The Seven

by Peter Newman

  ‘But what if there’s nothing left of you at the end?’

  Vesper closes her eyes. ‘This isn’t the time.’ She knows this will anger him, keeps talking to smother the argument before it gets going. ‘Look, I can’t fight The Seven and you at the same time. Help me. Keep yourself and Reela safe. When this is over, we can talk.’

  ‘This will never be over.’ He looks at her, pained by what he sees. He steps aside.

  ‘We’ll talk after the battle, I promise.’

  Jem bites back a reply. The taste of it lingers in his mouth, bitter, long after she has gone.

  The buck wanders the grasses on the far side of Crucible, keeping well clear of the people and their grim business. Terrors of the previous night are already forgotten, the suns as warm as they ever were, pleasant on his back.

  A questing bleat catches his attention.

  It is the doe.

  At the sight of her, four legs freeze in place and his jaw locks. Calling to her drives her away so he does not do that. Chasing her drives her away so he does not do that either. The buck has no idea what to do and so he stands, rigid, his eyes on hers.

  Slowly, she approaches, pausing sometimes to behead a nearby flower, her eyes flicking to his as she does so.

  The buck sways, eyelids flickering, vision suddenly blurry. Somehow, he manages not to faint.

  She bleats again, a call for attention already received, and trots closer, until her head is inches from his.

  The buck does not move, holding his breath, keeping his body still.

  Those final inches fall away slowly, a bearded mouth brushing his cheek.

  Blissfully, the buck closes his eyes. She nuzzles him a second time, more firmly and it is suddenly too much. He opens his mouth, bellowing joy.

  The doe leaps, straight up.

  Several birds fly away.

  Not long after, the buck is alone again. He hangs his head, making a series of low bleats, miserable.

  Vesper walks out to the central space. Above and around her, the delegations quieten, as much through shock as respect. By now they have all heard rumours about her injuries and recovery, but for many this is the first time they have actually seen her.

  The infernals lean away from the silvery essence running though her like flaming mercury. The humans, seeing nothing but the physical, wonder how she still walks.

  All present are attentive, waiting for her to speak. Since the battle, there has been a new kind of respect for her. No longer just a diplomat or sword carrier, or the one that allegedly closed a distant Breach. She has been transformed into something other, a figurehead, a legend, a thing they can no longer fully relate to. They are in awe of her.

  A memory comes to Vesper of the Shining City and the sea of reverent faces at the steps of The Seven’s sanctum, and with it a feeling of terrible loneliness.

  She looks up at the various delegations. Savmir and his ratbred appear ruffled, nervous. Ezze sits uneasily in the space left by Tough Call, Max and Maxi just as uneasy at his side. West Rift’s section is poorly populated, and the First’s box remains empty. Flat Head seems propped up in her chair, chin resting heavy on her fist. Only Slake’s painted delegates and the Man-shape seem unchanged.

  ‘Last night,’ she says, ‘you did the impossible. You stood against the Empire of the Winged Eye and you won. They came at us with their war machines and their soldiers when we were least ready, and you did not fail.

  ‘The cost was high.’ She takes a moment to look at each group in turn. ‘It was too high. Our worlds will never be the same again. But we won. A lot of us were strangers to each other but we fought side by side and we won.’

  She lets the positive note fade away. ‘I wish I could say the battle was over but it isn’t. Alpha’s sky palace is coming. It will be here before midday.’

  They all know this but her words bring the reality home a second time. Heads shake and dark words are exchanged. Vesper holds up a hand and they fall quiet again. ‘Listen to me. They say that no one has ever stood in battle against The Seven and survived. Maybe that’s true.’ There is another rumble of unhappiness that cuts off as she continues. ‘But The Seven no longer exist. Gamma and Delta are with us. The bulk of their army has fallen. We can do this. Together.’

  At some unseen signal, Gorad and Gut-pumper lean forward. ‘Gut-pumper was wondering about that army …’ says Gorad.

  ‘Yes,’ agrees Gut-pumper, ‘that Empire army we’re looking after.’

