His skin registered the freezing cold of the Resting Place. Sarai stood in front of Caeles as he sat on an icy stone plaque. Through the mist, she looked like a ghoul.
‘Doesn’t that bother you? Sitting on a person’s grave like that?’
‘Maybe he’ll be upset when he finds out,’ Caeles said quietly. ‘Until he does, I don’t much care.’
The ninja sat on the ground beside him. ‘This fire doesn’t seem to be warming me up,’ she said, rubbing her hands.
He asked, ‘Have you ever been to São Jantuo? On the other side of the Lual?’
‘No.’
‘The Regent there has an interesting power. He can charge the blood in his hands so they’re like branding irons.’
‘I see. Are there a lot of other errants around? I haven’t encountered many at all.’
‘Not that I know of,’ Caeles said. ‘A few, I guess. Hiding away.’
They let the fire warm them in silence for a few minutes. They both knew of the reasons a person might not wish to be disturbed by others. Caeles the cyborg, a solder who had allowed the flesh and blood of his body to be augmented and corrupted to the point of almost total conversion, knew that as well as any. Even as the Conflict raged he had been shunned for his choice. And here was Sarai the Scathac ninja, a woman warrior from the mysterious dark continent that Caeles still thought of as Africa, and an errant to boot. She had as many reasons as he did to stay away from those who might persecute the unfamiliar. Their time in Iilyani had proven that this wasn’t an unjustified concern.
Somewhere on the other side, lost in the heat-haze, the magus sat deep in thought, gazing into space. Somewhere to his right, Rowan rested in a sleeping bag, Gabel presumably nearby. He hadn’t left her side since Iilyani, despite her insistence that he leave her alone. He only argued weakly, furrowed his brow at her altered appearance and conceded. Around all of them, the cold wet fog of the Resting Place soaked their clothing and made their breathing heavy.
‘I’m glad we can have fires now,’ Caeles muttered. ‘Missed them back there in the forest.’
‘You’ll be missing the trees and the rivers once we get through to the desert,’ Sarai said. ‘Though it’s odd that there’s so much fog this close to the wilderness.’
‘It’s only humid at night. During the day it’s just … dust. I’m not even that sure we’re heading straight for the desert any more.’
‘The stars say we are.’
‘You can see them through this?’
‘I can make out the brighter ones,’ Sarai replied. ‘I see without seeing, if you get me. On a slightly difference wavelength of light.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ As Caeles pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them, he sighed. He suspected from the tone in her voice that her helpful ability had drawbacks. She probably missed a lot of things that he himself took for granted.
~
‘If you’re going to venture into the Resting Place,’ Saykaan had said, ‘go in a straight line. Do not deviate. Rest and sleep only when necessary. During the day, wear these breathing filters. During the night … Well, you should keep guard, at least one person at a time. There are things there that might make your travels more difficult.’
‘Like gheists?’ Gabel asked.
‘I don’t like to say. Personally, I don’t believe all that. I’ve travelled the Resting Place from end to end, to get to the Plains, and I got back without encountering any problems. But there are things in that place, hiding in the fog … I simply ask you to be careful. People have seen moving shapes in the mist. Maybe they are only bandits or desert folk – if there are any – but … nevertheless. Guard at night.’
Gabel remembered the words of the Mayor’s surviving heir as he accompanied them to the border between Iilyani and the great cemetery. Even there, right on the edge, the chill of the fog had saturated Gabel’s clothes. Taking the face filters, he had shaken Saykaan’s hand and given his thanks.
Now Rowan sat far to the side in the darkness, avoiding him. Her outline could just be seen, hidden by the fog and the darkness. She sat quietly on her knees, tracing patterns in the dust.
Gabel’s heart sank when he saw what Turenn had done to her. The short hair was the most obvious change. She’d agreed to change back into her old clothes, but the garments the man had given her were underneath. She refused to take them off. Gabel only hoped the corset wasn’t worsening her occasional breathing problems.
She seemed subdued now, placated. The hunter couldn’t know what she was going through inside, But even on the outside he could see that she was in mourning.
