by Peter Newman
Foam sprays in all directions, and the rocking falls into a steady rhythm, decreasing as the two ships and the water around them settle.
A hatch opens in the Wavemaker’s side and a black-clad figure emerges, its loose robe flowing easily over fitted armour. With a single leap it sails up, twenty feet, to land on the rail, a boot either side of Vesper’s hands.
Knights detach themselves, rushing forward to support her. Samael draws his battered sword, and, at Vesper’s shoulder, an eye springs open, angry.
‘Wait!’ she shouts, holding up her hands. ‘All of you, wait! Stand down.’
Immediately, they stop, though all remain prepared. Samael’s sword returns to its sheath.
The First looks down at them. ‘I see that your natures remain … violent and I am unsurprised.’
Vesper takes a step back from the rail. ‘You haven’t changed either.’
‘This is true. I remain … reasonable.’
‘Is that why you ambushed us?’
The First raises a gauntleted hand to point at Vesper. ‘You are displaying your power. I am simply displaying mine. It interests me that you have told your followers not to attack and yet you have drawn the Malice.’
Vesper blinks, surprised to find that this is true. The sword is in her hand, humming, ready to act. She thinks quickly. ‘Not drawn in anger. The Malice is part of this discussion too.’
She closes her eyes, letting the sword show her a different vision of the First. Through its eye, she sees the infernal dwelling within the human body. Swirling essence that moves in alien ways, discomfiting. Within the strangeness lurk more recognizable emotions. Rapid fluctuations that betray anxiety, a lightening of colour one moment, perhaps curiosity, in the next a change of shade that suggests bitterness. There is no sign of aggression, at least not yet.
Opening her eyes again, Vesper beckons the First forward, inviting it on deck.
Lightly, it steps down. ‘Are you ready to begin?’
‘I am.’ She lowers the sword but does not sheath it.
‘You do not wish to discuss our … business in private? If you wish, we could return to my ship.’
‘No. We can talk freely here. My knights understand what we’re trying to do.’
The First reaches up, unclasps its featureless helmet, and removes it. A face is revealed, hard, female, the features rendered slightly odd through a lifetime of minor alterations in service to the Empire of the Winged Eye.
Vesper gasps. She knows that face. Once it belonged to two people, both called Duet. The face stirs many memories, of her betrayal of one of them, of being betrayed by the other. Ultimately, Duet was taken by the infernals, though only one of her went willingly.
At the sight, Scout throws back his head and howls.
The First studies Vesper. ‘You may be wondering why it is I chose this particular body for our meeting. There are many reasons. I wanted to remind you that people of your Empire have desired alliance with me in the past. I wanted to acknowledge the … history that exists between us.’
‘Is she still,’ Vesper waves a hand, ‘in there?’
‘No. Her body was fresh enough for me to occupy, but by the time I arrived, her essence had already dissipated.’
Vesper looks down. ‘Good.’
‘Is it? For whom is it good? Had you not interfered, the woman would have realized her dreams through me. Now she is nothing more than a memory. Look at this face and remember the past. If you do not accept my offer, only death will follow.’
The threat makes the knights tighten their grip on their weapons. Unlike the other orders of the Seraph however, these knights no longer carry singing swords, having sacrificed them long ago. As such, they pose little threat to the First.
Scout glares up at the infernal and begins to growl.
‘Stop that!’ snaps Vesper, shaking her head at Samael. The half-breed does not reply but the Dogspawn lowers its head, abashed. ‘You were saying something about an offer?’
‘Yes. I have no quarrel with your kind. Many of them live … happily in my cities. For years now, we have proven an ability to coexist. It is only your Empire that resists me. Disband it, destroy the weapons made to cause my kind suffering, and I will make peace.’
Vesper bites her lip and looks out to sea. In her hand, the sword begins to shake. ‘That’s it? That’s your offer?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I agree on one thing; if we can’t negotiate, there will be war.’
‘Then let us negotiate.’
