by Peter Newman
An eye opens.
Silver wings stretch before resuming their normal position. The sword begins to hum and, unseen, essence flows from it to Vesper.
She wakes, sudden, surprised, jerking upright, and slowly takes in the room. It is empty. Strange, she expected someone to be here. Jem or her father, Samael or Reela. Even Scout. But they have gone.
Relaxing her neck, she lets the weight take her head downward, until chin touches chest, then rolls it up to her left shoulder, down again, then up to her right, down again, and up.
Discomfort comes with the movement but it is far away, like a man shouting at her on the other side of a wall. She is aware of something but unable to give meaning to it.
Sword in hand, Vesper gets up and goes to the door. A member of the Order of the Broken Blades waits on the other side. Vesper frowns, unable to recall her name. She is usually good with names. ‘Where is everyone?’
The knight stares at her, open mouthed.
‘Did you hear me?’
‘… I … sorry, they’re not here.’ There is fear in the knight’s voice.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You don’t know? We’re under attack!’
The sword hums in her hand. It hears truth but there is a lie buried in there too, their fear connected not to the fighting, but to Vesper herself.
She smiles, and there is another slight discomfort, oh so far away. Instead of calming the knight, her smile makes them wilt further. ‘You don’t need to be afraid.’
Hurriedly, she nods. ‘What are your orders?’
‘Come with me.’
The two of them make their way to the base of the dome and then out, into the valley itself.
Above them, the night is weakening, preparing to give way to dawn. Vesper knows it is the gold sun that will rise first today. Some would say it is a good omen but she knows it doesn’t matter whether the horizon glows red or gold in the next few hours. If there is to be any good, they will have to make it themselves.
She doesn’t need to wait for the sunrise to see. Fires blaze all over camp, fed by smashed tents, torn crates, and the wreckage of a sky-ship.
Bodies and blood are everywhere, most belonging to the people that came for her protection, some belonging to the Empire. Survivors make hard choices. Many flee with whatever they can carry. Others try to reclaim the camp, fighting back the flames as best they can. Still others arm themselves, preparing a second line of defence.
Vesper walks past them all, ignoring the shocked looks and worried mutters that trail in her wake.
Up ahead she hears gunfire and shouting, the sound taking her back to Sonorous and another battle, many years ago. So far removed in time and space and yet so similar. Vesper shakes her head. She has heard enough of war’s dirge, is sick of its irregular yet predictable beats, its one-note of misery.
‘Stay here,’ she says to the knight. ‘Help where you can.’
‘I will. What are you going to do?’
‘End this, if I’m able. Can you pass on a message for me?’
The knight lowers her head. ‘Of course.’
‘Tell them I’m sorry.’
She turns to go but the knight calls after her, ‘Wait! Who do you want me to tell?’
Vesper gives a slight shrug. ‘Jem, Samael … Everyone.’
Then, to the amazement of the knight and the other defenders, Vesper steps through one of the many gaps in the wall, leaving its protection behind.
The metal snakes are close now, bearing down on all sides. Soldiers march between them, using the vehicles as moving cover. It doesn’t take long for them to notice Vesper, and then word quickly spreads through the troops.
They don’t shoot, not at first, mesmerized by her lone trudging advance. Then word gets to an officer, who replies with a barking order to fire.
Still, there is a reluctance, a sense that somehow to shoot would be wrong.
A single shot rings out, and Vesper waves it away, casual, as one might a fly on a hot day.
Quickly, the officer unifies his troops, calls for fire support from one of the snakes. He watches Vesper drawing closer, ever so slowly as he gets the confirmation from the gunnery teams.
‘On my mark,’ he commands and his troop aim their rifles. Above and to his right, a metal head swings into position, picking out Vesper with powerful lamps. The officer gasps at the sight, wonders how the woman can stand, let alone walk.
He realizes that his troops are waiting for him and takes breath to give the order when the ground opens up beneath his feet.
