Beneath Ceaseless Skies #58

by McHugh, Ian

  Far below, the waters of the Empty Sea heaved and swelled with all the colors of darkness like the storm was building in its belly and not off in the eastern sky. Six months since the last Gray. Six months. Too long eating fish and crabs without a scent of red meat. His belly was sour and tight from the taste of the sea.

  “Is the wind right, My Lord?”

  Lession turned to watch Hurkerna climb up through the trapdoor in the center of the floor.

  “Will you fly, My Lord?” she asked. “Will you... feed?”

  Lession’s chest tightened. It was hard to look at her some days. The black leather of her skin was stretched tight around every bone, sinew, and thread of muscle. When they’d imprisoned her here, her breasts had been full and proud. Now they sagged like blooms in autumn. Even the ridges of armored skin around her head were loose and ropey these days, for want of a proper feed.

  As if to answer her itself, the wind blasted across the parapet, whistling through the skulls that dangled on ropes from the stone basin that capped the tower. Before the lighthouse had been abandoned, the basin had held fire to warn seafarers of the rocks. Now he used it to store the bones of his catch.

  He caressed one of the skulls. He remembered this one, a child he’d taken a year ago, a lost leaf adrift on the gray wind. She’d begged for her life. But her salty tears did little except turn his hunger insatiable. Like most that didn’t fight, she had died quickly, painlessly. She didn’t deserve to hurt. Too beautiful. Too fresh.

  He patted another skull. Hurkerna had hung these decorations here, and he was proud of her for it. She’d sat for days over each one, cleaning them, polishing them with sandstone and rubbing them with fish oil until they glistened in the sunlight like beads of coral.

  “I’m so hungry, My Lord,” Hurkerna said. “The taste of fish is vile in my mouth.”

  “The wind ripens. And it is not fish I scent on its breath.”

  He arched his back with pleasure when her talons wrapped around his chest and dug into his skin. She would have made a good mate, perhaps a mother of at least three, if they hadn’t castrated him before his exile. He flinched at the memory. The mental pain, the knowledge that his line would end with him, was still a hot open sore in his mind that was impossible to heal.

  But if the castration had been terrible, it had been nothing but a bite compared to the wing-cutting.

  Halgon knew what he’d been doing before they marooned him here. The Chief himself had taken his wings, hacked them off with a white-hot whale knife before slicing them to pieces and tossing them onto the bonfire he’d used to heat the blade.

  “You’ll kill no more of us, demon.” Halgon had said as Lession’s wings had crackled and spat on the flames not ten feet on front of his eyes. “But we’ll show you mercy. We’ll show you we are not the simple food stock you think we are. You’ll live out your days on the tower. May fish grow to your liking and repentance blossom in your heart.”

  Then, as the smell of burning meat filled Lession’s lungs, Halgon’s men had sealed his wounds with molten tar to ensure that nothing else would sprout from his back. The thousands gathered in the square outside the Temple of Circles had laughed that day, and that laughter still rang harsh in his ears. He looked south across the sea. In the distance the spires of the City of Roses stood proud against the backdrop of the White Peaks.

  None were laughing there now. Oh no. They’d be testing the wind, too, securing their carts and boats in storm frames before herding their animals underground into the storm shelters.

  A bead of saliva leaked out from between his lips and trickled down his chin. Not all would make it to the shelters. There were always a few: the drunk, the stupid, the courageous, or the lost, who braved a storm. Not many, but always enough.

  “I wish I could come with you,” Hurkerna said. “I wish I could....”

  Lession turned and ran a talon down the side of her face. “You have no need to fly again, my love. I will return with such delights as to make the smile blossom on your face again. I will search for a child.”

  “A child?” Hurkerna’s eyes flared crimson. “A child? It’s been such a while since I’ve tasted tender flesh.”

  Lession licked her forehead. When they’d first brought her here he’d looked at her with spite, a curse to mock his impotence. Yet, despite his initial desire to kill her, he’d grown fond of her. The sight of the lumpy ridges of scar tissue that ran from her shoulders down to her buttocks was a fuel to keep the fires of revenge blazing hot in his heart.