‘Alright. I don’t have any quarrel with your kind either.’ She gestures to Samael. ‘I can, how did you put it? Coexist. I’m on good terms with New Horizon, West Rift, Red Rails, Verdigris and Slake. That’s only a first step. I intend to negotiate with all of them, not as individuals, but as a collective. I want you to be part of that collective. Come south with me. Take part.’
‘I have heard of this gathering of yours.’
‘It’s no secret.’
‘These things are not mutually exclusive. If you agree to my offer, then I would come with you.’
An eye narrows and Vesper’s voice rises. ‘How can you be so blind?’ She holds up the sword and the First flinches away. ‘The Malice is alive, just as much as you are! It deserves to live just as much as you do. The Seraph Knights’ swords that you try so hard to break also live. They’re not as complex or as clever but they are alive. If you want me to look at you and see more than just an enemy, you have to do the same for me.
‘You’re offering me the chance to submit to you or be destroyed. That’s no choice at all. I’m offering you the chance to be part of something bigger.’
The First’s face does not react, its expression disconnected from its feelings. ‘This is … surprising.’
Vesper allows herself a small smile. ‘The Usurper is gone and I speak for the Empire now. There’s no need for us to fight anymore.’
‘So you say. I remain unconvinced but, I am intrigued.’
Vesper shifts the sword to her left hand and holds out her right. ‘A truce then? You’ll come with me and take part?’
‘I will travel with you, I will observe. Perhaps I will engage. I promise no more than that.’
‘That’s all I’m asking.’
The First takes her hand, mimicking the human gesture perfectly. ‘I accept.’
A few days pass as the Wavemaker and The Commander’s Rest speed along the sea together. From under the water, a new vessel moves to join them, then another. Both part of the First’s fleet.
Vesper and the sword exchange a concerned look.
It does not stop there. A fourth ship comes, a fifth, and so on, until a war fleet of nine follows them, just under the surface. When a half dozen sky-ships drop from the clouds to fall into position above, Vesper demands another audience with the First.
It comes in multiple bodies. Some arriving from the sky-ships, others swimming up from the depths. Vesper watches them through the sword’s eye, and begins to appreciate how big the First truly is. A single being, divided into bitesized human chunks. Though the First has a diverse collection of shells, they dress the same, move the same, making the differences in height and weight hard to remember. Vesper guesses that perhaps a quarter of its strength is here, the rest of the infernal spread out across the world.
They line up along the rail, like a line of ravens watching, waiting for an animal to die.
Vesper gestures to the ships all around them. ‘What is this?’
One of figures breaks from the others, jumps down. It removes its helmet, revealing Duet’s face. ‘You wished for me to come south with you.’
She frowns. ‘For talks. We don’t need an invasion fleet.’
‘I am not here to invade. We have made a truce.’
‘I just don’t understand why we need all of these ships.’
‘You seem displeased. I do not understand. Surely your gathering is important enough to warrant my full attention.’
�
��Wait. You’re calling all of, um … you, here?’
‘Yes.’
The sword looks at Vesper, its hum felt more than heard, whisper-like. She nods. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’
‘You once promised to stand between me and the Malice, do you remember?’
‘Yes.’
‘And while we are at peace, do you promise to stand between me and rest of The Seven?’
‘Yes.’
The First leans closer, bracing itself against the invisible force of the Malice’s anger. ‘You truly don’t know, do you?’
‘What are you taking about?’
‘The Seven. They have awoken and the fires of their rage burn in the north.’
‘But there’s no hostile force in the north.’
‘They see it differently.’ Vesper’s face falls and the First continues to speak. ‘The Seven are gathering Their strength. They call out to Their agents, who in turn call out to others. Factions within the colonies that came over to me have already begun to rebel.
‘They are coming south. I believe They are coming for me.’
