Half Discovered Wings

by David Brookes

  ‘He does,’ said the magus, ‘but first I want his weapons.’

  ‘I have no weapons.’

  ‘The Caballeros carry a pistol and a sword. They carry them until are buried with them. Even an outcast would be allowed to keep their armaments.’

  Hînio Colan sighed, and from a discreet mechanism in his thigh armour pulled the spout-barrelled pistol, ornately carved with the timeless mascot of the Caballeros: the winged steed. ‘My sword lies out there. It weighed too much, and I made the foolhardy decision of leaving it behind.’

  ‘You made the right choice,’ the magus said. ‘If you had drawn a weapon on us, you wouldn’t have woken from unconsciousness just now.’

  Colan tossed the empty skin back to Gabel. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I gather you are intending to cross the Plains.’

  ‘We do,’ the hunter replied. ‘How far until the edge of this place?’

  ‘The Resting Place goes on for another kilometre, and then it’s the desert. Why are you not going around?’

  ‘We all have reasons,’ Caeles said. ‘But whether we’ll escort you or not is a matter still to be decided.’

  ‘It’s dark,’ the knight said. ‘Please sleep on it. I have nowhere else to go but the nomads on the other side of the Sinh-ha Plains.’

  ~

  They made a fire amidst the tombstones as soon as the sun vanished below the horizon. Thankful for the chance to remove the filter masks, the group cheered up slightly and quickly collected fuel for the fire, though most was damp from the fog that continued to hang all around them.

  The knight Colan was kept tied to the tombstone, bound by thick ropes that had previously been reins for the horses. The horses had been left behind in Iilyani as Gabel had known that they would have found the fog upsetting, and the cracked terrain of the Plains difficult to traverse. While some of them collected wood, Colan continued to try and gain the trust of the others, describing his three-week trek across the desert.

  ‘My horse broke his leg after about six days out on the baked plains,’ he quietly told Sarai. ‘I had to put him down.’

  ‘What was he like?’ she asked. She crouched beside the unlit fire, rearranging the kindling.

  ‘A magnificent animal!’ the knight said proudly. ‘His name was Arlo. As black as your skin, Sarai, and as tall as I am. He needed modified stirrups so that I could mount him, he was so tall. He had an ashen mane that moved like water when we rode. And he was clever, so very intelligent. He was focused and needed no blinkers. And he was ferociously protective of me, as I was of him. Those born to the Caballeros are raised with their steeds.’

  ‘Truly?’ the Scathac said. ‘You are bred to the group?’

  ‘It is a form of conscription, yes. It is not military in nature, though. At twelve we have the option of stopping our training, if we wish it. But none ever do: we would lose our horses if we did. The others, the true Caballeros, they are proud of their beasts. But I … I loved mine.’

  ‘And you had to kill him…’

  ‘Yes. And I filtered his blood for drinkable fluids. This,’ he said, opening a small cavity in his chest armour, ‘was his collar. It was draped over the neck, from the front of the saddle.’

  He passed the collar to Sarai, who ran the long strip of material through her gloved fingers. It was colourful, made of greys and golds, with elaborate pictures sewn into its design. Hundreds of silk-like threads were interwoven into a beautiful tapestry.

  ‘It shows the history of my horse, from birth to death. I’ve yet to put the final image into it.’

  Sarai saw tiny pictures along the length of fabric, detailed depictions of events in the animal’s life. All had Colan in them, of course, in his armour and helmet. And all seemed to involve bloodshed.

  ‘The edges are frayed,’ she said quietly.

  ‘There used to be fasteners. It is a collar after all, part of the reins. But I removed them. Arlo did not need a collar.’

  ‘Arlo is a wonderful name,’ Sarai said.

  ‘Hey.’ It was Caeles, calling to them from across the camp. ‘You two want to help out, or are we doing all the work?’

  ‘I would if I wasn’t bound to this stone,’ Colan snapped angrily.

  ‘Untie him, Caeles. He isn’t going to do any damage.’

  ‘Forget it, Sarai. Start the fire up while I get more kindling. This whole place is damp,’ Caeles muttered, walking away.

  ‘What’s wrong with his voice?’ asked the knight.

