Bringer of Light

Bringer of Light Page 15

by Jaine Fenn

Knowing Hylwen was likely to remind her of her ignorance, Ifanna added.

 

  Ifanna refused to lose hope so soon after rediscovering it.

 

  Such thoughts were close to blasphemy, yet Ifanna found they came easily to her now.

 

  Hylwen obviously wanted Ifanna to have to ask.

 

 

 

 

 

  Ifanna wanted to believe the Cariad’s promise, to grasp hope with both hands. Yet Hylwen spoke sense. And her encounter with the Cariad had not gone at all as she had expected.

 

 

  admitted Hylwen.

  Ifanna concentrated on the nearest guard, who held the end of the rope binding her hands. Certainly he was not happy; that much she could tell by looking at his face. To find out more, she needed to get closer, ideally to make eye contact. But that would be neither simple nor wise. She abandoned her plan, and looked back at Hylwen.

 

  They came to a door which the priest unlocked. Outside, night had fallen, though the darkness was partially dispelled by unearthly glowing globes like those in the Tyr, these ones set on high poles to cast pools of white radiance around them. The houses here were as grand as any in Plas Morfren. Ifanna shivered in the chill night air. She half expected the guards to blindfold her now there were no more steps to descend, but they did not, and she soon found that there were steps and slopes to negotiate out here too.

  Her bare arm touched Hylwen’s as they descended a narrow stairway, and Ifanna felt the spark of contact. she thought.

 

 

 

  Ifanna noted the use of ‘we’.

 

  Trying not to feel foolishly gratified that Hylwen had finally decided to use her name, Ifanna thought back,

 

  She made it sound so simple. Yet she only had Hylwen’s word for it that they were in danger.

 

  Ifanna had not meant that: she was asking whether Hylwen would go ahead without her anyway. She suspected not: the other girl needed her help. Ifanna’s offence at Hylwen’s manner was replaced by a warm glow of conspiracy. She had an ally, and they were going to fight back.

 

  Ifanna did not have the advantage of Hylwen’s knowledge of the city; wherever she ended up, she would be in unfamiliar territory. She could trust Hylwen, if only because she needed Ifanna for the plan to work.

  Ifanna took stock of their opposition. One guard walked beside the priest at the front, carrying a lantern to light the path where the white globes were sparse. She and Hylwen each had two guards walking alongside them. She looked at the two with her: one was loosely holding the rope around her hands; the other, immediately behind him, carried a loaded crossbow, though he held the weapon pointed down. Two more guards brought up the rear. The odds were not good, but Ifanna had already made her choice. She kept close enough to Hylwen for them to stay in contact.

  As they silently refined their plan the streets became narrower and the globes less frequent, until the lights shone only at the intersections of major routes. The few people they met silently stepped aside for the party to pass, though some, openly curious, looked at them.

  The streets were flatter and less well-surfaced here, the houses meaner. Hylwen silently warned her they were approaching the junction she deemed best for them to make their escape, then spoke in Ifanna’s head:

  Both girls stopped dead and turned. Ifanna caught the eye of the armed monitor, then thought, with all the force of lust and compulsion she could muster:

  She saw him begin to raise his crossbow; his companion, in his surprise, relaxed his grip on the rope. She grabbed her end of it and yanked it out of his hand. The guard with the crossbow hesitated, and someone shouted an alarm. Ifanna looked around, desperately trying to spot her escape route; Hylwen had picked this spot precisely to allow the two of them to take opposite alleys, thus splitting the guards. The dark path to freedom lay just beyond the armed monitor.

  Someone tried to grab her from behind and she ducked, just as she heard the twang of a crossbow, and a scream. So Hylwen had succeeded. Her own guard still looked confused, standing there with his weapon only half raised, and the guard who had held her rope was going for his knife.

  She heard another crossbow shot, and this time the scream was female. Though Hylwen’s cry chilled her heart, Ifanna was already pushing through the gap between the two distracted monitors. She shoved the crossbow aside, which the monitor had not expected; he kept hold of his weapon, but took half a step back as he did so. Ifanna felt the weapon discharge and the bolt skittered across the cobbles. A heartbeat later, something tore her tunic, pricking her flank.

  She dodged into the alley, her heart pounding, and heard more shouts – something about a rooftop? – but her only concern now was to escape. The lightness she had felt after the Cariad’s judgment was back, and she expected to float free of the ground at any moment – either that, or be brought down by a crossbow bolt in her back.

