A Latent Dark

by Martin Kee

  From the docks, the flat barge bled soldiers onto the land like a spilled oil drum. They formed ranks, sweeping up behind the flames. Further away, clashes and screams broke out in sections of the city where guards had already landed. They fired on defenders and firefighters alike. An explosion illuminated an area of the docks as the watchtowers fired on their own city, trying desperately to cut away the attacking soldiers. Soon they too burst into flames, wilting into the river.

  Several of the aerolores were retreating, their chambered balloons leaking air out of gashes from arrows and bullets that had missed their armored underbellies. Scouts, hidden by the forest, fired in waves. Their arrows soared upward, most not reaching high enough to do any real damage. An orange streak from an airship ignited one of the trees, sending them fleeing farther into the woods.

  She sensed a presence behind her and turned to see Marley. Kind but firm hands rested on her shoulders, turning her away from the scene.

  “Skyla,” he said. “You should run.”

  “But, all those people.” She was trembling, furious at her own helplessness. “What did they do wrong?”

  “We exist,” Marley said. “I guess that’s good enough reason as any.”

  “But we have to help—”

  “They’re gone, Skyla,” he said. “The city’s gone.”

  A cloud of black smoke lifted just enough for her to see the barge more clearly. It was dark, flat, and lined with smaller faster boats, which clung to its sides like spider eggs. A speck of white moved along the bridge of the ship. Skyla’s heart skipped a beat.

  “That man,” she said, her trembling hand covering her mouth. “The one in white.”

  The giant squinted off through the rain and smoke.

  “I don’t see him.”

  “You won’t be able too,” she said. Marley couldn’t see the man’s shadow, mingling with the smoke. “He’s looking for me… he’s dangerous, Marley.”

  He nodded, listening.

  “You remember when I told you I could see things? How my mother was gone?”

  He nodded.

  “What I didn’t tell you was that he”—she pointed out to the river—“was at my house when it happened. He burned it, Marley. He burns everything.”

  “Does he know you’re here?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. ”But please come with me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Rhinewall.” The name popped out of her mouth before she even knew she said it. “I’m going to Rhinewall, and I think he might be as well if he doesn’t find me here.”

  “Why not go somewhere else, then?” he asked.

  “Because.” She paused. “I think that’s where my aunt is. It was where Orrin wanted me to go. I should have gone there a long time ago.”

  Marley thought for a moment. “You go,” he said. “I’ll see how long I can keep him here.”

  “Marley…”

  He hugged her. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  She hugged him tight. Tears soaked his shirt. A hand as big as a shovel patted her tenderly on the back.

  “It’s dangerous here,” she said, pleading.

  “Yeah,” he said. “For you. Now scram. Head toward the setting sun. You’ll be able to see the city from the hills. You can’t miss it.”

  What she refused to admit, even to herself, was just how much of this was because of her. The preacher would leave a wake of ashes in his pursuit. She could never have a home. The Reverend Lyle Summers would destroy anything she loved for as long as she ran from him. It would be easier to just give up, let him take her. She was too small, too powerless against the man.

  But before she did give up, Skyla had to find her aunt, and Orrin too if she could.

  *

  Marley watched as the tiny silhouette turned and disappeared into the smoke. He looked back at the flames and squinted through the haze as his only home screamed its last breath.

  Behind him, the forest was like another world, slick with rain. A pair of deer leapt and ran through the trees, followed by raccoons and a dog. Marley thought that they probably had the right idea. He wondered if the pub would be spared. He walked back toward The Skunk, through rain and haze, the sounds of war receding behind him into the distance. The ghosts of violence shouted after him.

  Don’t forget what you were, what you are. Don’t forget what you swore you’d never be again.

  Part 2

  The Girl-Shaped Door

  Chapter 20

  “What can you see?” John asked.

  The two men were on their stomachs in the damp green grass, peering through a small clearing. There was only one field glass between them and James was using it, adjusting the delicate dial with rough fingers. John fidgeted nervously with a stalk.

  “Looks like a mop-up operation,” James said. “If there was any action here it must have happened earlier.”

  John took the metal cylinder and placed it over his eye. At first he saw nothing, until James reached over and flipped the cover from the front.

  Through the tiny portal, John saw acres and acres of black earth, white plumes of steam and smoke. Tents smoldered, creating jagged cliffs and valleys throughout the black landscape, stretching all the way to the forest edge. At least three quarters of Lassimir were nothing but charcoal and ash.

  Burned to a crisp, he could hear Lyle Summers sneer in his mind.

  The Bollingbrook Militia was everywhere, questioning survivors, arresting others. Among them stalked Holy Guard, pulled from the Grande Cathedral itself to aid in the operation. John witnessed a group of captives being herded onto a small boat. It launched from the huge flotilla that pressed up against the docks, merging with the pier. A makeshift gallows stood near a large, wide grave. Bodies dangled from ropes.

  A dozen aerolores, their power cells spent, hung tethered in the air like giant sleeping cloud gods. The dark skin of their gas bladders rippled in the gentle breeze from the river.

