by Peter Newman
‘Wait a moment,’ Vesper replies. ‘Is that what you want, Samael?’
Samael’s voice is a soft whisper. ‘I want to go back to the sea.’
‘It does not matter what he wants. It is what he was made for.’
‘But he doesn’t want to rule New Horizon, he told me so.’
‘There is no one else.’
‘What about you?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. You’ve been in charge here since the Usurper fell. Why not carry on?’
‘I was made to serve, not rule.’
‘By who?’
‘By my master.’
Briefly, the sword is jostled by Vesper’s excitement. Silvered wings tense, pressing into her hands, warning against further disturbance. She continues in a more measured tone. ‘But don’t you get it? Your master is dead. It doesn’t matter what it wanted. The Usurper isn’t here to deal with this and neither are The Seven. It’s up to us. Would the other infernals listen to you?’
‘They might.’
‘Might isn’t good enough. You have to make them listen.’
‘I am not the Usurper.’
Samael moves to stand next to the infernal. ‘You are not the Demagogue, either. Given the choice, they will support you.’
‘They will support whoever appears stronger.’ It holds up a hand, a human gesture. ‘I will need Samael if I am to succeed.’
Vesper shrugs. ‘Why are you asking me?’
‘Because somehow, he has become yours.’
Eyes widen, remembering his oath, understanding. ‘Sir Samael, will you go with the Man-shape and liberate New Horizon?’
He says yes for many reasons. For the glory of the Winged Eye, for Jem and those like him, because it will help the Man-shape, because he wishes to see the Demagogue fall and, above all, because he has an impulse to do so.
Jem chews his food slowly, in part to savour, in part because his stomach needs all the help it can get. He sits at the base of the Man-shape’s tower, letting walls take his weight, looking up at Vesper. ‘I swore I’d never go back.’
‘I’m sorry but there isn’t any choice, unless you want to come with us?’
‘To the Breach? Even New Horizon isn’t as bad as that.’
‘Exactly. And I think you’re needed there.’
‘Oh yes, New Horizon is in sore need of another hungry mouth.’
Vesper frowns. ‘That’s not what I mean. Well, actually, maybe it is. I think Samael will try and do right by the people but I doubt he’ll understand them. He doesn’t need to eat anymore and the Man-shape never did. I don’t know if they feel pain like we do or … I don’t know. The thing is, you’ve been there and lived it.’
‘Yes, it was torture. But so what? I don’t see how my suffering helps anyone.’
She takes his hands, squeezes them. ‘They’ll be scared. You can reassure them.’
‘If they manage to take back the city.’
‘They’ll take it.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘No, but we’ve got to try.’ She lets go of his hands but he keeps hold of hers.
‘You’re so young. How are you handling this so well?’
A giggle bursts out. ‘Thank you. You really think so? I feel like I’ve been messing it all up since the day I left home.’ Her attention goes briefly elsewhere. ‘That feels like so long ago now. Have you ever met Tough Call?’
‘No.’
‘She’s the leader of Verdigris. She really knows what she’s doing. I wish I was more like her. Or my father.’
Jem reaches for some more food, hiding his bitter reaction. ‘Tell me about your father.’
‘He carried the sword too, and me, back when I was a baby. He brought us both from the far south all the way across the sea to the Shining City and fought infernals along the way. My Uncle Harm says that he helped a lot of people. Some of them still send us presents occasionally. But it’s easy to forget all that. Most of the time he’s just this guy who doesn’t say much and doesn’t trust me to go anywhere. I mean that literally. Even when I’m not that far away he checks on me all the time. It’s really annoying.’ Her eyes focus in on Jem again. ‘But without him, I wouldn’t be here and the Usurper would still be in power. Suns! He must be out of his mind with worry!’
‘He sounds impressive.’
‘He was, at least, he used to be.’
‘He didn’t save everyone though, did he? I’m sure he had his failures too.’
