by Peter Newman
‘No!’ shouts the girl.
Arms and legs flail, doing little to stop her backwards exit. Noises of protest continue down the corridor, fading in volume but maintaining intensity.
Vesper waits until they have gone and then sighs. ‘I think it’d be best if you came with me.’
The Vagrant doesn’t answer and Vesper sighs again, leaving him to his thoughts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Vesper walks away from Crucible. A light rain patters unnoticed across her head and shoulders. Her people make last checks before their departure, coaxing ailing snakes of metal back to life.
She walks away from them as well.
Up the side of the valley she goes, scrambling in places where mud slides beneath feet. She relishes the climb, finding it easier than expected.
At the top, two goats look up from their grazing, startled. ‘There you are!’ she says, taking a step forward and opening her arms.
The doe scampers away while the buck watches her, puzzled.
‘It’s me, Vesper. Do you remember?’
At her voice he looks around, then back at her. His dark eyes show no sign of recognition. ‘It’s alright, I won’t hurt you.’
She steps forward again and he retreats quickly. From a safe distance, the doe bleats and he trots a few steps towards her before looking back over his shoulder.
‘Oh,’ says Vesper, lowering her arms. ‘I suppose you’re leaving me too.’
The buck screams, making her smile and the doe runs still further. ‘Goodbye then. And good luck.’
For a while the buck just stares at her, and then another bleat from the doe sends him scurrying after.
Vesper waits until they are out of sight, wipes at her face and makes her way towards Wonderland.
The living city has settled somewhat, its skirt of bone-limbs bunching thick to make a base, a circular white cliff for Wonderland to perch on.
Several of these limbs have been pressed forward of their fellows, kinked, to form steps up to the main gates.
Vesper ascends them, again enjoying the feeling of exertion. Her legs feel as if they could go on forever even if her heart does not.
Teams of people crawl about the turrets like spiders, repairing, restoring, loving. Up close, it is easy to see the extent of the damage done, and to appreciate the speed at which Wonderland recovers.
She leaves the multicoloured splendour of the streets and makes her way into a grand building, with high ceilings and large windows. Waiting for her there, at a table, is a figure in smooth black armour.
She goes and sits opposite, placing the sword on the table but keeping her hand on the hilt.
The figure lifts the helmet, revealing Duet’s face, and behind it, the essence of the First.
Vesper finds it still bothers her. The sword shows her a concealed necrotic pipe that runs from the wall, through the back of the chair, through the back of the body. There is only an illusion of separateness, the thing that meets her merely the bud of a great tree. ‘We’re going soon. You wanted to talk?’
The First nods. ‘Yes. It is important to me that we remain in alliance. Only I have the power to directly … threaten yours, and only you and The Seven remain to threaten me.’
‘I’m not planning to threaten anyone, surely you know that by now. It would go against everything Crucible was made for. You’re the one holding all the secret meetings, not me.’
‘And yet you have entered into negotiations with the Man-shape, binding it more closely to you.’
‘Is that what this is about?’ She takes its silence as assent. ‘Honestly, it’s not about threatening, it’s about the opposite. When you came to me, you asked me to stand between you and The Seven, right?’
‘This is true.’
‘And I did. I’m still doing it today.’
‘I do not see the relevance of this statement.’
‘I’m not helping the Man-shape so we can ally against you, I’m helping to keep it safe from you. I’m standing between you and the Man-shape. See the relevance now?’
‘Yes. But which side will you take when the Man-shape comes after me?’
Vesper doesn’t hesitate. ‘That won’t happen.’
‘It is the way of my kind. It is inevitable. The Man-shape has had ample opportunity to find … accord with me. Instead, it flees north to gather its strength.’
‘No, it isn’t like that!’
‘Then promise me, if the Man-shape returns to Wonderland, seeking conquest, that you will step aside.’
‘How about this: I promise not to help the Man-shape dominate you. But I won’t allow there to be war again, regardless of who starts it.’
