by Isaac Hooke
She started. "Don't ever do that again." She forced herself to be mad, when all she wanted to do was bawl her eyes out. She had to remain focused. In charge. "Why did you call me Nine?"
Tanner was wearing a goatee now, matched to a flourishing mustache. It didn't really suit him. "It's written on your chest in binary. 1001. Supposed to mark you as one of the main A.I.s of the system. In theory the gols will give us more respect because of it." He touched his own chest, which had the number 1010 embossed into the tight fabric. "Ten."
"Tell me father's plan," she said. "He wants a utopia, does he?" It was hard not to sound bitter. He'd died for this utopia of his. And right now, Ari didn't care if this false world stayed a cold pit of ice for all eternity. In fact, she almost preferred it that way.
"First of all," Tanner said. "We have to seize the Control Room from the mayor."
Tanner went on to detail the plan, but she was scarcely listening.
Seize the Control Room from the mayor.
Hoodwink had mentioned that before, but the words hadn't registered. They did now, however, and stirred something deep inside Ari, the memory of payback long ago given up.
She momentarily forgot her grief.
Jeremy. Good old Mayor Jeremy. She had a score to settle with that one.
More than a score.
She smiled inside.
Her ex-husband would certainly be in for a little shock when he saw her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ari marched across the snowpack, ermine cloak worn high to conceal the numbers written into her chest. At her neck was a fake bronze bitch, taken from the headquarters of the New Users. Though her breath misted, she didn't feel cold. She was a gol now, after all.
She made for Jeremy's estate. Tanner accompanied her on the right, and gray-haired Marks, one of the New Users, took her left. Jeremy owned the largest estate in the city, nestled near the heart of Highbrow District. As a rule, the elected mayor always ran the city out of his or her home. Men and women of high office were expected to live and breathe their jobs, eating and sleeping and defecating in the same building where they made the big decisions. He'd bought out three portal traders to secure the land, and blackmailed a fourth. The son of a portal trader himself, Jeremy had grown his wealth by taking advantage of the price spreads between cities. They say absolute power corrupts absolutely. The same can be said about wealth. So what did it mean then, when Jeremy had both?
The latest rumor among the New Users was that Jeremy had found a way to replicate gols, and that he was surrounding himself with a new type that fed on the fears of the common people. He was building an army, according to the New User scouts, though for what purpose no one knew. Ari was looking forward to having Jeremy at the tip of her sword, begging to reveal all his secrets.
Her sword. She reverently fingered the hilt at her waist. Tanner had stashed two special swords in the system before he came Inside, blades crafted specifically for just such a mission. The weapons worked similar to vitra once you gripped the haft, but unlike vitra, the charge was unlimited, and the swords spat flame, not electricity.
The children couldn't just make a Control Room, like they had the swords. According to Tanner, the children had found the "source" to vitra, swords, and fire, so creating the weapons had been relatively easy. But making something like the special Box that, when opened, would expand to fill up a room and turn it into the coveted control center that they so badly needed, well, that was something the children couldn't do without the "source."
"Why can't you just inject us into the Control Room directly?" she'd asked Tanner. "The same way you sent us back to my house?"
"Can't," Tanner had said. "The only reason we could go back to your house in the first place was because Hoodwink placed a tracker there."
Three days had passed since that conversation. Three days of planning, scouting, and meetings with the New Users. In the end, she'd elected to throw away most of those plans, and wing it. Any plan that called for her to lick the boots of her ex-husband was no plan at all as far as she was concerned. Too bad she hadn't informed Tanner of that decision yet.
Her boots crunched in the snow, and the sound seemed an intrusion into a night that was all too calm. Roughly half of the street lamps were out, and no one was about, giving the street an eerie, dead feel. Three years ago, the streets of Highbrow District would have been shoveled to the cobblestone. But because of gol neglect, today the ground was covered in snowpack. The houses on either side were dark—the rumors of unnatural things roaming in the night had apparently caused more than a few residents to move away.