  Gorad nods. ‘Why haven’t we killed them? Be safer to. Much cheaper to kill them than to feed them.’

  ‘Hard to tame,’ murmurs Gut-pumper.

  The Man-shape raises a hand, indicating that it would like to speak. At Vesper’s nod, it begins. ‘I too have thought about this problem and I have a solution that will save resources and be of benefit to all sides. Give them over to us.’

  ‘What would you do with them?’ asks Vesper.

  ‘Repurpose them, as we would our own after a defeat.’

  Vesper looks hard at the Man-shape, then at each of the other delegates. ‘Is this really what you want? I thought we were here to do things differently than before.’ She draws herself straight. ‘I didn’t order those people restrained just so I could kill them later. I did it because there’s more than one way to defeat an enemy, and there’s more than one way for us to live our lives.’

  Ezze clears his throat. ‘Great lady, Ezze hears you and is struck by the vision of your splendid words, but many of us are unworthy of the greatness. We are more interested to be living and having enjoyment of the food.’

  ‘Who will watch them?’ asks Savmir. ‘Cannot fight and watch. Cannot split our fighters. Too many enemy as it is!’

  ‘This won’t be like last time,’ replies Vesper. ‘Those too injured to fight but well enough to hold a weapon will watch the prisoners.

  ‘Alpha’s sky palace can’t be fought like a regular army base that’s on the ground. It doesn’t matter that there’re more of us, they’ll just glide overhead and bomb us out of existence. To bring our numbers to bear, we need to bring them down to our level. In order to do that, we’re going to need to get people up and into the palace.

  ‘We have the First’s remaining sky-ships in addition to the ones the Empire surrendered. We’ll pack them with our finest and use them to board the palace in multiple locations. If we’re fast, we can force them down, allowing the bulk of our army to attack.’

  She gives them a moment to take it in. ‘I’d prefer to take volunteers for the raid. The casualties will be high.’

  ‘Where will you find pilots for the extra ships?’ asks Gorad.

  ‘And how will you stop the Empire ships locking down?’ asks Gut-pumper.

  ‘The Empire’s sky-ships won’t lock down because it will be the original crew piloting them.’

  She hears a mutter, perhaps from the West Rift box, ‘So much for volunteers.’

  ‘They have already volunteered, it seems we are not the only ones to doubt The Seven’s wisdom.’

  ‘Can we trust enemy?’ asks Savmir.

  ‘They cannot lie to me,’ replies Vesper. The irony of her own lie does not escape her. While it is true that the Empire’s pilots are willing now, it was not so before their meeting with Delta. Vesper keeps this detail to herself, another smudge on the window of her dream.

  ‘Are you going, Vesper?’ asks the Man-shape.

  Without hesitation, she raises her head. ‘Of course. I wouldn’t ask people to go if I weren’t willing to myself.’

  ‘I am confused. You know that The Seven will sense the Malice. They will come for you.’

  ‘I’m counting on it. While They are trying to bring me down, it will free the rest of the raiding party to complete the mission.’

  The Man-shape remains unconvinced. ‘What if you get shot from the sky before you land? What hope will the mission have then?’

  ‘There’s going to be more than one lure. Delta is going up too, and I was hoping you wo
uld join us. Your presence will draw them just as fast as mine.’

  Everyone turns to the Man-shape’s shadowed head, waiting for it to answer. ‘No,’ it says at last. ‘I am here seeking life, not death. However, I will send Guttershamble and the Faceless Prince in my place.’

  Was that comment aimed at me? she wonders. Am I seeking death?

  The sword begins to hum in her hand. It takes her a moment to realize it is not reacting to her. Frowning, she closes her eyes, giving herself over to it.

  As she concentrates, she becomes aware of a slight vibration in the floor, like the purr of the earth. The sword pulls at her, drawn by something outside the dome.

  She is not the only one disturbed. More and more of the delegates sense the tremors now. Some reaching for weapons out of habit, others moving for the exit.

  The Man-shape and the other infernals are first to the doors, moving with the speed of those that know something the others do not.

  In a matter of minutes, the dome empties.