  She skidded down a side-turning. From behind she could hear the sound of running feet, only one man, but that was enough; she needed to lose him. But her hands were still bound in front of her, and though she held the loose end of the rope bunched in her fists, still this slowed her down. She could never outrun her pursuer, so she would have to lose him. In the dark she ran straight past one alley, and when she spotted another one ahead, she took it, only to fi
nd it was a dead end, with a high wooden fence at the far end.

  Ifanna looked around in panic. She could hear the monitor close behind; if she retraced her steps, he would surely spot her. There was a large barrel, standing halfway down, and she crouched down and slid behind it, pressing back into the gap against the wall. The wood felt slimy, and her nose was filled with the stink of stagnant water, but it was better than standing in the open, waiting to be caught. She prayed to the Weaver that she would remain unseen.

  The slap of boots grew louder, accompanied by the creak of oiled leather and a man’s heavy breathing.

  Ifanna held her own breath. The monitor carried on past the end of the alley. She allowed herself to exhale, but made herself stay where she was, though she could feel the beginnings of pain, and a wetness she did not want to consider, just below her ribs.

  She started to scan the walls, looking for anything that might help her, and saw something she had missed before: faint light, coming from what might just be a side-turning, a gap in the wall of this apparently blind alley.

  She stood, and took a step forward, but she had dropped the end of the rope, which tangled around her ankles, and she fell hard onto the cobbles.

  For a moment she lay there, her raw wrists stinging and her head throbbing where she had banged it. She had to get up, to keep going. She tried to move, willing strength into her arms, but light danced in her eyes. She tried to blink the illusion away.

  It was no illusion. There was light coming from ahead of her: a lantern. She looked up to see a priest and a monitor.

  She had tried so hard, only to fail at the last! She might have screamed her frustration, had her mouth not still been gagged.

  But wait a moment: these did not look like her escort; they wore dark cloaks, and neither of them were out of breath.

  The monitor addressed the priest. ‘Give me the lantern; I will speak to them.’

  Ifanna stared at the pair, wondering if striking her head had addled her senses. The priest handed the light to his companion, then bent down to help her up. His gentleness surprised her.

  Ifanna had no strength to resist. She let him lead her down the side-alley.

  The priest whispered, ‘You are safe now.’

  Safe? she thought. In what way is this safe?

  People were talking, somewhere nearby, and like everything else that had happened since she hit her head, the words made little sense. After a while, the voices stopped. The priest was still holding her arm.

  The monitor came back a few moments later. ‘I told them I saw nothing,’ he said, ‘so they should not come back this way. Still, we should not tarry.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jarek found himself muttering under his breath, Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up! He wasn’t sure whether he was haranguing the ship, which was slowly coming to life, or Nual, who was even now flying through the corridors of the hab towards him.

  He spotted movement on a monitor; Nual was in the airlock at last. On the vid feed he saw her reach out to close the door. Jarek activated internal coms and said, ‘Hold on! Ain’s on her way.’

  ‘Do we have time to wait for her?’ Nual looked over her shoulder.

  ‘If I get a green board before she shows up, I’ll rethink, but I don’t want to abandon her if I can avoid it.’

  ‘Wait, she’s coming.’ A few moments later the lingua arrived in the ‘lock, flushed and breathless. Nual closed the door behind her. Now all they needed was the ship to show a state of readiness . . . and . . .

  Yes! Jarek hissed in triumph as the console flashed. Time to get the fuck out of here.

  He undocked, and they headed away at max acceleration.

  He’d set up a full sensor feed to the holocube while he was waiting for the Heart of Glass’s flight systems to warm up. Once they were speeding away there wasn’t much else for him to do other than stare at it, willing something to happen – or nothing, preferably.

  Because the approaching mass was on the far side of the hab, he didn’t see it hit. The impact showed as a faint tremor in the image, following by a spray of debris exploding out – no: two sprays, one behind and one in front. Then the side of the hab nearest them deformed and burst as a blunt spike thrust out from the ruined structure. Whatever it was, it had skewered the entire hab.

  ‘Holy Christos!’ breathed Jarek. He heard someone behind him, and turned to see Nual rise up through the hatch. ‘Get Ain,’ he said. ‘We need to talk to her.’

  The lingua’s usual calm expression had been replaced by blank shock by the time she arrived on the bridge.

  Nual followed, hovering silently behind her.

  Jarek turned to Ain and asked ‘So what the fuck just happened?’

  ‘Th— It was a ship, a mining barge, according to the core’s sensors. There are many ships observing the hab from the exclusion zone radius. They are not allowed to make contact or approach, but people wanted to see the visitors – you – even from a distance.’

  ‘And this ship just broke away from the other watchers and rammed the hab?’

  ‘Aye-okay. That is what appears to have happened.’