  Soldiers stood in a wide block formation, beetle-black armor glistening in the sunlight that speared through the smoke and clouds. They were listening to a fat man who was dressed like some exotic bird. He sauntered up and down their ranks, bulging from his general’s outfit, sword bouncing at his hip. He was giving a speech as he lumbered between the soldiers, his face sweaty beneath the enormous commander’s hat.

  “That man in the fancy uniform,” the priest said. “He’s the Chief Constable from Bollingbrook.”

  “Police?”

  “A lot of the military enlisted in law enforcement after the Crusades. He made quite a career for himself out of it, but he never let anyone forget about his role in the wars.”

  James took the spyglass to see for himself. “Reliving his glory days,” he said.

  “I think a lot of them are,” John said. “Bollingbrook did very well for itself during the wars. For some of those men, all they know is violence and authority.”

  “He looks like a wild turkey,” said James. It was an observation, not meant to be a joke, but the priest smiled anyway.

  “He takes himself pretty seriously. Political aspirations.”

  “Who’s that man in white?”

  John snatched the spyglass back without thinking and pressed it to his eye. It took him a second to find the spot James had been looking. When he saw it, he almost swore. A man in a white linen suit emerged from the forest, following an overgrown path. He seemed either oblivious or indifferent to the bodies that were being removed from the burnt out tents.

  “That,” John said, “is the man looking for Skyla.”

  “So maybe she was here,” James said.

  “Maybe.”

  John pulled the field glass down from his face and looked to where the man had come from. A white plume of smoke drifted up from the trees a quarter of a mile away. He nudged James and pointed.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I think that we should wait and see.” James watched Lyle return to the w
ide flotilla and speak to a few soldiers. They then followed him back up the ridge to the forest.

  “What if Skyla’s in there?”

  “If she is,” said James. “Do you think he’d have killed her already?”

  “I didn’t get the sense he wanted to kill her. He spoke about trying to cure her, use her—whatever that means. He mentioned Rhinewall.”

  “Rhinewall?” James said, surprised.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “She had a pair of goggles that seemed to be the sort of arcane gadgetry you’d see from a place like that. I even mentioned that I thought she—” He went silent and then looked back through the spyglass. “Why would she go there of all places?”

  “You know much about the place?”

  “Enough to know that they probably provided some of the parts for those aerolores. Next to Arist, you can’t find a better Tinker’s Guild than Rhinewall. The entire city has been cut off for years, few go in or out, and no couriers have passed by the Wilds in ages.”

  “Well,” John said. “If he does bring her out, we’ll know where they are going. Or we could go there now and try to get there ahead of them.”

  James grunted, still scanning the area through the metal tube. “Once they refuel those ships, they’ll be way ahead of us.”

  The priest was already up. “We’d better get moving then.”

  *

  Marley sighed as he threw down his dishrag. He looked out the front window and scowled. The preacher was back, this time with soldiers. He opened the door and the Reverend Lyle Summers tipped his hat at Marley with a grin.

  “May I come in?” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time. Got a ride waiting for me.”

  Marley opened the door without a word and the preacher trotted into the room with a soldier, covered head to toe in armor. Marley caught a glimpse of two more guards waiting at the front door before it closed.

  The Reverend pulled out a bar stool and sat on it, tossing his wide-brimmed hat onto the counter. The soldier stood silently behind him with a rifle in one hand. The long, stained bayonet extended from the barrel as if the soldier were carrying a halberd.

  “What’s on tap?” Lyle Summers said, slapping energetic hands on the counter.

  “Got nothin’,” Marley said.

  The Reverend wilted dramatically. “Well that’s just too bad. I was absolutely parched,” Lyle said. “Surely you’ve got something for me and Charlie here. We’ve traveled a long way. Everyone says that this is the place to be.”

  “They do, do they?” Marley said.

  The soldier stood as though carved out of obsidian. Marley disappeared under the counter and came back with a glass. It was filled with a deep red liquid.

  “What’s this,” the Reverend asked.

  “Pomegranate,” Marley said, sliding it to the Reverend. “Enjoy it because we won’t be getting anymore.”

  “Yes,” the Reverend said, considering the crimson liquid. “I imagine business will be a little slow for awhile… until the survivors come back out of the woodwork and resettle, that is.”

  The bartender was silent. His eyes followed the Reverend’s fingers as he twisted the glass in front of his face, studying it.

  “It’s good is it?”

  “It’s the best,” Marley said flatly.

  “Looks delicious,” The Reverend placed the drink back onto the counter. “Let me get to my point. The locals tell me that you used to have some hired help. A girl named Skyla.”

  Marley continued to clean the area obsessively, giving no hint that the Reverend was saying anything of interest. Through the windows, Marley noticed more soldiers arriving.

  “Can’t help you,” he said, grumbling. “Sorry.”

  Lyle gave another dramatic sigh and sunk one of his hands into his pocket. He pulled out a long black feather and began twisting it in his fingers. The glass began to bead sweat onto the counter. The Reverend pretended not to notice.

  “I found this outside your establishment,” he said, staring intently at the feather. “It matches another one I have... Right here.”

  He pulled a second feather out of his jacket pocket. He held the two side by side like a set of champagne flutes.