  Vesper is the last to leave, moving with a more measured pace than the others. She is weary rather than afraid, resigned as much as ready.

  Beneath her feet, the ground trembles, regular, the heartbeat of a giant, louder, closer.

  Squeezing the hilt of the sword, Vesper goes outside to meet it.

  Delta of The Seven turns away from the rising sun and her approaching brothers and sisters in the sky, her gaze going towards the new arrival.

  Above, Alpha’s palace pauses, five silver figures moving to the same side of the battlements.

  In Crucible, people rush to high ground. Those with scopes and vision enhancers employ them. Those without, squint.

  The infernals sense it before they can see it: the coming of one of their own. Not since the time of the Uncivil or the Usurper have they felt such power. It is fear-making, thrilling, and they are drawn to watch like flies to fire.

  And there is plenty for the humans to see too. A shape is materializing, visible despite the distance. Familiar, bizarre, moving in a way that shocks the brain.

  Someone shouts, voicing the thought they all have, lending credence to the impossible sight. ‘It’s Wonderland!’

  Others agree, the word spreading from group to group. For it is Wonderland, but transformed. No longer simply a city, it has become a living creature, the towers like rows of spines on its back.

  It moves on a skirt of rippling bone, hundreds of giant vertebrae flexing together to give the city a gliding, almost graceful approach.

  Lights sparkle, on towers, on walls, thick studs of them making a belt of jewels between the bone-skirt and city gates. They are a riot of colours, joyous, each one lovingly restored.

  Such is the majesty of it all that for a while, all anyone can do is watch.

  Then, Delta returns to her vigil. Scopes and eyes across Crucible return to the sky, and Alpha’s sky palace rotates towards the new threat, Wonderland.

  Vesper finds her way to Samael’s side. ‘It’s the First, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ the half-breed replies. ‘It is complete again. Wonderland is its shell now. That was the Uncivil’s dream but she was destroyed before it was complete. Now Neer has seen it through.’

  ‘With your help.’

  ‘Yes, with my help, and the First’s.’

  She nods, realizing that Samael has known about this for some time. She quickly puts away any anger at being kept in the dark, focusing on the needs of the moment. ‘This is it, Samael. This is our chance. Scramble the sky-ships.’

  ‘Yes,’ he says but does not move.

  ‘If you have something to say, there’s no time to be shy.’

  ‘I wish to volunteer for the raid.’

  Vesper shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I need you on the ground. If all goes well, we’ll meet in the palace somewhere. And, Samael?’ she adds. ‘If something happens to me, I’m relying on you to hold this together. I’m sorry to lay another burden on you, but you’re the only other one that can get the infernals and humans to listen.’

  ‘I hope it doesn’t come to that.’

  ‘Me too! Now go, we need to make this count.’

  While sky-ships are prepped and run through last-minute checks, Vesper jogs to the edge of Crucible, raising the sword and singing softly. There is an answering cry, and soon after she is rewarded by the sight of Delta flying back towards her.

  It is almost time to go and there are too many goodbyes. In a way, she is glad.

  The Vagrant strides through the throngs of rushing people to stand before her. They look at each other, con-densing a lifetime of feelings, of things said and unsaid, into a nod.

  A strange movement in her periphery draws her attention from him: Guttershamble and the Faceless Prince are making their way onto a waiting sky-ship, two mashed corpses shuffling towards a second end. The sight repulses her. She wonders if anything is left of Gutterface, the infernal they were made from, and if they are even still capable of independent thought. There are hints in the wrecked figures of something greater, but they are hard to find.

  After a moment, her eyes travel to the sword. Are they any different to me?

  The sword has little sympathy for such thoughts, glaring at her until they are burnt away, leaving her focused again.

  She looks up as Delta lands. ‘Ready?’ she asks.

  The reply is whispered, as much felt on the ears as heard. ‘I do not want to face Alpha again. I am afraid.’

  The mention of Alpha’s name does not make Vesper feel afraid. If anything, she and the sword feel a frustration that slides into anger, tinged with disappointment. ‘Dig deep. Don’t let the fear win. And remember, You’re not alone. I’ll see You up there, okay?’