Ahead, two sentries flanked the iron gate to Jeremy's manor. The sentries wore long black coats, and capes that flared at the top. She had almost expected human sentries, given that ordinary gols couldn't be trusted for this kind of work these days, but the image stamped into their chests definitely marked them gol. She didn't recognize the symbol though—a curved tooth, dripping blood. The new gols her scouts had reported?
As she approached, the sentries swept back their capes and rested their hands on the hilts of their swords. An action meant to be menacing, she supposed, but her thoughts only registered annoyance.
The first sentry, fashioned as a man just short of the middle years, planted itself in front of Ari. The gol had an angular nose and a sneering mouth. When it smiled, it revealed a set of finger-long canines.
"Direwalkers," Ari said. "Jeremy's gone and made Direwalkers."
Direwalkers were imaginary creatures from myth and folklore that were used to frighten little children into doing what their mothers' wanted. According to the legends, Direwalkers looked like ordinary human beings except for one distinguishing feature: their overly long canines, which they used to drain blood from potential victims. Their nails could elongate and slurp up your blood too, and their eyes could pop out of their heads a few centimeters, which was supposed to scare you into not moving. In the stories Direwalkers didn't have reflections in mirrors, were afraid of garlic and cinnamon, and could unhinge their jaws and swallow you whole if they wanted. Some Direwalkers even had more than two arms.
None of that scared Ari in the least.
"State your business," the Direwalker demanded.
Ari lowered the collar of her ermine cloak so that the number inscribed on her chest was visible.
The two Direwalkers looked at one another, and then stepped aside. One made to open the gate.
She casually drew her sword and beheaded the first Direwalker in a blur of flame. The second had time only to half-draw its weapon before its own head bounced on the ground.
"Haven't seen you do something like that in years," Marks said with a grin.
"Ari!" The shock was plain in Tanner's voice. "I thought we'd decided—"
She rammed the flaming sword into the gate lock, and the metal melted around her blade. She kicked the gate open.
Damn it felt good to be young again.
"So much for our well-laid plans!" Tanner cursed.
Ari led the way forward, sword at the ready. Pines flanked the shoveled walkway that led to the mansion. Deer lay beyond those trees—Jeremy preferred his food fresh, raw. With pricked ears and upright tails, the motionless animals watched the intruders. Something seemed a bit off about the animals. She couldn't quite place it.
When Ari reached the middle of that tree-lined walkway, she realized what it was. The animals weren't staring at her, but above her.
Swords drawn, seven black-coated Direwalkers leapt down from the pines in an avalanche of loose snow.
She and Tanner set to work. They weaved among the Direwalkers, creating art out of the gols, painting the white canvas of snow around them with blood, bone and flesh.
Marks stayed back, conserving his charge. When no more Direwalkers faced her, Ari turned to Tanner and almost struck him down too—he was nearly unrecognizable beneath all that gore, his hair no longer curly but matted and streaked, his mustache plastered to his cheeks. She doubted she looked much better
herself, face smeared in gol blood, ermine cloak splashed with the juices of opened intestines.
"Five gols," Ari said. "Including the gate guards. What's your count?"
"Four," Tanner said, rather curtly. He pressed his lips together. "I think we should go back. None of this was in the plan. It's only going to get worse."
She grinned. "You're just pissed because I'm winning."
"I'm pissed because we're going to die."
Ari ignored him. She was young, powerful, at the peak of her womanhood, and wreaking vengeance for the crime done to her ten years ago. She led her companions from the tree-lined path and out onto the terrace before the mansion. Two rows of windows fronted the house, and four columns supported the triangular portico that draped the entrance. The red flag of office dangled limply from a pole at the mansion's highest point.
Ari paused beside the frozen fountain at the center of the terrace. The same fountain had stood here when she lived in this place ten years ago, its water imprisoned by the unending winter.
Just as she had been imprisoned.
She jabbed her sword into the fountain and the ice shattered.