There is a muffled gasp and he is gone from sight.
The soldiers have time to turn, to train their guns on the hole that took him before new ones open, whisking them away, one by one. In seconds the hole is so large that the metal snake begins to lean, then slide, half-swallowed by the earth.
Untouched and untroubled, Vesper keeps walking.
‘Sir, snake five reports weapon failure …’
‘We’re down another sky-ship, sir.’
‘Snakes and troops on the far side are struggling to keep pace with the main attack …’
‘Something wrong with our scouts in Wonderland, sir …’
The reports are coming in too fast for the Knight Com-mander to keep up with. He cannot understand why such a simple attack has become so complicated. They have the element of surprise, their saboteur has done his job well, and they have superior discipline and military might.
But somehow it has all gone wrong.
‘… They’re asking for permission to withdraw and repair.’
‘Insertion team is down, I repeat, insertion team is down.’
‘… What do you advise, sir? Our line is breaking.’
‘… They’ve been checking in but only giving minimal information …’
He feels his lack of experience in the field keenly. His predecessor would have known what to do. A bitter voice tells him that Obeisance would know if she were here. Even Vesper, with her strange ideas, has a strategy superior to his.
‘Shall I give permission to snake five?’
‘Sir?’
‘… I’ve tried asking for a more detailed report but I’ve been ignored.’
‘Captain Thrail is at the wall, sir. Repeat, she is at the wall. She’s clear to attack but unsupported as yet. Should she hold or proceed?’
It all hinges on him and he is failing to take action. He looks down at his splinted wrists. Functional hands are not required here and yet he feels diminished. Perhaps the meds are wearing off. He demands another injection.
‘Sir?’
‘Sir?’
‘Sir?’
‘Sir?’
He doesn’t mean to shout but his nerves come out that way. ‘Tell Thrail to attack. Tell all other captains to follow her example and press forward.’
‘Sir.’
‘I don’t want to hear about Wonderland or anywhere that isn’t Crucible until after the battle, is that clear?’
‘Clear, sir.’
‘Snake five does not have permission to pull back, they’ll have to repair as they go. Have it ram through the wall if it can’t fire. Our troops will do the rest. No one is pulling back. We will not show weakness to the enemy.’
‘Yes, sir!’
The Knight Commander turns to the window once more. Delta is still out there. She has not moved but they have, slowly advancing behind their army, yet Her gaze still falls in their direction. Surely there can be no doubt now: She is watching him. It is comforting to know that one of The Seven has noticed him. She has saved him for something and that makes his heart glad. A small diamond of certainty that he clings to.
So far the Empire’s army has moved around Delta, their soldiers studiously ignoring Her, a respectful denial. To look is to wonder about the schism in The Seven, to question it. Only the Knight Commander looks.
‘Sir, snakes three and six have been immobilized. They’re under heavy attack.’
‘What? How?�
��
Another officer cuts in. ‘Snake two has gone dark.’
Then another. ‘Sir, Captain Thrail has engaged the enemy. She’s requesting immediate backup.’
The Knight Commander starts to make a fist and pain lances through broken wrists. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. ‘I asked a question, damn you! What has immobilized our snakes?’
‘They’re collapsing the ground under them, sir. We’ve got hostiles engaging our troops on all sides.’ The officer touches a hand to his ear.
‘What is it?’ snaps the Knight Commander.
‘Infernals!’ comes the shocked reply. ‘We have infernals. They’re in our lines!’
‘Keep calm, captain, and order our Seraph Knights to pull back and engage the infernals. This is what we were made for.’
They have a moment to take solace in the idea before the next report comes in.
‘Sir, I have reports that the Bearer is on the battlefield.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, sir. She is alone and clear of the wall.’
The Knight Commander frowns. ‘Where is she now, exactly?’
‘Unknown, sir. The solider reporting in is injured. He says his unit was sucked into the ground by giant green demons. He’s the only one left.’
