Quintessence Sky

by David Walton

  Matthew looked back down at Blanca, frozen with indecision.

  "I'll take care of her," Parris shouted. "Go!"

  Matthew hastily took the fallen man's place and closed the gap before the manticores could break through the circle.

  Elizabeth touched his shoulder, standing behind him and using his iron body as a shield. "What do you see?"

  Matthew told her, shouting over his shoulder.

  "Should we surrender? Will they take us alive?"

  Parris, doing his best to clean the mercury out of Blanca's wound, was close enough to hear. "They are here to slaughter us, your Grace. They will leave no one alive, white flag or no."

  "I'm sorry you came here," Matthew said. "We meant to save your life, not take it."

  "My life is in God's hands, not yours," Elizabeth said. "We will surrender, and pray that you are wrong."

  "Help is coming," Parris said. "Only a little longer, your Grace."

  "What help?" Matthew said.

  "Tanalabrinu, of course. And Catherine."

  The sounds of the battle changed, and Matthew scanned the forest, trying to see what was happening. For a while, it was all confusion, the smoke from the guns and the quintessence fires obscuring his vision. Then he saw them, manticores fighting other manticores, the newcomers dancing and weaving through the trees to avoid the deadly guns.

  Matthew kept blazing out from the circle, using what quintessence power he had left to drive manticores back from their position. He had no other weapon, and he would be no match for a manticore fighting hand-to-hand. The only defense the colonists had was this quintessence fire.

  It was difficult to tell which manticores were on their side. Only a small number of the attacking group had matchlocks; the rest fought with claws and pincers, leaping on their enemies and stabbing them through. But something was wrong. As far as Matthew could tell, more of Tanalabrinu's manticores were dying than Rinchirith's. In fact, many of Tanalabrinu's seemed to be falling over for no apparent reason. It took Matthew a few minutes to figure out what was happening.

  It was the mercury-filled bullets. Depending on how close the bullet came to striking the quintessence pearl at the base of a manticore's skull, it damaged not just the manticore it hit, but all those bonded to it. Just as whole schools of ironfish could be killed by dropping a pearl from a single fish into a vial of mercury, so whole memory families of manticores were being killed with a single shot.

  Matthew spotted Parris, now holding a position on the other side of the circle. He was still standing, for now. But Parris was bonded with Tanalabrinu. If the manticore was shot and killed with a mercury bullet, Parris would die along with him.

  FROM Catherine's perspective, it looked like a star blazing out from between the trees. It was only when she drew closer that she could make out the circle of colonists, barely keeping the manticores at bay. Unlike a year ago, when she had driven back the grays from their attack on the colony, the manticores knew what the humans were doing. They knew it wasn't supernatural, and worse, they knew the humans couldn't keep it up forever. Hundreds of manticores might burn, but at the end of it, the humans would all be dead.

  Though, not if she could help it. Catherine glanced back over her shoulder at the other army of manticores that had followed her here, united by the symbol of her rise from the depths. There had been manticore battles of this magnitude before, passed down in the memories of their families, but not within the lifetimes of any now living. A decisive victory would mean great power for the side that won. The enemy survivors would be forcibly incorporated into memory families, their tribes erased. More likely, though, at least if history was any judge, there would be huge casualties and no clear victor, meaning a great amount of blood would be spilled for no clear purpose.

  Catherine couldn't worry about that. She didn't want manticores to die, but when it came down to it, she was loyal to her own family and her own species.

  Despite her skills with quintessence, Catherine was no warrior, any more than the rest of the colonists were. The best she could do was blaze out with a light of her own. The circle of fire kept the manticores back more than it made any significant impact on the battle. But Catherine's goal wasn't to kill. She just wanted to reach her family.

  When she finally made it inside the human circle, her breath was knocked away by the simultaneous embraces of Matthew and both her parents. They hugged her and touched her face and Matthew kissed her full on the lips, an act that back in England would have meant scandal, engagement or no. At the moment, though, not even Mother seemed to mind. Matthew didn't say anything. He just looked at her, eyes shining.