Vesper’s hand goes to her mouth. She thinks of her family, despairs. Have they become another sacrifice? And what will The Seven do to her? What kind of example will they make? Such thoughts are dispelled with a shake of the head. ‘You knew this all along. That’s why you came to speak with me. You’re afraid!’
‘Yes. I am afraid. We are united in fear.’
She looks up, defiance colouring cheeks. ‘No, we are united in more than fear.’
But when the advance scouts of The Seven’s armada appear on the horizon, she goes straight to Samael, and he pushes The Commander’s Rest harder until it seems to fly across the wavetops.
The First returns to its fleet and they too accelerate, doing their best to keep pace with the sleeker vessel.
The scout ships fade from view but they are not forgotten.
Delta forces herself to look. In one hand she has a skull, in the other, part of a skeleton. The skull is ordinary, that of a human male, the skeleton belonging to a different man, one that has experienced the touch of the taint, turning the bones asymmetrical.
Even without attending to the essence echoes around them, she can tell their end was abrupt, anguished, and at the hands of her brother, Alpha.
A compulsion makes her walk around the ruins of Greyspot Three. Where normal eyes see only the present, pyres, ashes and charred buildings, Delta’s see shimmering where the power of her kin was used. Her ears attend to the fading hum of energy, her body sensitive to the softvibrations in the air. Together, these sensations allow her to follow in her brother’s footsteps. She stops at each place he sang, identifying the corpses he has made, choking on her brother’s righteous anger that still lingers, remorseless.
There are so many dead. So many of her people, dead, that it overwhelms her. Finally, on the edge of Greyspot Three, she stops, and thinks.
Her role is to love her siblings, to make a better world with them, and yet she cannot feel love for what has happened. Cannot help but judge.
She has asked how it came to this, and they have pointed to her brother. But this is unsatisfactory. She knows that Alpha did this, knew it the moment they arrived. What she does not understand is why he did it, nor why it was done in such a manner.
The need for answers bubbles in her, converting despair to action.
Jem pulls on the Vagrant’s sleeve, lowers his voice. ‘How long do you think She’s going to be gone for?’
The Vagrant looks in the direction Delta went, shrugs.
‘Then let’s go before She comes back.’
The Vagrant nods and strides off towards the docks.
Reela strides after him, little legs working double time to keep up. With a last glance at Delta, Jem follows her.
The air here is smoke-heavy, smelling of burnt rubber and cooked meat. The Vagrant covers his mouth and, for different reasons, the two behind do the same.
The ragtag array of ships usually found in port are gone, their wrecks thickening the water. Most are sunk, some still sinking, the odd stray mast protruding from the surface in final salute.
The Vagrant looks out to sea. Alpha’s sky palace has already lumbered from view, leaving an empty, peaceful vista.
After a moment’s contemplation, he frowns and walks along the corrugated jetty, amber eyes searching.
‘What are you doing?’ asks Jem. ‘We need to get out of here. If we follow the coastline far enough we’ll hit another port. Maybe we could get passage on a ship there. Or we could go inland, find somewhere remote, where nobody else goes. Somewhere with lots of goats!’
The Vagrant pauses to direct a hard stare over his shoulder.
‘What? You love goats!’
The Vagrant turns back to his task, dismissive.
‘Look, it doesn’t matter what we farm or even if we farm. We have to get out of here, now. The Empire will be coming for Delta and we don’t want to be here when they arrive.’
Jem checks again to see if he can see Delta, only to find she is a hundred metres away, and that he is staring directly into her eyes. She seems purposeful, angry, and he looks away quickly, shame dousing him like a sudden blast of icy water. ‘We have to go,’ he says, then again, louder. ‘We have to go!’
He hears a splash, turns back. The Vagrant is reaching down, pulling objects from the water like a magician from a hat. Each one is tossed onto the jetty. Jem examines the objects, seeing nothing more than broken junk.
