The City of Night Neverending

by Steven Lochran

  ‘Praise be,’ the crowd murmured.

  ‘To the wraiths that stalk us, we give this tribute! To the sprites that guide us, we give this thanks! And to the changelings that steal the faces of our fellow men, we give this warning! Spirits all, grant us clear skies and calm seas, and let there be peace between us another year!’

  ‘Praise be!’ the crowd answered with greater strength.

  ‘Archer – light your flame!’

  The woman with the longbow stepped forward. Pulling the arrow from her quiver, she held the head to the fire and watched as it caught alight. She then spun on her heel, notched her arrow, and drew a line on the skiff. It was just faintly visible now, the lantern dangling from its prow a dull glint in the darkness.

  The archer loosed the arrow and the crowd held its breath. Joss looked around – everyone was transfixed by the flaming arc.

  ‘If it doesn’t land on the first shot, the ceremony won’t work,’ Drake whispered to him as the arrow climbed higher and higher, peaked, then began its descent. With a jolt it met its target, and the skiff was consumed in a ball of flame. The crowd whooped and cheered as the lord mayor grabbed the archer’s hand and held it aloft.

  ‘Her aim is true!’ he shouted, and the crowd cheered again. Their excitement only grew louder and more boisterous as the sky was filled with the first burst of fireworks. Dozens of rockets exploded in dazzling clouds of sparkling light, their colours reflected on the water below. And still burning at the centre of it all was the skiff and the tributes it offered.

  All this time the band had been playing in the distance; now the music grew louder to call everyone back to the town centre. Gradually the crowd broke apart as people started filing back up Main Street, leaving only small clusters of onlookers staring out at the tiny boat blazing offshore. That included Joss and the others, who watched the skiff’s passage under the rising moon.

  ‘Strange to think we’ll be standing on the other side of this sea soon enough, ready to begin the first part of our training,’ said Joss, captivated by the blues and blacks and blazing reds before him, and the silver ripples that the moon scattered among them all.

  ‘It’s not going to be easy, you know,’ Drake said as the flames in front of them began to die down.

  ‘We survived the Way. What could be harder than that?’ Hero asked.

  ‘Drudgery,’ Drake said. ‘Eighteen-, maybe even twenty-hour days, seven days a week, herding mammoths from one paddock to another and back again.’

  ‘We’ve herded livestock before,’ Joss said, trying to stave off a creeping sense of disquiet.

  ‘Not mammoths. There’s a reason they get us to work with them as part of our training. Not quite as big as a brontosaur but ten times as wilful. They don’t respond to song swords the way thunder lizards do – not that we’ll have song swords to use, of course. It’s going to come down to our riding and our teamwork. One false move and we get crushed underfoot or killed in a stampede. It’s going to be hard work. Long, hard, gruelling work.’

  The prentices fell silent.

  ‘And here I thought you were the cheery type,’ Hero remarked.

  ‘The cheeriest you’ll ever meet beyond the Veil of Frost.’ Drake flashed a smile.

  Out on the water, there was no more flame – the skiff had sunk beneath the waves. Joss shuddered as he imagined it surrendering to the ocean, anticipating the cold to come.

  ‘How about a quick drink beside a hot fire before calling it a night?’ he suggested to the others, and they heartily agreed. Leaving the shore behind, the prentices retired to a tavern halfway up Main Street, where they squeezed in with all the other patrons. They started with a couple of rounds of sarsaparilla, followed by Hero’s recommendation of dreamflower tea.

  ‘We drink it all the time back home,’ she said. ‘It helps settle the mind before bed.’

  Joss wasn’t sure what to make of drinking crushed-up weeds, but the taste was pleasant enough and it sat soothingly in his stomach as he and the others told stories from their time in the saddle. Edgar earned the biggest laugh of the night with his tale of Sur Wallace’s ill-fated nap beneath a hive of territorial tiger wasps.

  ‘The poor man!’ Drake guffawed through his last mouthful of tea.

  ‘Poor man?’ Edgar said. ‘I was the one applying ointment to his backside for more than half a season afterward!’