  ‘He wasn’t like that before,’ Sarai replied. ‘I think you damaged his throat. He’s a cyborg.’

  ‘A cyborg? You mean, like from the war? He looks old, but not that old.’

  ‘He is, apparently.’

  ‘I thought they didn’t exist any longer,’ he said.

  ‘They do,’ said Sarai with a deep breath. ‘One or two.’

  ~

  Once the fire had been built, Caeles sat next to Rowan, examining her in the light of the flames.

  ‘You shouldn’t condemn Gabel, you know. He hasn’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘He’s a monster,’ she replied, looking over her knees into the mist.

  ‘Not quite.’

  ‘You both are, and Sarai too,’ she said quietly. ‘She and Gabel killed all those people. And Saykaan showed me what you did to the prisoner before you killed her.’

  Caeles was stroking his throat, rubbing the skin. He was deliberately breathing hard, making tiny noises. ‘That Spanish idiot broke my voice.’

  ‘You don’t care, do you?’ Rowan said. ‘You beat that poor woman. And then you and Joseph slaughtered all those robed people.’

  ‘You know what they were. They did no better to others.’

  ‘And no worse. I despise the Luxers for what they have done. When I think of what they did to those unfortunate people. But it seems that you all are just like them.’

  Caeles only proceeded to massage his twisted vocal cords. ‘I sound like I have two voices,’ he muttered.

  ‘One for each side of you,’ Rowan whispered, and buried her head in her knees. The new slits in her skirt had fallen back, revealing her legs. Absently, Caeles wondered how she kept them so smooth.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re all capable of evil. And it comes so easily to you! You; Joseph; Sarai. Even the magus. You’re all willing to kill if it serves you. Does that not bother you? Does it not upset you?’

  He didn’t reply. His thoughts dwelt on the events that occurred on the Tractatus; the rusalki had compelled Gabel to revert almost to a primal state, saturating his free will with an implacable desire to kill. Only the fact that it was Rowan’s throat that he was throttling woke him up.

  ‘You all have two sides,’ Rowan continued. ‘Two faces. There is your mask, the one that says, “Let me assist you”. The one that Joseph wears now.’

  ‘He’s only trying to help.’

  ‘And there are your true faces! The hideous ones, behind the masks. The ones I saw as you passed by the hall in Iilyani. Both you and Joseph had those faces, grinning blackly behind those facades. That’s the side you really are, only you try to hide it. When we are attacked, or get upset, or angry … That’s when it comes out. The masks come off, and I hate what is underneath.’

  ‘We need to change to survive, Rowan,’ Caeles said. ‘Otherwise when we get attacked, we would lose, and when we get upset or angry, it would take us over. And I didn’t exactly hear you complaining when I stopped that woman from killing you.’

  ‘Yes you stopped her and yes you helped me. But you killed her and that is never necessary!’

  ‘You haven’t a clue, Rowan. Frankly you’re naïve. When you need to protect the ones you care for you’ll do anything. Even kill.’

  ‘You would kill a lot of people?’

  ‘If necessary,’ he admitted. He sensed a new kind of intelligence developing within Rowan that he didn’t exactly like. It was laced with shadows, engendered by her recent experiences. He cou
ldn’t quite see what this new Rowan was getting at yet.

  ‘I wonder if this man you once knew, Tan Cleric, thinks differently. As I understand it, he intends to kill many people for a reason neither you nor Joseph nor the magus can identify. Perhaps his mission is right and ours is wrong?’

  ‘You’re treading dangerous ground here, Rowan,’ Caeles said flatly.

  She seemed to concede for a moment. Then she continued:

  ‘Father once told me a story of people who called themselves Romans. They had many gods, like Irenia, only these were all like individual people. One was named Janus.’

  ‘The one with two faces,’ Caeles said. ‘I know this story.’

  ‘Then you know that one face watched the present and the other saw to the future. Janus saw what was coming.’

  ‘The thing about gods is that supposedly they all see what’s coming. It’s just they never do anything about it.’

  ‘Do you believe in a god?’

  ‘You’ve asked me that before.’

  ‘Irenia must know of the unhappiness in the world,’ Rowan said, burying her face again. ‘Of my suffering.’