‘She can’t have vanished. Find her!’
A suspicion drags him back to the window. He frowns, sure that he is right but needing evidence.
‘Sir, what about Captain Thrail?’
‘Do we only have one decent officer in this army? The other captains should be in position by now!’ He shakes his head. ‘Send in a sky-ship on a glory run, tell the pilot that their name will be added to the songs.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Then he sees her, a grey spectre emerging from the chaos. It is as he suspected. ‘Call the Seraph Knights back!’
‘But, sir! They’re already engaging the infernals.’
‘Call them back now! Tell them to move to Delta’s location. And summon my guard, I’m going out there. And get me those damn meds!’
‘Yes, sir!’
With no small amount of relief, the Knight Commander leaves the command centre. His officers know the mission and they have their orders. Let them win their own glory now, he thinks, and let it be a shadow of my own.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Inside the dome, in a room, in a rounded corner, Jem hunches, legs pressed against his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. He feels the noises of war on his back. Each explosion makes him jump, each cry makes him flinch.
He is rarely still.
The door to his chamber bursts open without warning, and, despite his instincts demanding he stay small and silent, he cries out.
A soldier dressed in armour, imperial, walks in. Her rifle is slung over her shoulder, and though there are no lights on, she spots him immediately, leaning down to stare, puzzled. ‘What are you doing down there?’
‘Mazar?’ he asks. She nods and he adds, ‘I’m hiding of course. Trying to stay alive. Do you want to join me?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replies but she squats down at his side, awkward.
The dome trembles from some nearby impact and Jem grabs Mazar’s arm. ‘Sorry. I’m not very good in situations like this.’ She doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t let go of her. ‘I … didn’t expect to see you.’
Her helmet turns to look at him. ‘What?’
‘I mean, I thought you’d be out there, fighting.’
There is a pause, then she says, ‘I need your help. I don’t know what to do.’
It is Jem’s turn to look puzzled. ‘You’re going to have to—’ another cry pierces the air and he ducks ‘—tell me more.’
‘You’re right. I should be out there. It’s what I’m trained to do. The problem is I don’t know which side to fight for.’
‘I thought you were on our side?’
‘I am. I want to make up for what I’ve done and win Delta’s forgiveness. I have to. But flying you here and killing infernals is one thing, fighting the Empire is another. I spent my life training with these people. I know them …’ she trails off.
Jem tries to stop himself from shaking. ‘Look, Vesper is the one that makes inspirational speeches, not me. She’d probably tell you that Delta is on our side and that means you are too. Or maybe she’d say something about this being bigger than your feelings and that you can make a difference. I don’t know.
‘As for me, I want to live. Besides, I’d be no good out there. I’m no soldier and I don’t have the stomach for fighting. It’s easy for The Seven or Obeisance to talk of bravery. They’re not the ones who have to bleed for it. We are, and we’re not immortals and we don’t have living swords to protect us. No, I tried being a hero once and it didn’t work out.’ This time it is a memory that makes him shiver. ‘So I’m going to stay here. You’re welcome to stay too. I won’t judge either way.’
Mazar nods slowly, then settles more comfortably next to him. She still doesn’t acknowledge his hand on her arm, neither does she remove it.
Only the biggest craters make Vesper detour, her path doggedly straight. She ignores the fighting around her, fending off stray shots without turning her head. Her right arm seems to move of its own accord, agile and sure, the sword always where it needs to be.
Nobody opposes her directly. Most of the enemy are too busy fighting for their lives, or content to find other targets. Fear keeps them at bay, and an inevitability in her manner they cannot bring themselves to question.
Soon she finds herself passing through the bulk of the Empire’s assault force and out the other side, a brief place of calm before she gets to the Knight Commander’s rearguard.
But her path takes her away from them at a tangent, towards a lone form of silver, mostly buried.
With her free hand, Vesper brushes away the dirt, uncovering storm-cloud eyes and a mouth turned with sorrow.