He remembered how he felt when Bethany had been killed, so many months ago in the town square.
‘Patience,’ the magus said, sitting down beside him. ‘It’s a virtue.’
‘I don’t need patience, I need a miracle. Surely Irenia wouldn’t want this for her. No god would burden her with this during our journey.’
‘Your god might not want a lot of things, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they won’t happen anyway.’
Gabel examined the man, his face almost invisible in the darkness. ‘How do you mean?’
‘For every god, there is a devil. Opposing forces are everywhere. If you hold stock in such things.’
Gabel looked over at Rowan as he recognised the first glimpses of light coming through the mist; the arrival of their fourth morning in the Resting Place.
‘Yes, you’re right.’
~
The white fog turned to dusty gold clouds of sand, hanging in the air. They each donned their masks, strapping the rudimentary apparatus over their mouths and noses. A mono-directional polymer allowed filtered air to be drawn in, and the coated seals around the edges let expelled carbon dioxide back out into the atmosphere. The masks gave the air an unpleasant sterilized taste, and left them slightly breathless.
‘I can’t stand this,’ Rowan said. ‘I can’t breathe.’
‘Just take deep breaths and don’t think about it,’ said Caeles.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ she snapped back. ‘You don’t have to wear one.’
They continued through the cloying mist, making their way through the endless forest of gravestones, further and further away from Iilyani.
Rowan had taken to saying a mall prayer for every stone or tomb they passed. She had soon grown tired of it, and felt weighed down with the lack of air and the returned drudgery of extended travel. The stones were large, much wider than the graves themselves must be. They were also widely spaced; the Resting Place catered to people from several towns, and each culture respected the other by giving them room. It was why the place was so large, and took so long to traverse.
When the sun began to fall again, the light through the mist turned steadily red. The air pressure seemed to change, and the density with it. It became easier to draw breath, and the sand suspended in the air began to settle. The fog reappeared, just as the last light vanished behind the obscured horizon.
As the level of light dropped, the group once more thought about stopping and eating. Lunch had been skipped that day, saving food for the true test: the crossing of the Plains. Just as they were agreeing on settling down for the night, Gabel saw the shape in the mist.
It was silhouetted against the light, a black obscurity against the redness of dusk. The low square outline of a tombstone was broken by a curious protrusion from its top.
At first, Gabel thought it was only an oddly designed headstone. Then, five steps closer, he realised it was the outline of a human head and shoulders, a figure sitting against the stone, facing toward them.
‘Wait,’ he said sharply, and the others halted. ‘I see someone.’
‘Where?’ asked the magus.
‘I see nothing,’ said Rowan.
‘Look there, that tombstone … It’s a person, slumped up against it. You there!’ he called.
‘I don’t see anything,’ Caeles complained. ‘Which tombstone?’
Gabel pointed. The figure hadn’t responded to his call.
‘I see it,’ the cyborg said immediately. ‘Christ, how did you see that through the fog?’
‘You,’ Gabel called lowly. ‘Grave-sitter. Who are you?’
‘Answer him,’ the magus called. Rowan noticed that the man’s stance had changed slightly. Preparing for battle? Was it a fighting stance?
‘Are you sure it’s a person?’ Caeles asked quietly.
‘It is,’ insisted the hunter. He took a step closer.
‘A live person?’
Just as he spoke, the head-shape jerked upward. Against the light, the edges were straight, uniform. With the head movement, the body followed: an armoured figure, very tall, the details unclear. But there were spikes welded onto the armour, on the shoulders and the elbows. There were vicious talon-like gauntlets on both the figure’s hands, and they curled into fists as it rose from its seated position.
The black armoured figure fell upon them like a meteor, well over six feet tall.
It was a knight of the Caballeros de la Muerte.
~
The gauntlet extended like a loosed spring and clamped itself around Caeles’ throat, yanked, and pulled him down. In a cloud of dirt Caeles struggled as the knight dragged himself on top of him, twisted him around, and then pulled both himself and Caeles to their knees. He knelt, one armoured hand gripped tightly around Caeles’ neck.