  Caeles, putting on his best disinterested expression for a reason he couldn’t explain, took a clod of dry dirt and began brushing the grains away with his thumb. ‘If Irenia knows all, then she knows what’s coming.’

  ‘What is coming? What do you see for the future?’

  ‘Nothing you’d want to her about,’ he said, feeling uncomfortable. He clapped his palms together and the dirt split into a stream of sand grains.

  Rowan put a hand on his arm. He looked around. ‘And what do you see for me?’

  ‘Rowan…’ He looked at her, the curve of her dust-painted face, the ragged split edges of her shortened hair, the faded colours of Turenn’s makeup. He looked into her eyes. ‘You really don’t know, do you?’

  ‘Know what?’ she asked. ‘How can I know?’

  ‘Rowan, I can’t be the one to tell you.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  The flames magnified their shadows, sending black dervishes spinning through the mist; the fog was thick enough to reflect the shadows like a wall, and it looked as if a pair of dark strangers was standing by them, dancing beside the fire.

  ‘Rowan,’ Gabel called, before Caeles could say anything. He approached them, tipping up his hat in greeting. ‘May I speak with you?’

  She looked at the hunter, then back to Caeles. ‘Later, then.’

  Rowan stood and walked around the fire, where she and Gabel sat down beside each other. Caeles watched as they talked, then as she began to cry, then as Gabel tried to console her.

  She let him.

  *

  Twenty-Four

  THE HUNT

  Colan was made to walk in front, hands still bound by the rope. Sarai, the only one to not openly distrust him, walked alongside. The others travelled behind, keeping an eye on the outcast.

  ‘That armour really keeps him cool?’ Gabel asked.

  ‘He doesn’t seem to be bothered that much by the heat,’ said Caeles. ‘It looks like it’s the rest of you that are suffering.’

  The fog was getting thinner. Above them, the sun could be seen as a dull glowing disk, when before it had been invisible. The air was heavier and sandier. The filter-masks were a necessity.

  When the fog finally cleared, and the ground changed from gravel to earth to stony baked sand, they stopped to survey the new environment. They had come to the edge of the Resting Place, and were finally on the border of the desert.

  The huge graveyard, which spanned hundreds of miles, was now behind them. But a new wasteland stretched out before the group, just as barren and equally dead. They could see all the way to the horizon, and there was only the hard, cracked surface of the Sinh-ha Plains. The magus decided that they would not rest there, but would continue to travel as far as they could before resting. It would be best to cross the Plains as quickly as possible.

  ‘What life is there out here?’ Gabel asked Colan.

  ‘None,’ the knight replied quietly. ‘I came across none.’

  They soon found that while the air was hot, super-heated by the sun that bore down on them relentlessly from above, it was much easier to breathe than the air inside the Resting Place, which had either been clogged with suspended dust or so thin it made the travellers dizzy. The filter masks were suddenly no longer needed.

  They headed out pessimistically, crossing the vast grykes and long, dusty plateaux. The pace at which they travelled soon slowed in the heat. The knight suggested that they begin travel at noon and continue until near midnight, rather than just in the daytime. That way they could recover from the day as they travelled, rather than as they slept. It didn’t seem to make much sense to Gabel, but he trusted in the magus, despite what the rusalki had told him, and didn’t argue when the old man said they would change their timetable.

  ‘I’m surprised you lasted this long out here, Hînio,’ Sarai said as she walked abreast with the knight. ‘You must be strong.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘I was valued in the group, before I was exiled.’

  ‘You never told us why you were cast out.’

  ‘I think I did. I wasn’t strong enough.’

  ‘You had all the training, from birth. And you could have quit at twelve, like you told me.’

  Colan didn’t reply, only continued onwards, armour clunking as he walked. Sarai looked away, at the horizon, and tried to make conversation. She didn’t know why; perhaps it was because the knight, like herself, was an outsider in this party, joined long after its conception and now merely an addition to an already established group. Sarai found that she could speak to Hînio much easier than she could with Gabel or Caeles. Was it that Hînio hid his face behind a helmet, or that his confidence and strength reminded her of her son Isaac?

  She asked about his armour.