‘I suppose so. I suppose everyone does.’ She squeezes his hands again and pulls hers free. ‘I don’t know how things are going to turn out but … I wanted to ask what you want to do, you know, if we both survive?’
‘Isn’t it a bit early to think about the future?’
‘I don’t think so. I mean, what’s the point of doing all this if we don’t have something to hope for on the other side?’
‘Well, in that case, I’d like to see what life is like in the Shining City.’
The toe of her boot worries a loose stone. ‘I don’t know much about life in the city itself but I can show you a lot of fields and goats.’
‘I’d like that. Do goats taste good?’ He sees her appalled expression and smiles, revealing small feral teeth. ‘Just kidding.’
‘Well,’ she says, standing up, ‘I have to go.’
‘I don’t have much faith in The Seven but I hope they’ll watch over you.’
‘You too.’
Hands are raised in farewell, weak smiles exchanged, and the two part company. One joining Duet to go south, the other going to Samael and the waiting infernal army.
The trudge through the swamp is slow-going and tedious but eventually the Fallen Palace is left behind. Muck clings to their legs, stinking, going hard as it dries. The sword hangs lower on Vesper than usual, slumping, wings curled around her right shoulder, an eye pressed against her back.
The kid trots alongside, nibbling food from Vesper’s palm.
Duet’s condition worsens steadily. Her left foot drags when she walks and her left arm dangles by her side. Self-abuse is muttered, near constant, as the Harmonised tries to keep pace.
Ahead, strange mists play across the sky. Giant snakes of vapour, twisting and stretching. They press like fingers toward the north while rays of sunslight stab at them. The foremost tendrils thicken when the light strikes them, hardening into branches of crystal, a growing forest of emerald and sapphire. These strange trees draw in the daylight, distorting, weakening, a shelter for fresh mist to build around.
The sight of it makes them both stop.
‘All of this is the Yearning?’ asks Vesper.
Duet looks at the crystals taking root in the ground and the ones suspended above, dotted as far as the eye can see, left to right, up and down. She grimaces. ‘A sting to the heart or the brain should still kill it.’
‘What heart? What brain?’
‘Everything has a weak spot. We’ll find it.’
‘Are you sure? The Man-shape thinks the sword will be like a poison but how could such a tiny amount of poison do anything to this?’
‘The sword wanted to come here. It has a plan.’
Vesper tries to look at it over her shoulder. Only the tip of the hilt is visible. ‘We know it wanted to come south but we’ve never known why.’
‘Yes, we do. To destroy the Yearning and seal the Breach.’
‘No. That’s what Genner was hoping for. That’s what I thought it must be. But what if it isn’t? What if there’s another reason?’
Duet looks unimpressed. ‘What other reason could there be?’
‘To die.’
They continue walking, the nearest trees less than a hundred feet away. Mist curls in the air in front of them, ignoring the wind, sunslight sparking off it.
Duet loses focus, reminded of something by the patterns in the air. Realising she has slowed down, the Harmonised moves to catch up, and finds her progress suddenly easier, as if running down a gentle hill. B
ut still Vesper stays ahead, accelerating slightly faster. Duet hears something but can’t make it out. ‘What did you just say?’
Vesper and the kid glance back. ‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘Hmm. I thought you did.’
‘What did you think I said?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Another glance from Vesper prompts her to continue, raising her voice. ‘I thought you called me.’ She mutters something else under her breath, too low for Vesper to catch, then adds, ‘I don’t believe the sword came here to die.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because The Seven can’t die.’
‘Gamma did.’
‘No! She lives on, in the sword.’
‘Only a bit of her.’
‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘You tell me.’ Vesper’s wince arrives as soon as the words are out of her mouth. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘Yes, you did.’ She challenges Vesper with her eyes, daring the girl to disagree. She doesn’t. ‘I still feel her, did you know that? She’s not here, of course. I know she’s not here but I feel my other half standing next to me, just like she always did. Her voice is in my head, even more than when we were connected. I wish she’d shut up and give me some peace. She’s talking to me right now and do you know what she’s saying? She’s telling me to stop feeling sorry for myself. She’s telling me to stop bothering you with irrelevant things and she’s telling me to focus on the mission.