  ‘Why didn’t someone do something?’

  ‘No one expected anything like this! There would be no time to react. Besides, what could they do? No doubt the other ships tried to send a warning, but the hab’s external coms are – were – inoperative. It was lucky you saw the attack.’

  It was down to paranoia more than luck, but what mattered was that he had seen it. ‘Wait,’ he said, ‘this mining barge – did it have a crew on board?’

  ‘I would imagine the ship came from a lo-tech domain, probably an out-system scavenger colony—’

  ‘How many people, Ain?’

  ‘That sort of ship generally requires a minimum crew of eight,’ she whispered, ‘but unless they had the opportunity to let some of the workers disembark – which is unlikely – then there were probably between seventy and eighty people on board.’

  ‘Shit! What the hell was the captain thinking? No one could’ve survived an impact like that!’

  ‘Clarification: Captain Reen, you do not yet grasp the full relationship between a patron and his populace.’

  ‘Call me Jarek, for fuck’s sake, Ain – I just saved your goddamn life! So what you’re saying is that they trashed the hab, wiping themselves out in the process, just because their patron told them to?’

  ‘Aye-okay. Many patrons are as gods to their populaces. The patron may have assured those aboard the mining barge that they would receive their reward in the afterlife in return for their sacrifice. Or he might have said he would kill their loved ones back in his domain if they did not obey without question.’

  ‘Talk about the old carrot and stick!’ Jarek said. ‘And you don’t know which particular patron ordered the ship to fly into the hab?’

  ‘This lingua – I – do not.’

  ‘But you have your suspicions,’ Nual said, her voice a husky murmur; she concluded, more forcefully, ‘Which you will share with us now.’

  Ain looked taken aback, then said, ‘Of course. Though I cannot be sure, evidence suggests that the patron responsible for the suicide attack is a member of the Sons of the Silent Age, or possibly a smaller but closely allied sept. Of all the septs based in this region, they are the most strongly isolationist, and they maintain a tight control over their populaces.’

  ‘How many males are there in this Silent Age sept?’ asked Jarek.

  ‘Allegiances shift, and are not always revealed until called upon in the Consensus, but that sept is a large one, with a core membership of fifty or sixty.’

  ‘So at least fifty Sidhe males want us dead badly enough to sacrifice their people and seriously piss off the Consensus. Great.’ Oddly, Jarek found he was more angry than afraid: he was angry at himself for being too trusting, and angry at the local males who treated their human charges with such contempt – though perhaps it wasn’t so different from the Three Cities, with their democracy by as
sassination . . .

  He found his eye drawn back to the cube, where the image of the ruined hab was just starting to lose definition as the Heart of Glass sped away. It was no longer venting debris, and the nose of the ramming ship had emerged through the section where the hab’s airlock had once been. ‘Except that we weren’t the real target, were we?’ he said, half to himself. ‘They were trying to destroy this ship – trashing the hab, and us, was secondary. They probably blindsided the Heart of Glass because we had working sensors, while the hab’s were still flaky after the datastrike. Coming in from the far side didn’t matter because they used a vessel hefty enough to punch right through the hab and into my ship. And if I hadn’t been on board and watching out, that’s exactly what would have happened. Christos!’

  Nual said drily, ‘It appears that at least one of your septs will do pretty much anything to stop a ship with Aleph’s location in its comp returning to human-space; I think they may have overestimated the number of rebel Sidhe females who would be willing to navigate such a ship.’

  ‘Of course they have,’ said Ain with surprising fire in her voice. ‘They will always assume the worst of you, because you are female.’

  For a moment Jarek wondered whether Nual, still holding in her grief and anger, would do something unfortunate, but she just said tightly, ‘Believe me, the distrust is mutual. However, I am trying to overcome my natural instincts.’

  Jarek changed the subject back to their immediate problem. ‘So what do you recommend, Ain? Run away and hide behind a quiet moon until all the fuss dies down?’

  Despite his sarcastic tone Ain took him at his word. ‘There are no quiet moons. Every solid body here is a heavily populated domain. No, your safest course would be to rise up out of the ecliptic. There are far fewer domains up there, and they mostly belong to introvert patrons who will ignore you unless you enter their territory.’

  ‘But once we’re out of the high traffic areas we’ll be easier to spot.’

  ‘Affirmative. But a potential enemy will not be able to do anything about it unless they break cover to pursue you, which they should think twice about. Even if they do try and give chase, most of our ships are designed to cross small distances in a crowded system; please correct t— my assumption if it is wrong, but was your ship not made to travel long distances quickly, to get between planets and their beacons? If so, you should easily outrun anything sent after you.’

 

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