  She kissed him again, remembering that afternoon on the sand by the bay, when they had played with the principle of substitution and watched the tortoises. Happier times.

  Then she saw Blanca, lying on the ground, her shoulder torn and bloody, and dropped immediately to her side. "What happened?"

  "Shot," Blanca said weakly.

  "They're using mercury bullets," her father said. "The wounds don't heal. I've got this one nearly cleaned out, and it is healing, though slowly. She'll live. If any of us do."

  Blanca looked past her, just for a moment, at Matthew, and Catherine saw an expression of loss register briefly on her face. It was gone in a moment, making Catherine wonder if she had imagined it.

  "We could use some help!" bellowed another colonist, and Catherine saw that the circle was failing, the power of its light dimming. The human dead were everywhere. There was a time to greet friends and family, but this was not it.

  She rejoined the circle with Matthew and her parents, adding their quintessence light to its strength. It was a losing battle, though, Catherine could see at once. Rinchirith's manticores were fully engaged in fighting Tanalabrinu's at the moment, but even so, their light would only last so long, as would the iron skin that kept the mercury bullets from killing them.

  "We have to make a barrier!" Catherine said.

  Matthew knew what she meant at once. Just as the settlement had been protected from manticore incursion by an invisible barrier, they needed protection now. This was a beetlewood forest. A rough wall could be made by snapping green branches off of the trees, drawing out the quintessence threads, and wrapping them around neighboring trees, thus creating a weave of living quintessence threads. But all of the trees in their vicinity were on fire, caught in the destructive blaze that was keeping the manticore assault at bay. There was no way to climb them or pull off the branches, if the trees were even still alive.

  They had no way to douse the fire, either. It would burn until it had nothing left to burn.

  "How?" Matthew said.

  In answer, Catherine leaped as high as her quintessence-fueled legs could carry her, aiming at a branch that seemed relatively unaffected by the fire. She caught hold and made her body heavy again, dragging it down. The branch broke, but didn't entirely detach from the trunk, swinging her down toward the deadly fire. She released her grip just in time and fell heavily to the ground.

  "That's not going to work," Matthew said. "Even a little of that white fire on your skin . . ."

  She knew he was right. There was no stopping that fire from burning once it touched something. But if they did nothing, they were all going to die anyway. Already, Tanalabrinu's manticores were falling back from Rinchirith's, some of them turning to run back the way they had come. Many of Rinchirith's manticores were howling and racing off in pursuit, but others were turning back toward the small knot of humans.

  Catherine leaped again and yanked at the branch. This time, it peeled away, and she fell back down with it in her hands.

  It was all she needed. She ran around the next tree, stretching the quintessence thread and wrapping it around, then heading to a third. She snapped it and threw one half to Matthew, who did the same thing, in and out, weaving the threads together to make a barrier. The quintessence firelight reflected off the strand, making it visible to Catherine, even without skink tears.
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  But it was taking too long. They would need thousands of passes to make it thick enough to serve. By then their salt would be exhausted, and the manticores would be upon them.

  "We can help," said a voice in her ear.

  It was Antonia, bobbing gently near her head. Catherine looked up and saw thousands of the spirit lights flitting through the air. How had they followed her? The spirits couldn't see normal matter; they hadn't even realized they were in the natural world. Perhaps they could see her spirit in some different way than normal sight?

  "Can you interact with matter?" Catherine said.

  "I don't think so, but I'm not sure I need to." Antonia's light flew to one of the threads and spun, seeming to wrap herself in it. When she came away, the thread stretched behind her. She flew around a tree branch, dragging a taut thread behind her in the air.

  "Perfect!" Catherine said.