The Vagrant plunges his arm under, pulls hard. The water nearby bubbles and a small sea-shuttle bobs up from the depths, cheerful. No longer bound to its stricken mother vessel, the sea-shuttle floats easily, only a few dents marring its flanks. Built for speed and short-distance travel, the sea-shuttle resembles a triangular dart, a shallow deck cut into the topside.
Reela looks wary of the boat but allows herself to be lifted onboard. Jem needs no encouragement, jumping on as soon as there is space to do so.
‘How do you turn this on?’ asks Jem.
The Vagrant frowns at the blank display.
They try a few experimental prods at the screen and search around the sides of the steering column. Neither of them are familiar with the design.
Nearby, Reela carries out her own experiments, touching places at random.
The Vagrant smacks the steering column.
Nothing happens.
‘Don’t break it!’ says Jem.
Reela smacks the side wall.
‘Reela, stop that!’
With a sudden hum the steering column activates. Lights sparkle on its surface, diagnostic checks begin, and on the underside, steering flaps open, close, open and close again.
The Vagrant, Jem and Reela all share a smile, each taking credit for their good fortune.
There is a ping, and the lights of the steering column display blue and green in all the right places. The sea-shuttle is ready to sail.
As the hum of the startup sequence fades, they begin to hear a second hum, identical in pitch, coming from behind them.
The collective smile fades away. Reluctant, the three turn round as Delta steps onboard.
The Vagrant kneels, Jem presses himself against the far side of the sea-shuttle. Reela just stares up, mouth open, her eyes as wide as they will go.
Delta stares back. ‘Go,’ she says, and the word jars through them all. Jem wonders if she wants him to leave but does not dare to move. In any case, she is blocking the exit. Perhaps, he wonders, bitter, she expects him to jump over the side.
The sea-shuttle’s engine starts up, eager.
The Vagrant stands. He turns to the steering column and places his hands into the moulded surfaces on either side. Mutigel adapts to the contours of his fingers, pressing snug against his skin. He adjusts his footing, squares his shoulders and tilts his hands forward.
The sea-shuttle begins to move, parting the debris around it with ease. The Vagrant tilts his hands
further, the sea-shuttle accelerating as it clears the worst of the wreckage.
With the Vagrant steering and Reela busy pretending, Jem is left alone to worry about Delta. He tries not to look at her but cannot help himself. He sees she still carries the bones from the pyre, poised between her index finger and thumb. The slightest use of her strength would reduce both to powder. Jem wonders at her restraint, applies a pattern to the behaviour, knowing it is foolish. So long as she does not break those bones, he decides, they will be safe.
Vesper feels her hand move to the hilt of the sword. She doesn’t fight the compulsion, allowing herself to be guided. Drawing the weapon, she sees that the eye is already open, staring straight up. She follows its gaze, sees nothing but cloud-smeared sky.
She looks down at Scout. ‘Does anything seem wrong to you or Samael?’
Scout sniffs the air, while behind him, at the wheel of The Commander’s Rest, Samael looks around. Neither have anything to report.
But the sword is insistent, concerned even. Vesper sighs. The sword has been concerned ever since the Shining City. Reading her thoughts, the sword vibrates in her hand. No, it seems to say, this is different.
Silvered wings point, underlining the sense of there being something above them.
Vesper closes her eyes, letting the sword see for her.
The physical world remains as she saw it, there are no sky-ships, no winged figures, no threats of any kind but the currents of essence, usually invisible, are disturbed.
There is a communication, a song, that travels from her pursuers up into space. She cannot fathom its meaning but has the sense of an order being given, recognizes that it comes from Alpha of The Seven.
Though the immortal is far away, separated by miles of ocean, she can feel him reaching out, almost as if he could touch them.
And then, as she watches, something does become visible: a tiny glint in the sky, like the first star of the evening arriving early.
Without knowing why, Vesper’s heart beats faster. Eyes still closed, she calls back to Samael: ‘We’ve got trouble incoming!’
She barely hears his reply over the ocean. He is asking for clarification. Does she want him to change course? To slow down? To speed up?