  The prentices erupted with hilarity, so immersed in their conversation they hadn’t noticed that half the tavern had emptied out until the owner shuffled past pushing a broom. They began the uphill walk back to their inn, with Edgar keeping everyone entertained with more stories of misadventure from back home. Joss was glad to see how well his friend was already fitting in, having been unsure what the others would make of him. Not that he had the energy to fret over any of that now.

  ‘I’m exhausted,’ he yawned. ‘All I want is a warm bed and a soft pillow and a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Don’t know how likely any of us are to get it with all that noise going on,’ Hero said as they neared the bandstand, her fingers brushing her bandolier full of throwing weapons. ‘You know, all it would take is one quick zamaraq strike to the bandleader’s neck …’

  ‘I’m sure the cells in the local gaol are very peaceful,’ Joss said, shaking his head.

  ‘I wouldn’t kill him. Just graze him a bit.’

  The bandleader was grinning broadly at the crowd, waving his arms around in the air, baton in hand, keeping time with the music – inviting everyone before him to join in the dance. But then a black blur tore through the air. His smile disappeared. The crowd gasped as the bandleader looked down. A barbed bolt jutted from his breastbone, his crimson coat growing an even darker shade of red.

  Joss searched the crowd, saw Drake doing the same. Edgar’s mouth had dropped wide open, while Hero remarked, ‘That wasn’t me, I swear.’

  The bandleader fell to his knees, swayed there a moment, then tumbled from the stage. The music died away, instrument by instrument.

  ‘Pyrates!’ came the cry from somewhere in the crowd, and the town’s warning bells began to ring, far too late.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A JOB TO DO

  SHADOWY figures cleaved their way through the town square, felling villagers left and right with blades as sharp as butchers’ knives. Flames erupted overhead. Cries of terror curdled the air as people tried desperately to flee.

  ‘What do we do?’ Edgar asked, his voice cracking with fear, the crowd pushing and shoving him.

  ‘You need to get back to the inn,’ Joss told him. ‘Now!’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Don’t argue with me, steward!’ Joss gave him a quick shove to get him started, and though the boy still hesitated he eventually nodded, calling out, ‘Good luck,’ as he ran off in the direction of the inn. Then Joss turned to Drake and Hero. ‘We need to get to the stables! We’ll have a better chance at fending them off if we’re mounted up.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Hero said as she hurled her bladed zamaraqs with lethal precision, felling two pyrates who were trying to herd a crying family down the street. ‘Let’s go!’

  Pulling the Champion’s Blade from its scabbard and unhooking his whip, Joss led the way. People were running down alleys and crowding through any open door in their attempts to escape, while flames continued to burst all around them.

  It was impossible to tell where exactly the attackers were within the crush of the crowd. Even the wardens looked to be having trouble, charging blindly with their weapons drawn at no discernible target, the chief warden himself at the head of the pack.

  He was so focused on the crowd that he failed to see what was two only steps in front of him and crashed into Joss at full speed, the steel epaulettes of his chestplate smacking painfully against Joss’s shoulder.

  ‘Muck!’ Joss cried out as he was sent spinning to the ground.

  ‘Watchit!’ the chief warden grunted, rushing past. His shoulder throbbing in agony, Joss quickly gathered h
imself together while muttering to the others, ‘It’s not enough to be attacked by pyrates, we have to watch out for wardens too?’

  But neither responded. Looking about, he couldn’t see Hero or Drake. A chill ran through him, spiking his skin. Could they have been grabbed off the street while he hurried ahead, none the wiser? Could they be lying in a gutter, dead or injured? He swayed in place, unsure of what to do or where to go, even as the crowd continued to scream, even as the pyrates continued to slash and pillage, even as he saw for the first time a red-bearded man standing where the bandleader had fallen, barking orders and growling dire threats.

  Behind him, he might find Hero and Drake. Ahead of him awaited his only advantage. He called their names, heard nothing but panic and terror and chaos. He was numb, shocked, unsure. And then, in an instant, he wasn’t. He had to go on. He had to make it to the stables. There was nothing else he could do. Not if he wanted to be of any help. Not if he wanted to save anyone.

  He took a step. Another. Gathered speed. Began to run. With sword in one hand and whip in the other, he bolted down the side street to the stables.