‘That is an interesting position to take. I look forward to seeing if such freedom is possible, without violence to enforce it.’
‘It is possible,’ she leans forward. ‘With your help.’ The chair scrapes as she pushes it back. ‘Congratulations by the way. It must be good to be whole again.’
‘Thank you. We are both greater than we were and this is … pleasing to me.’
‘Well,’ she says, turning to leave. ‘I’m sure we’ll see each other again.’
‘Do you wish to say goodbye to your family before you go?’
She stops and shakes her head. ‘They don’t know I’m here. I’ve already said goodbye to them once, and believe me, that was enough.’
The last bone-limb anchoring Alpha’s sky palace to Wonderland is removed, and the vast soft-singing engine comes to life again. It cannot be heard from the outside but something of the sound escapes, a resonance that tingles teeth and tickles the body’s finer hairs.
Samael watches it go from atop one of Wonderland’s towers.
There is a stateliness to the palace’s ascent. While it has received only superficial damage, the metal snakes that follow it on the ground crawl with injury.
The Seven stand on the battlements, two appearing smaller than the rest. One because his head is bowed with chain, the other because she is. Vesper draws the Malice, offering a last salute, and Samael reaches for a sword that isn’t there.
His empty hand hovers, before he holds it out. Not a wave, not a salute, but something.
Out of respect he stays in position as the Empire of the Winged Eye begins its long journey home.
Scout comes to join him, settling against his leg. The Dogspawn has enjoyed the run up the stairs, Samael can feel satisfaction in the pumping of flanks and the way Scout’s mouth stays open, panting.
It takes a while for the Dogspawn to calm, longer than it used to, he muses. Scout is getting old. While Samael suspects his own body will take a long time to fully crumble, he knows that his companion is well inside his last decade.
Scout whines, sensing Samael’s sadness, and he leans his head against his master, looking up.
Samael reaches down and strokes Scout, an act of reassurance, though he is not sure if it is for himself or the Dogspawn or if such things even matter.
They stay like that while Scout’s panting comes to an end and the sky palace becomes a darker dot amid the clouds.
Gradually, voices approach, chattering and breathless from the climb. One belongs to his friend, Jem, the other to Mazar.
‘When you asked me if I was happy with his offer, I thought he was going to sweat to death!’ says Jem.
Mazar’s laugh is a little high. ‘He was terrified … of me.’
‘Yes, isn’t it great! I’m going to have to take you to all my negotiations from now on. I’m sure the Surgeon General will approve of you being assigned to me.’
Her reply is too low to hear and then the two of them are coming onto the roof to join him.
‘Sir Samael,’ calls Jem. ‘They said you’d be up here.’
The two embrace. Mazar just gives him a nod whilst trying not to stare at Scout.
‘I’m not a knight any more.’
Jem smiles his sharp-toothed smile. ‘Maybe not to them, but you are to me.’
Abr
uptly, Samael desires to change the subject. ‘How are you finding Wonderland?’
‘I love it! There’s so much going on, and so much opportunity. When I was at New Horizon, even as a child, it was all about survival. When I lived outside the Shining City, I was safe but kept out of the way. I was an embarrassment there, but here, I’m valued. I feel …’ he smiles again, ‘alive.’
‘Good. And you, Mazar?’
She startles at the sudden inclusion. ‘It’s new to me. Strange.’
‘That bad?’ asks Jem.
‘I don’t regret it.’
‘Give it time and you’ll love it like I do,’ he replies. ‘There’s so much to learn and we haven’t even started moving yet.’
Mazar glances around. ‘But doesn’t that bother you? That we’re living on a giant … thing?’
‘No,’ says Jem.
‘Yes,’ says Samael.
It is Jem’s turn to look around. ‘Have you seen Reela anywhere? I thought she was with you.’
‘I have. She was.’
He looks around again. ‘Where is she? Hiding I’ll bet. Bad enough when she just had a small house and a field. Now she could be anywhere.’