‘Cese! Usted permaneceŕa sin el movimiento, o asesinaré a este hombre.’ The knight’s voice was low and harsh.
‘What does it say?’ Gabel asked the magus, then to the knight: ‘We don’t understand!’
‘Usted hará esta. No estoy bromeando!’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Just get back!’ Caeles shouted. He didn’t seem to be having trouble breathing, yet his speech was stilted, oddly distorted.
‘Haré esto si usted me fuerza mi mano!’ the knight yelled.
‘Guys…’ Caeles called, his voice hissing with static. There was an edge of panic when he said, ‘Do as he says…!’
‘What is he saying?’ Rowan cried.
Quietly, helmet facing the sky, the knight whispered, ‘El dios me perdona para cuál estoy a punto de hacer…’
‘Damn it,’ Caeles spat, wide-eyed. ‘Get back you idiots!’
Gabel spun, pushing Rowan with him, and pulled her with him away from the armoured figure. Sarai and the magus had already retreated two steps. The knight looked at them through the ferocious helmet, muttering something in his foreign language. The grip on Caeles was released.
‘Just … stay where you are,’ Caeles said slowly to the others. His voice sounded tinny, as if it was through a long metal pipe. ‘Don’t come closer…’
‘Do you understand it?’ Gabel asked. His pistol was in his hand.
‘Yes, don’t you? It’s Spanish, or at least some broken form of it…’ Caeles turned and looked at the knight. It was clear the man inside the sheath of metal was breathing hard.
Then, just as suddenly as he had attacked, the knight fell once more into the grimy sand, unconscious. Grainy plumes rolled into the air on either side.
‘Well,’ said Caeles shakily, as dust settled around him. ‘Wasn’t that exciting?’
~
The first to notice that the knight had reawakened was Sarai. As the others argued over his fate, the Scathac had been sitting on a nearby headstone, a dark shape against a darker backdrop, watching the unconscious figure come to his senses.
His head jerked upward with a start, to the sound of heavy armour grinding. Through the tiny slit in the front of the helmet, which was carved into a blunt dragon’s snout, eyes scanned the scene from within an oppressive darkness.
‘You must be hot with all that armour on,’ Sarai said quietly. The others hadn’t noticed the knight’s changed condition.
‘Híbrido,’ the knight spat. His chest heaved once, in a long sigh. ‘Who the hell are you people?’
‘I knew you spoke English!’ Sarai exclaimed. She clapped her hands.
‘Do you? What accent is that?’
‘Don’t offend me, knight. I know what you are, and I’m not opposed to killing you if you make a false move.’
‘I can’t do much, can I?’ the knight asked rhetorically. He raised his arms, displaying the ropes that bound his wrists together. In turn, they were fastened to the heavy tombstone he was leaning against.
‘You know, you looked a lot more frightening when you weren’t trussed up like a dog.’
‘Even tied dogs bite,’ the knight said, looking around at the others. Still they argued. ‘Who are you tontos? Let me free.’
‘I do not think that’s going to happen anytime soon,’ Sarai said, standing and quietly advancing. The knight made an attempt to sit up. ‘You are still weak, anyway. You should just rest up.’
He snorted hollowly inside his helmet. ‘How can I rest when I know you people stand around me, prattling in your strange tongues?’
‘We are all from different places,’ Sarai said.
‘Isn’t everybody? Since the war the entire world has been so. Otherwise I’d be far away from you and your stinking allies.’
The magus slowly came to stand beside Sarai. ‘He has awakened?’
‘He speaks English at least.’
‘What other languages do you speak, Caballero?’ the magus asked, leaning down.
‘I speak them all,’ the knight said, his voice dulled by resignation.
‘You would have to, so you could translate all the screams of your victims,’ Rowan hissed, looking over. She’d been in earshot all along.
‘Yes,’ the knight drawled. ‘Of course. You cobarde morons know nothing about the Caballeros. Set me free. There’s no use in keeping me here.’