‘And I want to do that. Being in this tainted place actually helps. When we’re under threat my mind is clearer. My training kicks in. I don’t worry if I’m keeping myself together because I am together. I have to be. The sword needs you to bring it here and you need me to protect you. It works, most of the time.
‘So, you see, I have to believe that the sword would want to carry on without Gamma. Because if there’s hope for it then there’s hope for me.’ There is a pause, Vesper just stares. ‘Nothing to say? That has to be a first.’
The girl stops, bites her lip. ‘Duet, what are you pointing at?’
‘Pointing?’ She looks at herself to find her left arm is raised, fingers stretched out, fluttering slightly like a flag in a strong breeze. As she tries to understand what is happening, her left foot slides forward of its own accord, pulling her along behind.
Silent winds stir at their backs. Invisible hands that tug and push, drawing them towards the trees.
Vesper grabs Duet’s right arm, tries to anchor her. She feels the pressure herself now, dragging at her centre of gravity, tipping it forward.
The kid bleats, turns around and runs. Hooves churn up the dirt, working hard, but frantic efforts only slow the inevitable, all three of them sliding inexorably toward the crystal trees.
Vesper leans back, reaching down for extra purchase. Small stones scratch at her fingers, collect under nails, scattering when she grabs for them.
Without pride, she shouts for help. The kid joins her.
An eye twitches at the sound.
They skid past the outermost trees.
Duet slides faster, her left hand extends slightly too far in front of her, the wrist stretching, elongating.
All three of them scream.
An eye opens and with a snap, wings unfurl. They catch the strange currents and rise with them, the sword sliding free of its scabbard.
An angry note slices the air, severing invisible strings.
There is a sound like thunder and the pulling stops, alien winds diverting around them like a river around a stone.
They fall with variety: Vesper on her back, the kid on his front and Duet crashing sideways.
A beat later the sword clatters next to them. It’s eye flicks from left to right, tracking currents of alien essence, widening at what it sees.
For a few moments all three lie still while chests rise and fall and air is gulped.
Vesper sits up and reaches out to the sword, her hand resting on one of the wings.
The kid looks around. They are surrounded by the strange trees and the stranger atmosphere. It is hard to tell which way is home. With a bleat, he jumps into Vesper’s lap, burying his head, his small body trembling. She strokes him with her spare hand, soothing, the gesture automatic.
Around them, colourful gases swirl, drawing the outline of an invisible dome where the sword’s voice holds sway. Nearby trees are shaken by the vibrations, crystal branches shivering, trying to bend away.
‘Thank you,’ says Vesper. But the sword does not register her voice, its eye stares elsewhere, its wings rigid with effort. The girl turns to Duet. ‘I don’t know how long the sword can keep this up.’
The Harmonised is studying her left hand, suspicious, rotating it in front of her face.
‘Did you see it? Did you see the way it stretched?’
‘No.’
She raises her voice. ‘I’m not mad! I saw it!’
‘I never said you were mad.’
‘Yes, you did, you’re always saying it. That I’m mad, unworthy, slowing you down. You think I don’t hear you but I do.’
‘Duet, who do you think I am?’
Behind the visor, her eyes are unreadable. ‘You’re … you’re … Oh, Vesper, help me. It took my arm and my leg.’ She holds out her left hand. ‘This isn’t mine any more. I can’t keep it still.’
Vesper feels the kid burrowing deeper into her lap, the sword humming beneath her fingers, fighting. There is tension in her head, the kind that comes before a storm. Above her the dome shrinks slightly, bowing to the pressure.
Duet starts dragging herself closer. ‘Cut it off, like they did for Tough Call. And my leg. I need to be purified. You can use the sword to do it.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You have to.’
‘I’m not a knight.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘Do it!’