  ‘It is designed to strike fear into the hearts of enemies. The helmet is carved into a serpent’s head, and the horns have demonic connotations. The large shoulders exaggerate our size. The carving of the chest plate mimics the muscles of the body, suggesting that our bodies are equally constructed. The gauntlets remind enemies of claws, primed to tear and shred.’ He turned to face Sarai. ‘You will find an enemy is often more afraid of being cut by a knife than shot by a pistol, even though a pistol can be far more deadly. This is the kind of fear we prey on.’

  ‘You know fear tactics well,’ Sarai said quietly.

  ‘As you said, I was trained from birth. I have had a lifetime to learn. Are you not frightened of me?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘but you’re the first person to make me feel so. I find that impressive.’

  ~

  ‘They’re getting awfully close,’ Caeles said to Rowan, eyeballing Sarai and Colan. ‘She hangs around him a lot.’

  ‘Maybe it’s the other way around,’ Rowan replied.

  ‘Maybe. Still, I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I could see his face.’

  ‘You’re just indignant because he bested you,’ Gabel said, stepping closer as they walked. ‘Maybe you should go and take petty revenge.’

  ‘Maybe you should go and find a nice soft bit of desert to bury your head in, factotum,’ Caeles said. Gabel walked away.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ hissed Rowan. ‘You still have a conversation to finish with me.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Caeles replied dolefully. ‘Rowan, it’s not for me to say.’

  ‘Then who?’

  Again, she got no reply.

  ~

  They were a week into the wilderness before the knight inquired about Sarai’s missing child.

  ‘How old is he?’ Colan asked quietly. He and the ninja sat close together, in front of the fire as the others slept or waited for sleep. Fires were a requirement even out on the Plains, as the nights were arctic cold.

  ‘Too young to be a prisoner,’ she said, and sighed. ‘Too old for me to feel responsible.’

  �
�What’s his name?’

  ‘Isaac. My son Isaac. I miss him so much!’

  ‘You are his mother. Of course you miss him.’

  Sarai turned her head, and the soot-black hair hung in circlets about her face. Her green eyes reflected the fire.

  ‘Hînio,’ she said. ‘Do you have any children?’

  ‘No. I have never married.’

  ‘Nor loved?’

  ‘No. Only Arlo,’ he said, and she could tell he was grinning behind the gruesome twists of metal of his visor.

  ‘Do you miss him?’

  ‘Every day. I can’t believe it’s only been a month since I had to kill him.’

  ‘And do you regret it?’

  ‘No. He would have suffered anyway, and he had a broken leg. How … did you and your son become separated?’

  The all-green eyes looked away, into the fire. It burned exactly as the campfire had burned on the night that Isaac had left. ‘We were travelling east to find his father, a man I’d known a long time ago. Isaac had never met him. On the way, we found that we were being chased by … animals, monstrous creatures. They tracked us through the rainforest on the other side of the Plains. I knew who was chasing us.’

  ‘Who was it?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d heard that an old man in a white coat was looking for me, asking questions. He seemed to be getting closer all the time, finding people who knew me personally, not as “the errant” or “the Scathac ninja” or the “green-eyed woman”. My friends got hurt when they wouldn’t help him, and I knew I had to leave. So I talked to Isaac, and we discussed what would be best. He suggested we go and find his father. Isaac seemed to have always known that, although I never spoke of the man, I knew where I could find him if I ever needed to. Even as a young boy Isaac never questioned me when I said that we shouldn’t speak of his father.

  ‘The things the man sent to chase us were getting closer. They gained on us. Then one night, when I was asleep, Isaac got up and left. He thought he was the reason we were being followed, but he didn’t know the truth. All he did was place himself in the hands of our pursuers. I’ve trained him, so he’s strong, and fast, and dangerous. But they caught him anyway. I found evidence of his capture: a woman, with long dark hair and pale clothes, in the rainforest. She came down from the trees and landed in front of me, saying she knew by my smell that my offspring had been nearby a week previously, the time I left. The boy had smelled of the desert, she told me, that he had been out here and turned back. She was a sanguilac, a very high-functioning the likes of which I’ve never heard. She wore a brass pendant.