Samael turns and looks out to the north, towards cloudy skies. ‘I stashed her aboard the sky palace.’
‘You what!’ says Jem, his voice rising. ‘How could you do that to us?’
Samael turns back to him. ‘Are you sure you want to discuss this in front of Mazar?’
‘I want my daughter back, I don’t care who hears that! You need to speak to the nomads and requisition a sky-ship. We could still get her back if we’re quick.’
‘Very well. I did it because it was the right thing to do.’
‘Stealing her was the right thing to do?’
‘Asking her. I asked her where she wanted to live. You didn’t. Nor did Vesper. I’d have expected you to know better.’ Scout growls, cutting off Jem’s attempt to interrupt. ‘You don’t want her here, not really. There is no room in your new life for her, no real desire in your heart to be with her. I’d know if there was.’
‘I …’ begins Jem.
‘You would be too busy and there is no one else here to look after her. Scout and I would make poor parents.’
‘Vesper will be even worse!’
‘I agree. But I didn’t send her back for Vesper.’
A range of emotions cross Jem’s face then. ‘I need to go. I have another meeting coming up. You coming, Mazar?’
Jem doesn’t wait for an answer, hurrying away down the stairs.
‘Go with him,’ Samael urges. ‘He’ll come round, and I’ll be there when he does.’
Mazar nods, but stops at the top of the stairs. ‘See you tonight?’
‘Yes.’
She nods again, going quickly after Jem.
It is much later when Neer comes to join him. ‘What are you moping up here for. There’s work to be done.’
‘I was just reflecting.’
‘On what?’
‘On life.’
Neer sighs. ‘You’re not still upset about those bloody Necro-blades are you?’ Her green eyes flash as she regards him. ‘Suns and shit-storms, you are! All of that knowledge from the Uncivil rattling around in there, all of those gifts, and you’re sad because you can’t be a knight. Pathetic! Knights and idiots are always going cheap, but you, you’re unique.’
‘You don’t understand.’
Neer waggles a purple finger at him. ‘Don’t I? You’re upset because you worked on something and it failed. So you made a sword and you found out it wasn’t good enough. So what? You think that’s the end of the story?’
Reluctantly, he meets her eye.
‘It’s the start, you great shambling fool! You think I’m happy with this body, do you?’ She cackles. ‘Of course not. It’s a prototype. A work in progress. It certainly won’t be the last one I inhabit, and let me tell you, the next one will be much more palatable than this.
‘If your ambitions are limited to pointy sticks, then by all means, make another one, make a better one. I have no doubt we can sell them. But swords aren’t the future. We are. So stop whining like some child who just dropped their dinner in the dirt and put those special talents of yours to some use.’
‘You’re right,’ he says.
‘Of course I am,’ she replies.
Perhaps, he thinks, as the two of them make their way into Wonderland’s depths, I do not need to make a sword after all. His hand goes to Scout’s head, and a new idea takes shape, to prolong life rather than snuff it out. The Dogspawn trots alongside him, barking, excited.
Delta of The Seven walks unchallenged through the sky palace. She carries her broken sword under the crook of an arm, murmuring to it, trying to soothe an eye that stares out, unblinking. Reela walks alongside her, holding her other hand.
It was not so long ago that the palace seemed massive to Delta. How quickly she forgot the outside world! Now, the palace is small, its familiarity stifling and dull. She used to feel safe here, as she did in their sanctum, but both places seem boring now.
Silver feet find their way easily, carried by memory, until they reach the right door.
Reela peeks inside, then holds a finger to her lips.
Delta stops talking to her sword and the two step into a room, half-lit.
The Vagrant is resting inside, eyes closed, chest moving up and down with easy regularity.
Reela taps Delta’s arm.
Delta looks down to see the girl putting her finger to her lips again, then pointing at the Vagrant.
The two of them cross the room on tiptoes, Reela releasing Delta’s hand as they reach the Vagrant’s slab.