  “Now, Mr. Marley.” He grinned. “That is your name isn’t it? That’s what your friend Dale said, anyway. ‘Go ask Marley. The girl worked for him.’ He certainly remembers her and her little pet.”

  Marley paused with his hand on the brass rail that ran along the edge of the bar. He felt a flash of warmth along the back of his neck. The redness traveled around the scar on his head and met the flush in his cheeks. Lyle’s grin widened.

  “There was a girl,” said Marley. “But she only stopped by for one night. Ran off the next morning. Still owes me for the room. Dale must be mistaken.”

  The Reverend put the feathers down and looked at the ever-reddening face of the barkeep. “Was he, Mr. Marley? I’ve known men who will lie to get between a woman’s thighs, but few of them think about what they say after the sin is done.”

  Marley shot him a glance as recognition flashed across his face. The soldier shifted his weight uncomfortably, his boots heavy and thick on the floorboards.

  “Why, once he met that little Jezebel in town he spilled his secrets about as fast as she spread her legs.”

  Marley thought he saw the soldier stiffen. The pauldrons he wore which betrayed his breathing quickened their rhythm.

  “Did I tell you that we almost caught your Skyla back in Bollingbrook, Mr. Marley?” the preacher said, studying his face. “She screamed like a little banshee when Charlie here tried to catch her. That damned crow managed to distract him though—shame really.”

  He looked back at the glass and then perked up as if he had forgotten his manners.

  “Oh,” he said. “Have you met Charles here? At ease, son. Take that blasted helmet off. You look like a gargoyle. Have a seat.”

  Charlie removed the helmet with relief and leaned his slender rifle against the bar. Marley saw with surprise that he was only a boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen. His blond hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. Charlie placed the helmet on the counter beside the white fedora.

  “I’m sorry about that remark, Charlie,” The Reverend said. “I get a little worked up sometimes. You understand.”

  Charlie only nodded, his mouth slack from the heat. He tolerated the Reverend with dutiful submission. He stared at the glass of juice. Marley took a step toward them and froze when the Reverend shot him a glare that seemed to freeze time.

  “Your cousin is a fine young woman Charlie,” the Reverend said. “In fact we never would have gotten those trade codes without Sarah’s sacrifice.”

  He looked at Marley, whose face was tomato red. The air in the pub became thick and stale as the three men faced one another; Lyle and Marley locked stares while Charlie Wilcox peered longingly at the glass.

  “Oh,” Lyle said. “I went and did it again, didn’t I? I always get ahead of myself, old age being what it is. Your archers sure can do their share of damage to airships, but they seem to ignore something as ordinary as a simple carrier pigeon.”

  He shook his head, and then scooted the juice over to young Charlie who gripped it in a black-plated hand. He nodded at The Reverend Lyle Summers with gratitude.

  “Let me make you your own,” Marley said reaching under the counter.

  “I thought you were out,” Lyle said with a sneer. “And besides, I owe Charlie here after abusing him so much over the last few weeks. I think a cool drink is the least I can do. You just keep your distance, barkeep. I might be old, but I’m quicker than you.”

  He smiled at the bartender as the young man brought the drink to his mouth and emptied it in four lusty gulps. He slammed the glass down onto the counter with a hearty sigh.

  “There we go, Charlie,” Lyle said, patting the boy on the back. “All is forgiven. Even your cousin knew that a whore like Mary could find salvation in the eyes of the Lord. Sarah will be remember
ed as the Mary Magdalene of your generation for years to come. You can tell her yourself.”

  Charlie’s eyes became wide as he looked at the Reverend. A drop of red juice appeared at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away without looking.

  “She’s here?” he said.

  More red liquid appeared at the corner of his mouth and he tried to wipe it away, but his hand was trembling this time. He only smeared it on his chin.

  “Oh, I never said that, but I’ll do my best to put in a good word in my prayers,” Lyle said.

  Charlie stared in confusion as the color drained from his face.

  “You see, Charlie,” the Reverend said, leaning toward the soldier. He grabbed Charlie just underneath his chin by the neckline of his cuirass. “I don’t forgive mediocrity. And you son, are a mediocre servant of the Lord. Letting a girl—a girl—get away from you like that. Why, if I didn’t know any better I would have thought you let her go on purpose.”

  He turned on Marley, mock disappointment on his face. “And you, Marley, a warrior, using poison. Really? You fought your whole life and now you try to poison an old man. That’s just unsportsmanlike.”

  The tremor in Charlie’s hand spread to the rest of his body as he slipped from the stool with a loud crash. The front door flew open, spilling sunlight into the room. Two guards rushed in at the noise only to freeze, staring at the twitching boy on the floor.

  “The bartender has poisoned one of our own,” Lyle said.

  The two guards looked from the floor to him and then Marley. Their shock was vivid even with their faces hidden behind black plates.

  Lyle gave Marley a cold look. “I believe that constitutes an arrest.”

  Marley lunged across the bar, but the Reverend had slipped back over his stool and took several paces just out of reach. The two soldiers moved in and placed the ends of their bayonets inches from Marley’s face. They trembled like two hunters who accidentally found themselves cornering a polar bear in close quarters.