She takes a breath, takes the hilt.
The sword is light, seeming to rise from the ground by its own accord. An eye comes level with hers. She sees fear in it to match her own and grips the hilt tighter. Wings reach out, gentle, and close her eyes.
But she still sees. With the sword’s vision, the world is transformed. The swirling clouds that press around them have rings of teeth, sharp circles that open onto tunnels of emptiness. Not nothing, rather a hungry hole that demands to be filled. The trees are the same. To the sword, they have no colour, their surfaces feeding on the light, sucking it down greedily. In return the trees exhale more clouds of empty, hungry essence. And all of it, all of the endless desperation is linked together, a living growing loss, driven by black need.
Vesper feels horror but not revulsion, fear but not anger. The sword seems caught between a desire to attack and hopelessness, all of its strength needed to hold back the Yearning. All of its strength not nearly enough.
Again, the dome shrinks.
Duet kneels, leaning on her right arm to keep balance. She forces her left arm straight, holding it in front of Vesper. ‘Please, I invoke the rite of mercy …’
As the Harmonised speaks, an eye looks down, and Vesper sees Duet laid bare. Her essence flutters, half remembered, tattered around the edges where strands of it peel away. Vesper sees a loneliness there, strong enough to kill, that spreads. The essence is weakest on Duet’s left where the ill-defined shape of her left arm tries to pull away from her body. It is searching she realises, trying to reconnect with the lost half of itself.
The Yearning sees it too. For the first time since its arrival in the world it recognises something like itself, something that might end its terrible isolation. The Yearning tries to touch it, to take it but the Malice holds it at bay.
Vesper raises the sword. The shapes on the outside of the dome flinch and Duet steels herself, her arm extended, ready.
But instead of striking, Vesper turns on the spot, wanting one last look, one last chance to think, to consider if she is capable of the idea that has just occurre
d.
‘Duet, I need you to do something for me.’
‘What? No. Take my arm, quickly.’
She makes her voice harder. ‘In the name of The Seven, stand up.’
With a grimace, Duet complies.
‘Go to the edge of the dome.’
As she does so, she asks why.
‘Because … the Empire needs you to.’
The dome shrinks again, its protections brushing over Duet, exposing parts of her to the outside.
There is an immediate reaction. The shapes rush towards her and parts of her essence respond, the fragmented silver ghost that floats around her arm lifts up, drawing the physical limb with it.
Duet tries to step back but Vesper shakes her head.
Behind her visor, features contort, tears spill.
Essence stretches from Duet and from the Yearning, a great emptiness reaching toward a small loneliness, entwining, touching. Tendrils of smoke wrap around her, boneless fingers of a giant hand, swirling and tasting, obscuring her. Like a thin smoke in a storm the edges of Duet’s soul are whipped away.
The Harmonised gasps. ‘She’s gone.’
‘Who?’
‘Me. Her. She gone.’
Vesper sees ethereal teeth pressing against Duet. The action is not violent however, the many mouths moving carefully, not biting, bonding.
‘I can feel it! The Yearning. It’s … calling me.’
‘Yes,’ says Vesper, her voice small.
‘It’s huge and sad, so very sad. So alone. It … wants me to join it. You have to help me, I don’t think I can hold on for long.’
‘It needs you. If it has you I think it will stop growing.’
With effort, Duet turns her head. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying I can’t fight the Yearning but you …’
‘No! I’d rather die than be an infernal.’
‘I know.’ Vesper brings the sword to her chest. ‘I’m sorry.’
The dome contracts around Vesper, shrinking past Duet, exposing her.
Unimpeded, the Yearning flows around Duet, whittling away resistance until it finds the core, the need in her to be joined again, the need to belong. This, the Yearning raises skyward like a trophy.
There is a ripple of satisfaction in the mists and then a distortion. For a moment, Duet’s body begins to stretch towards the south, the tendrils of smoke elongating with her. Then both she and the smoke are gone.