  ‘Grab everything you can! The Shadow God must have his tribute!’ the red-bearded leader roared from the bandstand as Joss pressed on. He was almost at the stables when a figure leapt from the shadows with a flamecannon in hand.

  ‘Drop your weapons! Now!’ the pyrate ordered, firing his weapon at the sky in a fearsome display.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Joss replied, raising his sword.

  The pyrate cocked his head, seemingly stunned that Joss was defying him. And if he were to be honest, Joss was just as surprised himself. His battlefield experience was limited, to say the least. Skirmishes with bullies surely didn’t count, and the clashes he’d had while on the Way were won more through evasion than attack. His training as a paladero would involve sword-fighting lessons when the time came, but that did him no good here and now.

  So he improvised. Cracking his whip, he kept the pyrate at bay and his finger from the trigger. Every time his attacker tried to draw close, Joss lashed at his face. Every time he tried to squeeze off a burst of fire, Joss snapped at his hands. It was enough to make the pyrate stumble backward until he was pressed against the wall of the laneway.

  ‘Joss!’ Drake’s voice at the end of the laneway broke his concentration. He looked to see his friend rushing towards him, and that’s all it took for the pyrate to aim and fire.

  The burst of flame was so hot it felt like his flesh was melting off his face. Moving fast, Joss rolled out of the cannon’s sweeping path. He cursed as he lost his grip on the Champion’s Blade, the sword clattering on the pebbly street, while the flamecannon roared over his head and then went suddenly quiet.

  He could hear Drake calling out in alarm, his cries echoing off the surrounding buildings. But he could also hear the hiss of the pyrate’s flamecannon refilling its tank, the clicking of its filament as it prepared to spark. He had only a second to act before the pyrate launched another sizzling jet of fire at him, and this time there was no way he could avoid it.

  ‘Any last words, ya pox-plagued bilge rat?’ the pyrate asked, aiming the cannon right at Joss’s face.

  Crouching low, Joss coiled his hand against metal. ‘Just one,’ he replied, gripping tightly. ‘Duck!’

  The pyrate didn’t have a chance to react beyond a confused tilt of the head as Joss wrenched open the manhole cover and sent it flying. It landed with teeth-shattering force, the impact knocking the pyrate off his feet and out cold. Joss was still panting from the fight when Drake joined him, similarly breathless.

  ‘Joss, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to distract you.’

  ‘No harm done.’ Joss turned from the pyrate. ‘What about you? Are you all right?’

  ‘As well as can be expected.’

  ‘And Hero?’

  ‘We were swept back by the crowd to the tavern we visited earlier. A dozen or more villagers have taken shelter there and Hero’s holding off a regiment of pyrates outside it. She sent me to find you.’

  ‘I don’t know how much help I can be. Just one of these thugs was hard enough to deal with …’

  ‘Unless you had a ferocious raptor with you who’s been begging to be cut loose,’ Drake reminded him, prompting a grin to spread across Joss’s face.

  ‘Not to mention a great big tundra bear with a bad temper!’

  Drake shook his head. ‘It’ll take too much time to saddle them both right now, especially if Pietro’s feeling stubborn. Because, if you haven’t noticed’ – Drake turned his attention to the far end of the street – ‘we’ve got company.’

  Joss looked to see a whole gang of pyrates stalking down the laneway, scraping their cutlasses along the cobblestone. Drake drew his spear and stepped in front of Joss without hesitation.

  ‘You get to the stables,’ he said. ‘I’ll hold them off.’

  Joss would have protested, would have drawn his sword alongside his fellow prentice, but he knew if anyone could handle themselves it was Drake. So instead he plucked the Champion’s Blade from the ground and rushed for the stables, finding them as quiet as they’d been that morning.

  ‘Come on, boy,’ Joss said, hopping the gate to Azof’s stable. ‘We have a job to do.’

  The thunder lizard growled its approval as Joss quickly saddled and harnessed him. All that was left to do was throw open the pen and ride out.