  Yes. She would have made a good mate, in another life, in another place. She was strong and intelligent, and it was she who’d opened up his scars and teased the remains of his wing muscles back out into the open.

  Halgon had done his work silently and without malice that terrible day. But he’d been too hasty, too excited. His blade had simply seared these vital inner muscles instead of severing them. They would never lift him, but they did enable him to guide the wings Hurkerna had spent two years fashioning from driftwood, rags, and other flotsam washed up along the shore.

  “Take me with you, Lession,” Hurkerna said. “I long to see the land again, soar above the great forests and mountains and be free if only for a short while. Please, My Lord. Just for tonight.”

  Lession’s heart sank. He stroked the side of her face again. “I sense the storm is weak. I may have perhaps little more than a few hours on the wind. Perhaps next time.”

  Hurkerna sighed. The fire in her eyes faded to a dull ember. “Yes. Next time.”

  Lession turned away. The lie was always the same, and she’d never once questioned it. Off in the east the first rain clouds had dropped, masking the horizon in a gray, shifting curtain. He turned south again.

  “Tonight, Halgon,” he hissed onto the wind, and muttered a curse that the wind would carry his words across the water and spread them like fire across the City of Roses. “I’ll cut another flower from your perfect garden and watch it wilt and die on my rocky plate.” He pointed towards the trapdoor. “Now, Hurkerna. Fetch my wings. The wind is rising fast and soon I must be off.”

  * * *

  Once he was strapped into the leather harness attached to the wings, Lession rested against the parapet while Hurkerna threaded the seal sinews through his muscles before connecting them to the wings. The pain was as bad every time. But it was good, worthwhile pain; pain that always sank away once he was in flight.

  When she was done he climbed onto the parapet and waited, watching the waves crash in great snowy plumes on the rocks far below. Wind tugged at the wings, tempting him to fly. He resisted its call. The breath of The Gray wasn’t full yet. No. Before he could take flight the skulls had to scream with it!

  “A flower, My Lord,” Hurkerna cried, her voice weak above the crash of waves. “Bring a flower to brighten up my heart.”

  Lession opened his mouth and sucked in a great breath as the first drops of rain spattered against his face. All around him the skulls jerked and strained against their ropes like they were somehow alive and desperate to join him. Jagged streaks of lightening tore the sky apart. Thunder rocked the parapet. The pitch of the wind rose into one long, terrible scream.

  He flexed his muscles and jumped. He automatically stiffened as the Gray embraced him, buffeting him about like a wild beast trying to throw a rider.

  He steadied once the initial shock of artificial flight had passed. He quickly found one of the stronger lower currents and followed it landward. When he reached Deepta Island about a mile off shore he wheeled right, rode an upper draft over the Hadlock Hills, and approached the City of Roses from the west, gliding dangerously low over the outlying slum area of Pawter in case any of the sentry towers atop the walls were still manned.

  He didn’t linger over Pawter. The stink of open sewers was vile, and there were little pickings here. The bones of withered chickens were better dressed with flesh than the inhabitants of Pawter. Besides, a different danger rose from this place. Many of the wo
oden shacks were already flattened. Strips of board and loose planks were slicing through the air like swords.

  After passing over the western gate, he entered the city proper and rose higher, content for a while to just examine it, observe any changes made that might pose a danger. They’d laid traps before, primitive wooden cages and nets he’d taken great pleasure in destroying.

  Little had changed. The stone and marble houses that lined the avenues of the northern quarter were as clean and hatefully pure as ever. The Markets Fields were deserted. He avoided the military district of Sanglone. Too many eyes. Too many brave hearts that might seek a reputation at his expense. He also kept clear of the Temple of Circles. Like a blot on the landscape, its three towers rose up from the heart of the city as if to mock him. That’s where they’d snared him, taken him down with a hail net barely six months after he’d left the Nothing Lands to seek food.