Three more Direwalkers clambered headfirst down the portico columns.
"Mine!" Ari rushed them, intending to add the Direwalkers to her count before Tanner had a chance.
But she was sloppy. The first Direwalker went down smoothly, but as the second fell, she slipped in its blood and dropped the sword. Before she could retrieve the weapon, the third Direwalker hauled her upright and pressed its teeth to her throat.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ari waited for those teeth to penetrate, but the Direwalker made no further move.
Tanner and Marks approached warily.
"Another step and I tear out her jugular!" the Direwalker told Tanner. "Drop the weapon, krub. Now!" It licked the blood of its brethren from her neck.
Tanner looked at her, unsure what to do.
"This is where you save my life." She slammed her foot down on the Direwalker's boot and wrenched sideways, slipping from its grip.
Tanner's sword was there instantly, and he staked the Direwalker through the heart.
"Five!" he said grimly.
She retrieved her sword. "Well I'm at seven now."
"Next time it's probably best if you don't go rushing in alone. In fact, next time let's stick to the plan okay?"
Ari shrugged. "Sore loser." She gave him a sly smile over her shoulder. Sly, and just a little flirtatious. Though how flirtatious could you be, covered in blood?
Tanner rested a hand on her shoulder, and his voice softened. "Ari. Hoodwink put you in my care. I don't want to see you hurt."
"More like he put you in my care!" Ari shook free.
"Women," Tanner cursed.
Sword held before her, Ari strode under the portico and approached the main doors in a huff. She thrust out her hands and the doors swung open. Not locked, then. Why lock the doors when your mansion was surrounded by Direwalkers?
She strode inside and her footsteps echoed from the tile floor. She crossed a wide foyer. Set at intervals along it, candelabras illuminated tapestries and paintings of underwater scenes—schools of fish, coral reefs, an octopus at the heart of a dark cove.
Wary, she continued to advance, but met no further opposition. Strange. She glanced at Tanner, but he shrugged.
The rising chatter of some mayoral function came to her ears as she approached the reception hall. Ari recognized the colors of the city-state on the flags outside the entrance—three horizontal bars of green, red and white. A servant in white livery watched the door, but he fled inside when he spotted the gore-covered nightmare that was Ari.
She stepped unhindered into the lavish hall.
Marble pillars lined marble walls. Wooden planks crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling. Bright red ermine—white when she'd lived here previously—carpeted the floor. Rows of blackwood tables were set along the far side of the room. Tables not for sitting, but browsing, the counters overflowing with appetizers of all kinds. Honeybread from the west. Goat cheese from the south. Sweetmeats from the north.
Dressed in outrageous silks of every color imaginable, with jewelry dripping from fingers, ears, wrists, and necks, a hundred sycophants milled about the remaining space. They held plates of meat and cheese in one hand, glasses of wine in the other, and chatted amiably, almost oblivious to their surroundings.
She spotted Jeremy himself, at the center of the dinner party. He was like a king at court. He wore a suit of a style she'd never seen before. Black pants and black shoes. A ruffled white shirt, covered by a black jacket that tapered in the front. A piece of dark cloth dangled from the bronze bitch around his neck like some kind of noose.
The servant she'd seen at the entrance was whispering in Jeremy's ear, and the mayor shot an alarmed glance her way.
The chatter faded as Ari and her companions, swords dripping blood, approached. The carefree faces were replaced with looks of fear. Among them she spotted Uncle Briar, stuffing his mouth as usual. He froze when he saw her, and the piece of cake tumbled from his fingers, leaving lips framed in icing. The last time she'd seen the man was eight years ago, when she'd gone to visit her mother for the first time. That meeting hadn't gone well.
She looked from Briar, and at the periphery of her vision she saw him slump in relief.
The elaborately-dressed men and women parted, leaving her a clean path to Jeremy.
She stopped three paces from the man. Her blade was pointed at the ground, but she had more than enough time, and room, to deliver a killing blow.
She mustered all the icy sweetness she could, and said, "Am I interrupting your little dinner party, Jeremy?"
He merely stared. His gaze dropped to her sword.
"Don't worry, I'm not here to kill you." She smiled. "Where's your new wife?"
Jeremy abruptly returned her grin. He could play with the best of them. That was why he was mayor. "My new wife? Which one?" From his voice she could almost believe he was merry, till she saw the murder in those black, tilted eyes.
"Don't you look at me like that," she said.
Jeremy shook his head, as if he didn't understand. His eyes cast daggers the whole time, though he was still smiling.
Ari glanced at the fat nobles. "Tell your friends to leave."
He frowned. "Oh no." The thread-of-gold tentacles of the sea creatures that climbed the sleeves of his jacket glittered in the light. "I shan't do that. You see, now that you're here, well, you're going to be the night's main attraction! My dear, lovely, blood-covered Ari." His murderous gaze drifted over her shoulder.
Marks let out a yelp. Ari spun. A Direwalker had slunk up behind the group and clamped a bronze bitch just above Marks' fake collar.
She stepped toward the Direwalker, raising her sword, already reaching for the spark of vitra contained within the blade—
The floor came alive. The carpet stretched into fingers and wrapped around her ankles. She tripped.
More hands rose from the carpet. Some of those hands plucked the sword from her grip, others restrained her.
Beside her Tanner and Marks were similarly detained. They struggled helplessly against the carpet's iron grip.
The Direwalker who'd collared Marks came forward and bronze-bitched Ari and Tanner as a precaution, placing the bitches just above the fake collars they wore.
"Bring them to me," Jeremy said.
The carpet abruptly shifted, pushing upward until it became vaguely humanlike, those hands extending into arms that wrapped her tight. The carpet figures slid forward and in moments she stood before Jeremy, humiliated and defeated. Marks and Tanner squirmed beside her.
"I've made a few additions to my household since you were last here," Jeremy said.
The Direwalker came forward and, whispering something in his ear, handed Jeremy the swords.
Jeremy took the blades eagerly, and swung one about, testing its weight. The metal left trails of fire in the air. He turne
d toward the back of the room, which was empty, and swung the blade hard. Flame arced forth, scorching the far tapestries. Some of the dinner guests gasped.
"Lovely!" Jeremy said. "Though I'm collared, I can sense vitra again, through the blade. Marvelous. It makes me wonder: How easily can these take a man's head?" He met her eyes and stepped forward. "Or a woman's."
He held the tip of the blade to her throat.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The sword point kissed the hollow in Ari's neck and drew blood. Gols weren't supposed to feel pain the same way humans did, but she felt the blade's terrible heat well enough. Still, she refused to flinch. Not in front of Jeremy her archenemy. Not in front of Tanner and Marks.
She squeezed her jaw. This wasn't real, she reminded herself.
Then why the hell did it feel so real? She remembered what Hoodwink had said about dying in here.
Die, and you'll find yourself in the Outside. That way is a bit of a blow to the body though, and I don't suggest it. A lot of people die for real.
Die for real.
Jeremy pressed his lips together in disappointment, and lowered the blade. "Well, you could at least quake for me, darling. You always did have a cold heart though. And you were just as cold in bed. Well. What about if I take this one's head instead?"
He brought the blade to Tanner's neck.
She bit back the plea that formed at the back of her throat. She knew if she showed any sign of concern, any sign of weakness, Jeremy would gain the upper hand. First rule of politics: Never let your opponent gain the upper hand.
"Aha!" Jeremy said. "You care about him. I see it in your eyes."
Jeremy wouldn't kill him. Not with all his sycophants around.
"Kill him," she said. "He's nothing to me."
Please don't kill him. Please don't.
Jeremy cocked his head. "Really. Nothing."
Her eyes slid to Tanner. His jaw was clenched, and he stared at Jeremy with visible defiance. His skin was beginning to blister where the hot blade touched his neck, and she smelled the subtle hint of cooked meat.