by Peter Newman
And still it is not enough. Her throat grows raw from singing, her spirit wanes, and the sword presses up into her hands.
But the sword is more than just a sword. It is part of Gamma, and she is more than just a human, she is part of a family and she carries their strength with them. Vesper sings for them all, for her father, her Uncle Harm, for Genner and the knights, for Samael and Jem. For all those that died for her to get here and those that might live if she succeeds. And when that is not enough, when the urge to stop becomes unbearable: she thinks of Duet.
And her song surges again, filling the air with sound and fury and fire, and then, with a hiss, the sword comes free, leaving a husk where the Breach was. Silvered lines like scars stitch the sides together, binding fast.
The echoes of their song fade, the light going with it. Vesper sways, stumbles. Somehow she staggers back to the ledge, dragging the sword with her before laying down and passing out.
Rough stone pokes at soft skin, forcing the end of sleep. Vesper groans. Around her it is dark, save for a distant slit of gold, far above her. She switches the Navpack to torch mode and hauls herself upright, picking up the sword soon after. It feels heavy. An eye moves sluggishly, glancing at what remains of the Breach. Everything appears as it was and an eye moves to close.
‘Wait …’ begins Vesper, then gasps, her throat raw and burning. ‘Wait …’ she whispers. ‘Can you fly us out?’
A wing extends but with the Breach closed, no currents remain to ruffle silver feathers.
She puts the sword away and moves to the wall. It is a daunting climb and the wall looks sheer. For a long time she looks up, then shoulders slump in defeat. She has no idea where to begin.
It is easier to sit down.
Somehow the victory tastes less sweet now it seems she will die here.
‘I have to try,’ she mumbles, standing once more. A few abortive attempts are made. Fingers slip on smooth stone, knees are scuffed. She swears, falls for a third time and sits down again. Vesper’s head sinks down into her hands and stays there.
All becomes quiet.
From a nearby nook, a dark pair of eyes dare to peek out. The kid sees Vesper slumped forward. He sees very little to eat. But more than that, he sees a climb of such immensity, such wonder, that terror is forgotten.
The kid gets up.
The kid looks up.
The kid begins to bounce.
By the time Vesper reacts, the kid has already made a start, hooves naturally moving to the best places, treading a winding path towards the surface.
Vesper follows, trying her best to track the kid’s progress, to use the holds he reveals. