by Peter Newman
Delta is harder to get onboard. Between the three of them, they manage it, grunting, wheezing, and in the Vagrant’s case, wincing, as the effort squeezes more blood from his wounds.
It is only afterwards that he notices how wet Reela and Jem are. Lips purse to frame a question, then he shakes his head, dragging himself up the steering column.
Moments later the sea-shuttle leaps into life, powering away from the armada and Alpha’s sky palace.
Not a single ship moves to stop them.
The Vagrant pushes the sea-shuttle’s engines as hard as they will go until The Seven’s armada is banished from sight. Only stopping when they are far away and the red sun dips below the horizon.
This time, when he picks up Delta’s sword, it wakes at his touch, obedient. He hums low, sending soft vibrations along the blade, and places it against his calf. There is a hiss, of steel on skin, of breath through gritted teeth, and then he moves Delta’s sword to the bite on his arm.
The Vagrant nods to himself, then sways, his gaze unfocused.
‘Watch out!’ calls Jem, rushing over as the Vagrant stumbles sideways. Catching him before he falls, Jem eases the bigger man down until he sits on the deck. ‘Are you alright?’
The Vagrant nods blearily.
‘Those wounds look nasty, we should bind them.’
The Vagrant shakes his head but Jem is already getting an emergency box of supplies from the sea-shuttle’s cabinet. ‘The stuff in here is old but it’s better than nothing.’
The Vagrant holds up his hands, tries to wave Jem away.
‘Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Back when we liberated New Horizon from the Demagogue, I learned how to patch people up. Nothing clever, but I can clean and stitch if I have to.’
The Vagrant’s cheeks pale and he rests his head against the wall.
When Jem takes his arm, the Vagrant flinches, making Jem smirk.
Afterwards, Jem looks for rations, finds little. Most edibles are already perished or plundered but a couple of sustenance bars have been overlooked. Each is broken into three pieces, shared out, and chewed slowly.
Jem waves the end of his at Reela as he talks. ‘No wonder these were left behind, they’re unflavoured. I used to hate them when I was your age.’ He watches her and the Vagrant chewing together. ‘What do you think?’
Reela shrugs.
‘That’s it? Are you saying you actually like it?’
Reela shrugs again.
‘If you could have anything to eat, right now, what would you have?’ He smiles to himself. ‘I’d have some fried lizard wings. The ones that are so crispy you can snap off bits with your fingers and eat them. The trader my mother, your grandmother, used to go to had this special sauce. I dread to think what was in it but the stuff was delicious. It was spicy and salty and made my mouth tingle. I’d be desperate for a drink after but I made myself wait because the tingling feeling was so good.’ He looks back at her. ‘Okay, your turn.’
Reela’s brow scrunches in thought and she licks her lips but she says nothing.
Jem’s smile melts away and he shoots the Vagrant an unhappy look. ‘It’s alright. Take your time.’
It is nighttime. Clouds blanket the stars, a lightless sky reflecting emptiness on the ocean. A sea-shuttle drifts in the dark, a lone speck in the void, its engines quiet, three of its four passengers asleep.
Jem wishes he could join them but cannot. Thoughts play in his mind, restless, repetitive. He checks on Delta regularly, half expecting her to be awake, half expecting her to be dead. Both possibilities fill him with dread.
The sneeze is unexpected, taking Jem by surprise. The usual sense of its approach is fused with the sneeze itself, making a sound that jars with the rhythm of waves against hull.
Wiping his nose, Jem looks to see if any of the others have woken. Delta remains utterly still, Reela twitches and rolls over, sighing noisily in her sleep, and the Vagrant sits bolt upright, as if someone has applied a small electrical charge to his toes.
In the darkness, Jem smiles.
A bit of time passes, both men listening to the sighs and fidgets of the sleeping girl.
‘Are you awake?’
The Vagrant nods.
‘Did you just move? I can’t see you in the dark.’
The Vagrant gives him a gentle kick.
Jem sighs, dramatic. ‘You know, it would be a lot easier if you just talked.’ He pauses, allowing time for a response. ‘No? Well, that’s okay, I’ve got some things to say. To be honest, I don’t care if you speak or not. That’s up to you. But I do care about Reela. I don’t know what you’ve done to her but she’s stopped talking and it’s all your fault. You know when you went after Delta she followed you into the water?’
Jem has the sense of the Vagrant leaning closer. ‘That’s right. And you know how bad a swimmer she is. You need to talk to her before she really hurts herself.’ The next words come out without his meaning to say them, moving under their own power. The kind of words only said at night. ‘Everyone else thinks you’re something special but I know the truth about you, remember that.
‘The thing I don’t understand is why you’d risk all of our lives to save Delta when you wouldn’t lift a finger for my mother? She died in New Horizon, did you know that? She’s dead because of you. And because of you I was a …’ he searches for the words, ‘a slave and a toy and a … fucking curio for the Demagogue, for over ten years. Because of you.’
As the first light of the suns brings colour to the sky, little has changed on the sea-shuttle. Delta remains where she was put, a silver statue stuck somewhere on the spectrum of sleep, coma and death. Reela also sleeps while Jem and the Vagrant wait awkwardly, neither communicating, both busying themselves with trivialities.
The horizon remains clear ahead and behind. The gold sun greets the day fully as the red starts to climb behind it. Final checks are made and the sea-shuttle’s engines are warmed. They whine into action, making the sea-shuttle judder, ominous.
With a shrug, the Vagrant pushes forward on the steering column and the little ship cuts a smooth path through the water.
Jem and Reela take turns to sneeze and shiver, huddling together for warmth.
After a few hours, Reela drifts off again and Jem joins the Vagrant, not looking at him directly but standing close enough to talk. ‘There’s no more food. Can you fish?’
The Vagrant raises a hand, horizontal, and tilts it left to right several times.
‘That’s not very encouraging. I’ll see if I can find anything to fish with. We need to find a port. I’ve been looking at the charts. They’re years out of date but they do show a couple of places. There’s an old drilling station called Ferrous we could try, or there’s an island. It’s not got a name, just a designation.’
The Vagrant raises an eyebrow.
‘Well, I don’t see you suggesting anything. If Ferrous is still active it’s our best bet but if it isn’t, I doubt there’s much left there now. The island is an unknown. I think … I think we should go for Ferrous. It’s a gamble but it’s our best bet if we want to catch up with Vesper before The Seven do.’
The Vagrant pauses, nods and Jem puts the details into the sea-shuttle’s navcom.
Time passes, the ocean being gentle with the ship. Little is said though Reela’s belly often gurgles and grumbles. Jem and the Vagrant smile at the sound, but not at each other.
Reela prods at herself, experimenting, hoping to make the others laugh. Before her efforts can bear fruit however, there is a different kind of grumbling beneath her feet.
The deck gives a violent shudder and the sea-shuttle lurches forward one more time, a desperate leap to nowhere as, with a final whine, the engines die.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘We’re the problem,’ Vesper mutters to herself, then looks to the First for confirmation, knowing it will have heard her.
‘Though I suspect The Seven would echo your … sentiment, I do not understand.’
She looks to Samael but the half-breed appears equally baffled. ‘When you discovered that The Seven were back, you came to me for protection, yes?’ The First nods. ‘And when we realized they were chasing us, we ran, and we’re still running now.’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes! But that’s not good enough. You said you thought The Seven were coming after you. I believe that but they’re also coming after me, and everything that came from the Breach, and everything that has been touched by the taint.
‘We can’t just run and hide from this, we have to start taking action.’
‘I hear rhetoric but little more.’
Vesper takes a deep breath. ‘Okay then, I’ll get to the point. Your ships are too slow to evade pursuit. They need time to repair. We can give them that time by drawing The Seven away. You and me. If we are both together, I’m sure The Seven will prioritize us.’
‘How is this different from running away?’
‘Because we won’t be running away. We’ll be running forward. You have sky-ships. We’re wasting them here with the main fleet. We can use them to get messages to our allies, warn them of what’s coming and coordinate a response. That means: New Horizon, Verdigris, Slake, Red Rails, West Rift and Reachers Cove. Oh, and any of the big Usurperkin tribes and infernals that you know about as well, just so long as you save one sky-ship for us.’
‘One? It will be too small. I am far more than a single body.’
‘We’ll just have to pack as many of you in as we can and hope it’s enough to hold The Seven’s attention.’
Samael clears his throat. ‘You’re leaving The Commander’s Rest?’
‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘And so are you. I’m sorry, but I need you with us. The First’s people will have to take care of it.’
‘And where,’ asks the First, ‘will we be running to?’
‘To Wonderland, and an old friend.’
Sitting heavy in the air, the sky-ship skims over tainted tree-tops. The First occupies the pilot’s chair and the co-pilot’s chair. It also packs out most of the hold, with several standing in open doorways and out on the wings. Samael has been wedged into a seat, his armour making tatters of the fabric. Vesper sits between him and one of the First. Tucked beneath their feet are Scout and the buck, who have so far remained mercifully quiet.
None of them is happy. The First is torn between the reassurance of having so much of itself together again and the sense of vulnerability that comes from such close proximity with the Malice. Samael worries about The Commander’s Rest and the fact that Scout is transmitting queasy impulses through their link. Vesper worries about the knights she left behind, about her family, about the future, about so many things that she begins to worry about her ability to remember them all. Meanwhile, the buck is getting hungry, and the Malice continues to radiate misery.
‘Do you know what I hate?’ Vesper says into the silence.
‘No,’ replies Samael.
‘Not being able to see where we’re going.’
The half-breed nods, sympathetic. ‘I hate that too but the thing I hate the most is not being in control.’
The sky-ship has a number of systems in place to keep the flight smooth and stable; as a result, Vesper has little sense of movement. Such systems do not fool the more sensitive Dogspawn however. Scout’s head jerks forward in a dry heave and the buck bleats nervously, edging as far away as he can in the cramped conditions.
‘You truly … hate these things?’ asks the First.
Vesper jumps in her seat but the straps do not allow her to get far. She gives a half smile, sheepish. ‘Sorry. I know this sounds ridiculous but you hadn’t moved for so long I forgot you were there.’ An eye glances up at her, unimpressed. ‘Sorry,’ she says to the sword, then, to the First she adds, ‘When I say “hate” I mean I find it very frustrating.’
‘Words are such imprecise tools. When my kind converse, understanding is total.’
‘What’s it like when you talk to each other?’
‘When my kind meet, our essences touch and there is a merging. It is as if I become you and you become me. I do not just hear you, I am you. I know the concept you wish to share and I know it as you do. We do not divide emotion and understanding, they are one.’
‘It sounds a bit like when the sword talks to me. We don’t use words but I know what it’s trying to say. It’s hard to explain, like we’re communicating on a deeper level.’
‘Are you aware that the Malice is changing you?’
Vesper looks down at her hands. They rest across the sword on her lap. ‘Yes.’
‘That is why my kind are solitary. To deal with another is to risk losing yourself.’
‘But demons travel in groups all the time.’
‘Yes but only one of them is itself. When the Usurper walked your world, only a few of us remained free. The rest were slaves to the Usurper’s desires. For all their flaws, words allow us to remain distinct.’
‘Oh I don’t know about that,’ replies Vesper. ‘Words control people too.’
‘And bind us,’ adds Samael in a hoarse whisper.
‘I have another question,’ says the First. ‘You have a child.’
‘A daughter, yes.’
‘How is she?’
Vesper looks up, surprised. ‘Difficult. Noisy. Funny. I don’t know, to be honest. I haven’t spent much time with her and now maybe I never will. I fear for her. And my father and my uncle. I’m hoping that The Seven are so intent on coming for me that They haven’t even noticed my family.’
‘But you do not believe this.’