  His back muscles twitched at the memory. The movement caused his left wing to dip and sent him into a brief spiral. He regained control quickly and headed for the docks. A few loose dogs ran about in mindless panic as he soared above them. He’d taken dog before, and the taste sat foul in his mind. He’d take none today. Even if he had to risk all and fight his way into a shelter, he’d bring Hurkerna a worthwhile feed.

  His first catch was a drunk, a silver-haired sailor who was staggering through one of the back streets close to the Havel Dock. He snatched him on the first dive.

  “Relax, my friend,” Lession hissed into the stunned man’s ears and caressed his head with his free hand. “It’s all a dream. None of this is real.”

  The man barely struggled. When Lession bit a chunk from his shoulder, he went limp. The initial thrill of tasting meat soon evaporated. The flesh was old, sour, steeped with alcohol. He couldn’t take this back to Hurkerna. No. Goat would taste far better.

  After storing the man on the roof of a warehouse, he began making broad sweeps over the maze of alleys, squares, warehouses, and tenements that lined the harbor side. Sometimes slaves would attempt to flee under the cover of a Gray. Other times he’d found children here, wandering alone, lost in the panic of a storm evacuation. He’d taken the girl somewhere around here.

  But where exactly?

  He rode a current upwards until the dock area became a map. He circled for a while, using the landmarks to stir up the memory of that wonderful catch. Had she been over by the fish markets? No. Too open. She’d been away from the markets, trying to shelter in....

  Down below, a figure stirred close to the wood yards. A small figure.

  His chest swelled with hunger. The wood yards. Of course. That’s where he’d found her. She’d been trying to wriggle underneath one of the iron frames used to stack the timbers.

  But who was down there now, another child? Or had the sailor’s alcohol-laced blood addled his mind and turned a memory into reality?

  He made a pass over the timber yards.

  It was a child, a boy, perhaps ten or twelve years old, whose bare limbs looked so wonderfully white and meaty. Perfect. If he took the boy to Hurkerna immediately he might, with luck, get a second catch before the winds dropped. And if he didn’t, we’ll, maybe the sailor’s blood might freshen once the old drunk had sobered up.

  Lession wheeled left and made a second pass over the wood yard, the heady scent of a thousand pine trees on the wind flushing the sailor’s stink from his nostrils. The boy had seen him. He was sprinting towards a warehouse building at the back of the yard. The windows of the building were broken. The entrance door was banging in the wind. Lession cursed. If the boy went in there he’d have to land, take him on foot.

  But what if it was a trap? What if....

  An image of Hurkerna, her lips shiny and beautiful with blood, appeared in his mind. For the first time in months she was smiling. He circled a third time, dipping low to examine the yard. Apart from the mounds of timber and the dozen or so wagons secured in their storm frames, the place was empty. Halgon would never dare try anything here. It was too open. They’d do it in a holy place, a temple or meeting hall, somewhere they’d feel safe and confident.

  He cursed again when the boy scampered into the warehouse.

  Pangs of hunger clawed at his gut. He circled the building and swooped to examine the loading bay at the rear. Though it was barely six feet high, the updraft here was just right, a perfect place to take flight from. He glided around to the front, dropped to the ground, and stood perfectly still for several seconds while his body regained its natural balance.

  He approached the door. Shrouded in shadow, a corridor led off into the bowels of the building. His chest swelled. This was good. Dark, narrow places were always good. No room for traps or any more than a handful of soldiers.

  He went after the boy.

  “I’ve come to help you,” he hissed, walking on the balls of his feet so his claws didn’t clatter or scrape off the floor. “You must go to a shelter. I’ll take you there.”

  A childish sob passed down the corridor.

  “Your mother sent me, boy. We are both in danger. We must leave soon before this roof collapses.”

  Like part of the storm had followed him in here, a wave of dried leaves rustled past his feet. He paused when the corridor split at an intersection.

  “Please, child. Time is short. You must not....”

  Another sob. This time off to his left.

  He didn’t budge. He couldn’t risk panicking the boy. Not now. Not when he was so close. “Come here, boy. Quickly now.”

  “I can’t. I... I’m afraid. The storm will take me.”