‘Just tell us what you’re doing in the Resting Place,’ Caeles asked patiently.
‘Grave robbing.’
Caeles kicked him hard in the helmet. ‘I can hear your head rattling around inside that nasty can of yours,’ he said. ‘And your brain inside your head. Try again.’
The knight endured a second kick. ‘What do you think I’m doing here? I came from across the Plains.’
‘The desert? How? Are there more of you?’
‘I’m alone.’ His voice, enhanced by subtle pipes and grooves with his black helmet, dripped with malice. The factotum could almost see his burning demon’s eyes, bright red and narrow from inside hollowed-out sockets. The man may have been impressive standing up, but now he looked more like a bully who’d been knocked flat, all anger and righteous indignation.
‘I want a straight answer,’ said Gabel. ‘If you are alone, how did you survive the crossing of the Plains?’
‘The gel filament in my armour keeps me cool, but I’m dehydrated. I need water.’
‘You’ll get some if you co-operate,’ the hunter promised. ‘Where is your horse?’
‘I don’t have one.’
‘All Caballeros have steeds. What good is a horseman without a horse? Tell me where your beast is.’
‘He died out in the desert!’ the knight said impatiently. ‘I had to filter his blood for water to sustain myself. Are you pleased? Will you give me water now?’ He coughed hoarsely, a little theatrically.
‘He does sound parched,’ Sarai said to Gabel. Caeles tossed the knight a skin of water from his pack. The armoured man looked around at the group for a second, then opened the skin, tilted back his head and poured the liquid in through the opening from which he saw.
‘Open your visor,’ the magus demanded. ‘Let us see your face and drink properly.’
‘My visor is rusted shut.’
‘Rubbish. Rust, in the desert?’
‘Use your brain!’ the knight spat, helmet dripping with moisture. ‘The gel-layer around my visor opening dried out on the Plains. I was in the sun too long, and it crusted over. I couldn’t open it, so I had to drink like I am now. That rusted it shut. It’s completely ruined; I’ll need a new one
.’
He poured more water in through the hole.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘You don’t believe me? Tough luck.’
‘Enough water,’ Gabel said, snatching back the animal skin. ‘Why were you crossing the desert?’
‘I’m a scout,’ the knight said. ‘I was scouting.’
‘Do you want water? Try again.’
‘Whatever it was, I obviously didn’t get far, did I?’
‘You’d better tell us,’ Caeles warned.
The Knight made a noise like a cornered animal. ‘Fine. I’m out here on my own because … Well. I suppose you might call it a permanent furlough.’
‘You’ve been retired?’
‘After a fashion.’ He stopped struggling. They could hear him breath from behind his fused helmet. ‘I’ve been expatriated. The Caballeros sent me out into the desert alone to die, with no water. My horse died a fortnight ago. I need water,’ he pleaded.
Gabel tossed him back the skin, and watched as it was drained through the visor. ‘You’re a pariah.’
‘Yes. After I was sentenced, I intended to find a group of travellers who dwell in the rainforest just on the borders of the Plains, but they heard of my plans and sent me out here. I … plead for escort.’
‘A knight of the Caballeros!’ Sarai chuckled. ‘Pleading. To us.’
‘Hear him out,’ the magus said. ‘Escort to where?’
‘Back across the desert to the itinerants that camp in the rainforest. They’ll protect me. They welcome anyone.’
‘Even a Horseman of Death?’ Rowan asked, disbelieving. ‘Someone such as you?’
‘I was cast out because I’m different to the Caballeros,’ the knight said. ‘Don’t throw me in the same lot as those butchers.’
‘People say you’re demons.’
‘The people,’ the knight said, ‘are not far wrong.’
~
‘My name is Colan,’ he explained. ‘Hînio Colan. I’ll tell you all you want to know, if you grant me your protection. I’m no longer one of the Caballeros de la Muerte.’
Before any of the others could speak, Sarai said, ‘He seems sincere.’
Half Discovered Wings Page 29