She crumples in her seat. ‘No. My daughter, Reela, bears the taint. And I know They don’t like my father.’
‘I thought he was Their Champion?’
‘He is. But he disagreed with Them, and I have the feeling They won’t have forgotten about it.’
Scout coughs a few times and then begins to retch. The buck sounds an alarm.
‘He’s not going to …?’ asks Vesper.
‘A hairball,’ Samael replies. ‘But that may change. Flying doesn’t suit him.’
Vesper leans down to stroke the buck, calming him. She is surprised to find the First has also leant down, its visored face only inches from hers. ‘Er, hello?’
‘I do not understand you.’
She pauses, then murmurs. ‘Okay.’
‘With others of your kind, it is simple. I see into them, I know them. Not as well as if I touched my essence to theirs, but enough. The Malice makes that difficult. It keeps a wall of hate between us.’
‘If you’re asking me to put the sword down so that you can study me, I’m going to have to say no.’
‘Before, you said you hated not being able to see.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why not move to the cockpit? There is a viewing window there.’
‘Well,’ she remembers Genner’s lecture from when she was a girl, a lifetime ago, ‘because of protocol and safety regulations and … and none of that matters here does it? Can I go into the cockpit?’
‘Yes.’
Vesper punches the air. ‘Yesss!’
Buckles are released, straps retracting into their housings and Vesper is on her feet. It is awkward squeezing past the various shells of the First, but enthusiasm and determination win through.
She is nearly through the hold when Samael’s armour creaks behind her. ‘Can I come too?’
‘This is much better,’ declares Vesper.
The cockpit is built for two, the First occupying both of the designated spaces. Vesper kneels on the lap of one, and looks over the shoulder of the other. Samael stands at the entranceway, bent forward so that his back can follow the curve of the roof. He has removed his helm to better position his head, revealing white skin, bloodless and inflexible. It also allows his long black hair to fall freely, giving Vesper a second fringe and tickling her ear.
Despite her view being limited to the square formed by the crush of bodies, Vesper’s grin i
s bright. She marvels at the landscape blurring by beneath her.
Through his canine eye, Samael transmits the sight to Scout, who remains crouched in the hold; making sense of the sky-ship’s movement and settling his stomach.
As the sky-ship slows down, details come into focus. A forest of stalks, yellow-gold, thick as birch trees and easily as tall. Hidden inside are all manner of tainted creatures: giant spiders spinning webs like cable, swarms of wasps grown too fat to fly, and thorny plants that take root in the soft flesh of the living.
Wonderland sits in the middle of this mess, an island of grey and blue. A great city taken to new heights by the Uncivil, its turrets continue to stand proud, great walkways arcing between them. The lights and life of the city have long been extinguished however, leaving a pale ghost of what was.
‘We should come across a courtyard soon that we can land in,’ says Vesper. ‘Right about … yes! There it is.’
They come to a stop above five towers, each joined by a wall obviously built much later to create an enclosed area. Where the towers are seamless metal structures, the wall is a thing of mud and bones and junk, glued together with filth.
The First brings the sky-ship down, light drives rotating to vertical, allowing a straight descent. Old bits of refuse dot the space, broken bits of stone and glass. Otherwise, it is empty, the remains rotted or squirrelled away for darker purposes.
When the hatch opens, the buck is the first to bound out, bleating, triumphant. Scout quickly follows, racing around in a happy circle.
Samael comes next, his helmet back in place, then Vesper, who stretches out her arms and neck. Vertebrae click and blood finds its way back into extremities.
‘That’s odd,’ she says aloud. ‘There used to be a giant fake monster here.’
The First begins to exit behind her, marching in single file. ‘This place appears abandoned. I was given to understand that it was … cursed.’
‘No, it isn’t cursed. It’s … it’s a long story. We need to go to the Don’t Go. If my friend is still here, that’s where she’ll be.’
Vesper leads the way around the side of one of the buildings to a small corrugated shed. She pulls open the door to reveal a rusty chute. ‘It’s down there.’