  Saliva flooded Lession’s mouth at the sweet innocence of that voice. Such a glorious prize for Hurkerna. Such a thing to make her laugh again.

  He followed the corridor left until it emptied out into a storeroom. Apart from a stack of timber at one end of the room and a marble statue sitting in an alcove beside the sliding door to the loading bay, the warehouse was empty. Wind tore at the roof like a thousand curious hands, making the beams groan and tremble. Streams of dust fell like tiny waterfalls. The dust got into his nose and tickled his throat. The boy was kneeling at the statue. It looked like the God Aronus, the water god. He crept towards the boy, ever so slowly now. “All is well. I’ve come to help.”

  The boy buried his head into the statue’s feet. He was mumbling something, perhaps a useless prayer. “We must leave this place.” Lession paused. “The roof is weak. The Gray will soon whip it off and suck us both up into its gut.”

  “I know who you are.” The boy turned his head, his raven hair falling over his face to conceal his eyes.

  “I am not what you think. I am a friend to many.”

  “I cannot go with you.”

  Lession swallowed the saliva in case it spilled from his mouth and scared the boy further. So the boy knew who he was. Well then, there was little point playing any more games. All he needed to do was distract him for a few more moments. “Listen to the wind. Do you not long to fly upon it? I can bring you there, carry you above the clouds and show you sights that only gods can see.” Lession edged closer “Do you not long to see it?”

  The boy released his grip on the statue.

  “Come with me. We’ll soar over the Nothing Lands. You’ll get knowledge that will make you rich one day.”

  “But....” The boy glanced towards the far door. “My mother, my family. I cannot leave them.”

  “You’ll not be gone long. All I yearn for is some company, a companion to share the wonders of flight with. Your family will think you taken by the storm. Imagine their joy when you return with such stories as to swell their hearts.”

  “They’ll think me a demon worshipper. They’ll burn me on a pyre.”

  A fresh burst of saliva flooded Lession’s mouth. The smell of the boy’s fear was waning, replaced by a healthy curiosity. “They’ll treat you as a hero. Tell them you fought me and won.” He pulled the double bladed dagger from his waist scabbard and held it towards the boy. �
�Take this. It’s made from a metal no mine in these lands could produce. They’ll know what it is. “

  He tossed the dagger onto the floor. The clang of metal off stone echoed briefly around the room before the wind drowned it out. The boy’s head jerked back, briefly revealing his eyes. Gray eyes, set into his face like stones.

  Lession’s heart jumped. Those eyes. He’d seen them before. But where? “What’s your name?”

  The boy’s mouth dropped open. When he rose to his feet and stepped towards the weapon, Lession matched him step for step.

  “Tell me your name, boy. Let me know who I shall carry to see miracles.”

  The boy was close now, close enough to smell onions and bread off his breath. The smell was like a trigger. Lession leaped and closed the gap in a millisecond. He tore at the boy’s shoulders. His claws slipped away. The boy was wearing something beneath his jerkin. Armour!

  Caught off balance, Lession made a vicious swing for the boy’s head. The boy was quicker. His hand shot out as he twisted sideway. He plunged a needle into Lession’s thigh. A bolt of fire blasted up Lession’s leg. Scrabbling madly at the dart he toppled sideways to the floor. His leg muscles flexed and tightened. Paralysis raced up through his body, a hungry, animal thing that froze every muscle and sinew it touched.

  “What... what have you done? What have you...?” Lession’s roar faded to a whimper as his chest tightened.

  “I am Jakar. Son of Halgon.” The boy stepped closer and looked down without a hint of triumph in his eyes. “And I am punishing you for your sins.”

  Lession sucked in a slow, heavy breath. The eyes! Yes. Now he remembered. They were Halgon’s eyes. “Halgon’s son?”

  “And one day his successor.” The boy’s voice deepened, the squeak of childhood changing effortlessly into the voice of a youthful warrior. “Many skulls hang upon your prison walls, Lession. When The Gray is done we will reclaim them and lay them to a proper peace.”