  Delta assents and Vesper runs to another sky-ship, jumping in without hesitation.

  From the open hatch, Mazar shouts that they are ready to fly. The Vagrant starts to climb in, beckoning Delta to follow.

  But she does not.

  She is thinking of the last time she met her brother, Alpha. Her essence remains bruised by his anger, throbbing at the recollection. She wishes there was something to cling to and looks at her hands. They are empty, only dark smudges on her palms where once she held a coat.

  The other sky-ships are nearly loaded. It is important that they all leave together to have the biggest chance of success. Delta knows this but cannot bring herself to go in.

  Vesper says that she is not alone but, in this moment, Delta feels more alone than ever before. She is estranged from her brothers and sisters, adrift, and her purpose is unclear. Even her sword feels wrong to her now.

  Engines rise in pitch, ready, urging her to hurry.

  And then it strikes her. There is something that would bring comfort.

  She leaps up, soaring towards the dome. In seconds she has flown through one of the larger cracks and is gliding down an empty corridor. She stops at a room, ducking through the doorway.

  A man called Jem stands up. He sees her hand, beckoning, and goes to say something that Delta does not want to hear. Her essence ripples out. How dare he! She wants such a little thing. It is not his place to pass judgement. A single look is all it takes for Jem to close his tainted mouth and step away, to keep stepping away, mindless, until his back hits the wall.

  Once more, she looks to Reela and the girl comes, a small hand snaring one of her silver fingers.

  At the contact, Delta feels the tension ease slightly. Now, I am ready.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A dozen sky-ships rise together, light spearing down from their engines. They stay low at first, skimming over the fields that surround Crucible, following the curve of gentle hills, speeding stealthily towards Alpha’s sky palace.

  From a distance, Wonderland and the floating fortress appear to move slowly towards each other, with dignity, more like participants in a ritual than combatants.

  Even the first volley of missiles seems as much display as attack. They streak, screaming across the sky, crashi
ng into Wonderland’s towers and walls, and little clouds bloom, flowers of smoke with flickering eyes.

  In seconds they are gone and Wonderland continues for-ward, untroubled.

  The sky-ships continue as well, flying low until the shadows of the palace fall across them. Together they peel away from the ground, a volley of arrowheads shooting straight up.

  As gun turrets along the battlements swing towards the new targets the formation breaks abruptly, each sky-ship fighting its own battle to survive.

  Inside one of them, the Vagrant sits. His hands press against his face, as if trying to hold something inside. From his lap, Delta’s sword watches, nervous.

  Each sudden movement makes the Vagrant jolt. His chest heaves and cheeks puff out before he swallows, settling just in time for the next one.

  A small hand rubs his back in sympathy.

  He looks up and gives Reela a watery smile before lowering his head again.

  She carries on rubbing his back.

  After a beat, the Vagrant lifts his head again, before turning slowly to look at Reela.

  Amber eyes blink several times.

  Reela is still there. She waves at him.

  The Vagrant’s mouth drops open.

  Outside, a set of booms grow louder, gunfire tracking closer to their position. The sky-ship makes an abrupt turn in the air and Reela lurches right, feet leaving the floor. Her flight is arrested by the Vagrant, who catches her, plonking her into the seat next to his. The Vagrant gives little shakes of his head as he straps her into place. When he glances down at Delta’s sword, it is looking at Delta, accusing.

  The Vagrant sighs into his hands.

  There are more explosions nearby, more flips and spins, each one matched by the stomachs of those in the hold, then a thud and a screech as the sky-ship skids to a stop.

  Already the hatch is hissing open, Mazar readying her rifle as she comes from the cockpit. She ignores the others, her eyes for Delta alone.

  ‘We’re here.’

  Vesper’s sky-ship dives in, risking a bad landing in order to be a harder target. Given the nature of the palace, landing spots are limited. There are a few designated pads, two courtyards or the possibility of squeezing onto one of the rare pieces of flat roof. Because of this, it is easy to predict where the sky-ships will approach, The Seven’s elite forces already moving into ambush positions.