‘Delta,’ she says. ‘I know you can hear me.’ Slowly, Delta’s head turns, facing Vesper and the sword. ‘It’s time for you to get up.’
Delta goes to turn away again and the sword hums, angry. Vesper stills it with a look. ‘No,’ she says, ‘that isn’t how this is going to be done.’ She looks down at Delta. ‘You didn’t have to get involved in this but You did. You made a choice and You stood with us against the rest of The Seven. You put Yourself between us and harm.’ She nods to herself, then adds, ‘and saved my life and that of my friends. Thank You.’
The sword thrums in her hand, drawing her attention to the Seraph Knights approaching from behind, and the Knight Commander and his entourage coming from her right, running as best they can through the mud.
She spares them only the briefest of glances.
‘We stood up to them and offered to talk, and in return they betrayed our trust and knocked us down.’ She brings her hand to her chest, ‘I got up again. Now it’s Your turn.’
Vesper knows that in some ways the words are unnecessary, that Delta can look into her soul and read her intentions, just as the sword can read Delta’s. Through its eye, she sees Delta’s fear, and an ocean of regret, deep enough to drown a nation. She sees the desire to hide from it all and is reminded of the sword’s desire for vengeance when she first used it. A different emotion, a different way to avoid the grief, but just as powerful.
The Seraph Knights are closing, the Knight Commander closer still, one jaw of the trap moving faster than the other.
Vesper holds out her hand. ‘You’re not alone.’
Delta sits up, her attention going to her own hands, empty, then to the area immediately around her.
‘It’s gone,’ says Vesper. ‘There’s no blanket to hide under anymore, nothing to cling to. There’s just me or them. It’s Your choice.’ She keeps her hand out.
Delta looks at her properly then, and liquid stone runs down her cheeks. ‘You suffer.’
‘Yes,’ she admits, feeling the truth of the immortal’s words. Her dream is broken, her body no
t what it was. ‘As do You.’
Delta holds her gaze and takes her hand. Understanding passes between the two, solemn, resolute. The immortal stands and, immediately, the approaching forces slow, made wary by Delta’s return to action.
Vesper calls to the Knight Commander across scarred earth. ‘I didn’t want it to be this way.’
The man doesn’t answer, just continues to advance. His entourage have weapons drawn, pointing at her, but not at Delta. She sees the Knight Commander give an order and those same weapons wink at her, discharging a volley of death.
She swings the sword, making an arc of blue, her song transformed into a light that steals power from the incoming projectiles, scattering them, harmless.
Delta speaks, the word resonant like a song. Just a word, but its echoes seem to endure, shimmering in the minds of those that hear her.
The Knight Commander’s soldiers drop their weapons.
The Knight Commander drops to his knees.
Delta strides towards him and as she gets close, the others kneel too, unable to stand in the presence of her glory.
Silver fingers take the Knight Commander’s jaw and tilt it up.
He looks into her eyes, his own shining with love.
Delta takes that love, and makes a chain of it, heavy, binding.
Vesper’s whisper goes unnoticed against the spectacle. ‘I didn’t want it to be this way.’
The gold sun is the first to rise, shining brightly on the brutality below. Bodies languish in the mud, some frozen in the act of burying themselves, others on their backs, enjoying the dawn. A collection of tableaus, defying the lives that made them, enemy corpses unable to keep from getting close to each other. Here, a uniformed arm is thrown companionably over a green shoulder, there, a stilt-wearing fighter from Slake spoons a Seraph Knight, her arms wrapped tight around his neck.
The Empire of the Winged Eye has surrendered, the order coming, unexpected, only minutes ago. Samael sees little rebellion in the eyes of their soldiers. Most remain in shock, staring about like babes slapped for the first time.
He moves from group to group, making sure Crucible’s forces adhere to Vesper’s orders. ‘No killing,’ he rasps. ‘Re-strain them.’