Very carefully, Reela tries to settle in next to him. However, the slab is narrow and she is forced to balance on the edge.
Delta watches, bemused, as Reela slides off.
Immediately, the girl is on her feet again. She mimes pushing the Vagrant over, and enlists Delta’s help.
Two small hands join Delta’s silver one to slide the Vagrant a few inches to the left. At some point in the exercise, stealth and care are abandoned, but despite the noise, the Vagrant doesn’t stir, and Reela is too busy pushing to notice his suppressed smile.
Delta looks at the man. Reela has managed to push his legs further than his body so that they jut away at a forty-five-degree angle.
With a shake of her head, Delta rearranges the man so that he looks neater. Meanwhile, Reela climbs onto the slab and nestles into the Vagrant’s armpit, pushing his arm out until it flops over the side of the slab.
Delta lifts his arm and places it over Reela’s shoulder. Satisfied, she walks back towards the door. She only makes it halfway before Reela’s voice stops her. ‘Stay, please?’
A warmth fills the immortal and she walks back across the room, sitting at the other side of the Vagrant’s slab. She sees that Reela is pretending to sleep too, her smile a match for the Vagrant’s.
Delta is surprised how long the two pretend, Reela only stopping when the Vagrant falls into true sleep. Then he is shaken awake without mercy.
There are gasps of outrage, mocked, followed by tickles and laughter.
For the first time since the battle, Delta’s sword blinks.
The break in the weather is only temporary, giving a false sense that the worst is over. It is as if they have passed through the eye of a storm rather than the end of it.
Wind and rain, dust and cloud, strange-coloured lightning, all batter the travellers returning north.
Safe within the bellies of metal snakes or behind the walls of the sky palace, they endure, though progress is slowed to a crawl.
There is plenty of time to think, to worry. Vesper takes advice on what the fallout might be and tries to plan accordingly, though such things seem pointless, even foolish next to the scale of the problem.
But Vesper is used to taking on impossible tasks, is fuelled by them.
Despite the storm, plans are made.
They reach the coast, transferring snakes onto ships and risking an angry sea. The journey is long, arduous, giant waves slapping the fleet, sometimes even reaching for the sky palace.
It is a testament to the design of the vessels that they can withstand such battering.
When the storm pauses again, infernals come out onto the battlements, packing all of the available spaces. They are strangely quiet, even the shriekers and growlers stilled to awe.
None of them have been at sea before.
None have ever been so far north.
The suns survive but in a weakened state, the reality of the world dealt yet another injury. Taint spreads further, in the air, in the sea, and demons find the suns burn less than before.
One of the vanquished colonies is given to the Man-shape and its followers. They name it Vesper’s Gift.
The infernals disembark, eager to explore their new home, quickly vanishing into buildings, broken, and caves that peek from the water’s edge.
Only the Man-shape continues to travel north, leaving flies and orders behind.
Onwards they go, faster now, spurred by the proximity of home and the weakening of the winds, until cloudy waters clear, and green-capped cliffs come into view.
Onboard ships there is celebration. For Vesper there is relief. Finally, she can get to work.
The Vagrant walks towards familiar hills, his jaw set. The suns have settled into their new formation, the smaller red sun dancing around the outside of the larger two, and the sky is as blue as it ever was.
Goats have returned, some grazing, some dozing in the afternoon sunslight. It is as if nothing has changed.
The Vagrant keeps going, unmoved by bleats and stares, until he reaches a hill that was once a home. Where two buildings stood, there is now one, a small shelter. Of the other, there is only rubble, a black scar on the landscape.
The Vagrant moves towards it, guided by memories, uncompromising, to the spot where the front door was. One glance down and he stops, turning his head to the suns, letting the glare fill his vision until it blurs and water streaks down either side of his face. He takes a breath, shuddering and deep, lets it out and looks down again.
Harm’s skeleton is still largely intact, an unwelcome memory to cap off years of happy ones; stories, laughter, kindness. Gone.