  ‘Let’s go cause some grief. Hyah!’ He cracked Azof’s reins, driving the beast into the burning night.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A WILD PANIC

  DRAKE was fending off the pyrates with all he had, his spear flashing like the firing of a bolt gun. Every blow his attackers tried to land was swatted away, each riposte quickly coupled with a jab to the gut, a crack to the knees, a smack across the knuckles. The pyrates were growing increasingly frustrated, circling him with weapons at the ready, looking for the first chance to run him through. But Joss wasn’t about to let that happen. He urged Azof forward, and the raptor proved as nimble as ever.

  ‘Look yonder!’ the nearest pyrate yelled as he caught sight of the advancing thunder lizard, only to be slashed across the chest with Azof’s talons. He fell messily to the ground, his companion next to him faring no better. Azof snapped his jaws around the helmeted man’s arm, using his tail at the same time to lash the pyrate behind him.

  ‘What demon scourge is this?!’ the largest of the pyrates growled, trying his best to keep Azof back with his blade.

  ‘No demon!’ Joss said, his hold on Azof’s reins as loose as could be. ‘Just pure raptor!’

  The pyrates were in a wild panic, their urgency only growing as a horn sounded from the distant shore, its bellow low and booming.

  ‘Back to the boats! Now!’ the largest pyrate shouted, and those who could still stand turned and ran from the laneway. They showed no concern in abandoning their fallen comrades, who were groaning in agony beneath Azof’s clawed feet. The raptor snarled and kicked at them, forcing Joss to take a firm grip of his bridle to keep him under control.

  ‘What in the Ever After are they doing?’ Drake said as he drew alongside Joss, watching the pyrates flee.

  ‘Retreating,’ Joss replied with just as much confusion. ‘They must have got all they came for, I guess.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean Hero won’t still be in trouble,’ Drake said. ‘Joss, you need to get to her.’

  ‘But what about you?’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on this lot, make sure they don’t escape before the wardens can arrest them. Then I’ll saddle up Pietro and join you as soon as I can.’

  As much as Joss wanted to argue the point, he knew Drake was right.

  ‘Take care,’ he told his friend. ‘These streets aren’t safe, even with all these thugs on the run.’

  ‘Likewise,’ Drake said.

  With no further words, Joss bolted in the direction of the tavern. Azof seemed to appreciate the chance to stretch his legs, weaving between burni
ng buildings as if he were running an obstacle course. In no time at all they were at their destination, where Hero was standing in the doorframe with her hat pushed back from her face. Her cheek was bruised and her lip bloodied, but otherwise she looked no worse for wear.

  ‘There you are!’ she called out. ‘I’ve been waiting.’

  ‘Drake said you were under siege and that you needed help,’ Joss replied as he guided Azof over to her, then slipped from the saddle. When he landed he saw several terrified faces pressed against the frosted glass of the tavern’s window, checking to see if their attackers had returned.

  ‘True for the former. Less so the latter,’ Hero said as she sheathed her humming knife. ‘As it happened, the pyrates turned tail the moment they heard that horn.’

  ‘But … why? Is this what they do? Cause some chaos, inflict as much violence as they can, just to pilfer some valuables and run off again?’

  ‘More than just some chaos, I reckon.’ Hero pointed down the avenue.

  Joss turned to see villagers doing all they could to contain the blaze that had engulfed their town. They were forming lines to douse the flames with buckets of water while the fire brigade set up its hoses. The fearsome orange glow was reflected in the shattered glass from all the ransacked shopfronts, heaped in the gutters and half-burying the fragments of a trampled manta kite. Joss stared at its broken wings and ripped streamers, hoping its owner had made it to safety.

  Following the path of destruction, Joss and Hero found that it led all the way to the shore, where the pyrates were retreating in waves. Many of them were carrying stolen loot, whisking it away to the fleet of copper submersibles that awaited them in the harbour. But it wasn’t just stolen goods that they were taking with them.

  ‘They have hostages!’ Joss exclaimed, watching in horror as villagers were hauled down the pier and into the idling vessels. The town wardens, desperate to rescue the civilians, were blocked by the livestock the pyrates had let loose from the petting farm on their way through. Megatheria, glyptodons and dodos all charged up Main Street, the perfect barricade to the pyrates’ escape.