  The lights all joined in. Catherine could hear their tiny voices speaking to each other in a dozen languages, translating instructions, and soon dozens of spirits were weaving their way in and out of the trees surrounding the surviving colonists, dragging bright strands behind them. They zigzagged in and out, tangling the strands around the trees like a giant spiderweb. Eventually they were surrounded by a shining wall, thicker and more intertwined than the settlement wall had ever been. They couldn't see the fighting anymore, and even the crack of gunfire and the battle screams of the manticores grew muted. They were wrapped in a glowing cocoon of protection while the war raged on.

  Many of the colonists collapsed to the ground, out of salt and out of strength. Catherine's father circulated among the injured, wrapping wounds, examining the damage. In some cases, he tried to cut out the mercury from their flesh. When he succeeded, the quintessence in their bodies took over, healing the wounds rapidly until there was no sign they had been any injury at all. For some, however, it was already too late.

  "What's happening out there?" Matthew said. "We can't stay behind this barrier forever."

  "It all depends on who wins, and we can't do anything about that," Catherine said.

  "We should be able to." Matthew cracked a fist into his palm. "I hate feeling so helpless."

  A imperious looking young woman with almost no hair and exhausted-looking eyes was deep in intense conversation with Matthew's father.

  "Who's that?" Catherine said. It was odd to see a stranger. They had been isolated on this island for over a year; new people didn't just stop by.

  "You won't believe it," Matthew said.

  "Try me."

  "It's the Princess Elizabeth. She was very nearly executed in England, but she escaped with the help of a few loyal friends, including one who had been studying the quintessence brought back by the Spanish ship."

  "That ship made it back home? How do you know?"

  Matthew ran his fingers through his hair. "A lot has happened since you left. There's a lot to explain. Yes, the ship made it back, with a few pearls and a shekinah, and this man Ramos de Tavera was studying it."

  Catherine felt a chill. "Tavera?"

  "I know, I know." Matthew waved it away. "One thing at a time. Blanca figured out that we could send objects across a quintessence thread, not just information. When Elizabeth escaped, she and Ramos and his daughter made it through. They traveled along a thread from England to here, in moments. And one other man, though he died."

  It was too much to take in. Catherine had so many questions she didn't know which to ask first.

  "Let me introduce you," Matthew said. He beckoned, and a dark-haired Spaniard walked toward them, drawing a teenage girl by the hand. "Catherine Parris, this is Ramos de Tavera."

  "Pleased to meet you," he said. The resemblance to the Tavera who had tyrannized and tortured them was disconcerting. Ramos smiled reassuringly. "And this is my daughter, Antonia. She won't acknowledge you; she can't really speak, or at least she can't hear you."

  Catherine studied the girl's face, thinking of the spirit that had been here only a moment ago. "Her name is Antonia? Antonia de Tavera?"

  Ramos opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by a tree, one of those that supported the barrier, suddenly toppling and falling away from them onto the ground with a crash. The barrier unraveled, suddenly revealing a battlefield strewn with manticore dead. And a legion of armed Spanish conquistadors, surrounding them.

  A tall man with the insignia and cap of a captain spoke rapidly in Spanish. An officer translated. "My name is Alvaro de Torres. In the name of His Majesty, King Philip, surrender immediately, or we will kill you all."

  CHAPTER 25

  RAMOS had to act fast. The colonists, exhausted and surrounded, didn't have much energy left to fight. They were out of salt and out of strength. They knew the presence of the Spanish meant that their manticore allies had either been killed or had fled. They had no will left to resist.

  Ramos knew what the captain's orders were. He would kill them all eventually, even if they did surrender. He would torture them to be sure they told him everything, and then he would kill them.

  "Capitán-General de Torres," he called out, speaking in Spanish. "I come from His Majesty, King Philip."

  Torres looked startled. He raised a hand and looked for the source of the voice.

  Ramos stepped forward, trying to appear confident despite his torn and filthy attire. "I am Father Ramos de Tavera, Jesuit and chief astronomer to His Majesty and advisor on Horizon and quintessence. I have replaced Juan Barrosa as your liaison."

