes. He could fall in one as well.

  I can get myself out of this.

  Bundling up the curtain she still clutched, she threw it towards the broken oven, hoping to hook it on something. It slipped, so she tried again. This time it snagged on nails in one of the joists.

  She began to pull. At first, nothing happened except that pain radiated up her arms and across her shoulders from the strain. But Naif knew how to deal with pain; knew how to endure. She continued with dogged determination.

  Slowly, her body shifted, breaking the soil’s grip. Hand over hand she worked her way along the curtain, praying that it wouldn’t tear free from the nails. Jarrold would be wondering what was keeping her. And now she’d ruined the very clothes she’d gone looking for.

  As her legs began to pull free, the sinkhole gave way further, the soil sliding in tighter. She started to drop again and only her grip on the curtain kept her from disappearing down beneath the ground level.

  Giving one final, desperate pull she felt her legs come free and she was able to scramble over the lip of the hole. She caught a quick breath and scrambled up onto the frame of the baker. The earth began to rumble.

  Without looking back, she climbed over the fence and ran for the house. Once inside, she called for Jarrold as loudly as she dared. When he didn’t answer, she raced to the front room.

  He wasn’t there but a handful of dates lay scattered on the floor, and there were scrape marks in the dust.

  Hounds!

  It looked as though they’d dragged him out.

  She crouched down, exhausted and shaking again, not knowing what to do. A sound leached through the floor like an old person in pain but deeper, louder than a human could be; a groan so deep and desperate that she wanted to clap her hands over her ears. The floor began to shake.

  Naif sprang up. Which way should she go? Front or back? Before she could decide, the floor between her and the back door buckled. Panicked, she ran for the front, heedless of who might be watching the street.

  As she reached the gate of the neglected garden, the whole house began to subside, screeching and jarring its way into the huge sinkhole opening up beneath it.

  Naif kept running, past the other houses on the deserted strip and in the direction of the marketplace and the Holding House.

  A crowd had collected on the fenced-off edge of Deope, drawn by the noise and the tremors.

  Someone called to her that there was an opening in the wire so she scrambled over the ruptured cobblestones and hurled herself through it. Hands reached out to catch her as she fell down.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’ said one person.

  ‘What in Grave’s name are you doing in there?’ said another.

  ‘Where are your parents?’ Another.

  Thankfully their attention was soon reclaimed by the collapsing house and she slipped away.

  Whistles sounded, shrieking above the noise of the subsidence, and from where she stood, peering between the shoulders of others, she saw wardens arriving on sleds.

  The crowd parted for them and they stopped at the hole in the fence. One of the wardens dismounted and set the hounds free.

  They burst through, yelping and running in frightened circles over the rough ground, confused by the noise and conflicting smells.

  Naif slipped behind a large woman holding a baby and made her way to the back edge of the growing crowd. Hugging her filthy coat tight, she headed in the direction of the Holding House.

  She found it, one street away from the market, as Jarrold had said. Hiding behind a stand outside the paper merchant’s shop, she watched the outside intently. Several wardens ran from the building towards Deope leaving just one on guard and even he had left the door to walk halfway along the street.

  Naif circled back behind the merchant’s and found the lane that led to the back of the Holding House. Then she crept along the far side and turned the corner towards the front door, praying the warden wouldn’t turn.

  A short distance away, the sinking house still screeched and rumbled. The sound disguised the noise she made opening the heavy door to the Holding House. She shut it quickly behind her and stopped still, holding her breath, listening for a warning shout.

  When none came she let out her breath and looked around. In the glimpse she got into the downstairs rooms, the furnishings were sparse: bureaus and chairs lined in rows.

  Where would they have Markes? Upstairs or in the cellar?

  A noise on the landing above decided her to try the cellar. The stairway down would be near the kitchen, so she tiptoed along the dark hall, fearful that each creak of the floorboards would bring someone from the rooms. But the house seemed empty; everyone gone to watch the Deope house.

  She’d made a truly huge distraction of her own without meaning to. But where was Jarrold? Did the wardens have him here as well? Had it been his faint shout she’d heard? The cellar door was locked from her side, so she slid back the bolt and began to descend. It was unlit and she held tight to the rough wood banister so as not to trip. As she reached the bottom step, hands grabbed her roughly and pushed her hard against the wall.

  ‘Stay still or we’ll stick you,’ said a voice she recognised instantly. ‘We’ve got a weapon.’

  ‘Jarrold!’ she whispered.

  ‘Naif?’

  ‘Naif!’ The second voice to utter her name sent her pulse hammering.

  ‘Markes!’

  The hands that had knocked her sideways now reached for her and helped her upright.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ asked Jarrold with apology in his tone.

  ‘No. We have a chance to get out now or not at all. Quick. Follow me,’ she replied.

  ‘But how did you get in?’ asked Markes, in a quavering voice. ‘Did they see you?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Do you hear that noise? The house we were hiding in, Jarrold – it’s collapsing.’

  ‘Fross!’ exclaimed Jarrold.

/>   ‘Sssh!’ she said fiercely. ‘Come.’

  They followed her up the stairs and along to the front door. With their help, Naif pulled it ajar just enough to see out. The warden was still there, speaking to someone, with his back turned to them.

  Just as she’d known Jarrold’s and Markes’s voices in the dark, so she knew the figure.

  Emilia!

  Naif withdrew and looked at the others. Even in the gloom of the hallway, she could see the bruises on Markes’s face and the shadows under his eyes.

  ‘Emilia’s outside talking to the warden who should be guarding the door. If we go the other way quickly, we have a chance. Don’t stop.’

  ‘Emilia?’ whispered Markes. ‘She’s here?’

  ‘She knew we were coming through Deope. She must have seen me in the crowd and realised what I was doing. She had said she would help.’

  ‘She’s all right, my sister.’ Jarrold grinned. ‘Sometimes.’

  Naif made an impatient face. There wasn’t time for their marvelling.

  ‘We have to go. Now!’ She put her finger to her mouth to signal they should stay quiet and then she beckoned them forward. This time when they opened the door, she stepped out and slid back along the wall and around the corner.

  Markes and Jarrold followed, staying close to her and keeping silent until they were a short distance away.

  They huddled together inside the door of a building whose occupants, Naif guessed, had gone to watch the collapse. She took in the shelves of tools, the hides stretched on racks and the stench.

  ‘Over there,’ said Jarrold pointing to a pile of uncured skins. ‘The racks are full, so they won’t be collecting any more today. And no one will come near it for the stink.’

  Naif nodded. It was a good idea, though her eyes were watering and she had to swallow to stop gagging.

  They scrambled over the moist pile and slid down the other side into a dark corner.

  Naif could feel the greasy animal fat and blood on her skin. She placed her hand to her nose trying to filter some of the smell.

  The three of them crouched in the corner to talk.

  ‘Emilia saw us leave,’ said Markes. ‘I’m sure she did. She wanted to come.’

  ‘How could you know that?’ said Naif.