  Torres's eyebrows furrowed, trying to make sense of it. "What is this?" he said. "Witchcraft, like all the rest?"

  "On the contrary. You have received no word from the king or Barrosa through the bell-box lately, have you?" Ramos knew he had not, because until recently, the box had been in his possession.

  "What has happened to Barrosa?"

  "Alas, my lord. He is dead."

  "How could you learn such a thing, or know the king's wishes, since you are here, and they are not?"

  Ramos gave him a haughty look. "Do you think that box is the only magic the king controls? This morning I stood in London; today I am here."

  "If the king had such a magic, why did he send us to voyage for months on treacherous seas?"

  "The passage I traveled was dangerous as well, and only one man may pass it at a time. To benefit from this island, we must have a shipping trade, controlled by the strength of Spanish might. Your task is a vital one, and the king will reward you well for success."

  Torres was still suspicious. "How do I know you aren't reading my mind?"

  Ramos stepped even closer and looked into his face. "Come, man. You've seen me at court before. You know my face. I am brother to Diego de Tavera, who negotiated the king's marriage contract."

  He saw a glimmer of recognition, and hoped it would be enough. He clapped Torres on the back. "Good man. The king wishes these colonists returned to England along with the goods, so their knowledge of quintessence and this island can be fully extracted. They are not to be touched in the meantime; he wants them unbroken."

  Ramos held his breath, not sure that Torres was going to buy it. If he had thought ahead and anticipated this meeting, he might have stolen the king's seal, or prepared a letter of some kind, to strengthen the deception, but he was making this up as he went along.

  Torres nodded slowly. "Secure the prisoners," he said.

  Ramos let his breath out. It was going to work.

  The soldiers circulated among the colonists, confiscating what few weapons they found and tying the colonists' hands. "Walk with me," Torres said.

  They walked away through the woods, stepping over manticore corpses and around pools of blood. Torres grilled Ramos, asking question after pointed question about Spain and England and the king. Ramos had no trouble answering any of them. After all, he really had been in London that morning, and he really had been working with Barrosa in King Philip's service. He spun a creative tale about the technology used to send him here, ho
w it was a one way trip, but had been imprecise in place and time. It had dumped him far from the bay, he said, and he had only just caught up with Torres and his men.

  They walked a long way, with two conquistadors flanking them like an honor guard, until the circle of colonists were out of sight. "What happened to all the manticores?" Ramos asked.

  "The renegade manticores fled," Torres said. "Those loyal to the crown pursued them into the mountains."

  Ramos didn't quibble with his terms. He was pretty sure he had Torres convinced, and he didn't want to ruin it. "So may it be with all the king's enemies," he said. "When I was in England, Philip was anxious to send armies into the field. He will be eager to see what power you can bring home to him."

  Torres raised a pistol and pointed it at his head. "And when you were in England," he said, "was the Protestant princess there as well?"

  Ramos swallowed. He was caught. Torres had recognized Elizabeth, and knew she must have come with him. He wasn't convinced at all. He had just been toying with him all this time, trying to find out who he really was and what he knew.

  "She was there," Ramos managed to say.

  "Then how is it that she was also here, fighting against my men with the Protestants?"

  "Oh, that girl," Ramos said. "I saw her, too. She does look rather like the princess, in the right light."

  The finger on the trigger twitched. Ramos reacted. He wasn't terribly good at using the quintessence power in his body, but he made his body as heavy as possible. He was hoping this would work like the trick that the others did, making their skin into a protective armor that could deflect bullets, but all it did was drag him to the ground, suddenly too heavy to lift himself or even move. Torres's bullet whined over his head, just missing him. Ramos struggled for breath, unable to lift his crushingly-heavy chest. If he wasn't careful, he was going to kill himself before Torres had a chance. He reversed the effect, making his body lighter, and ran.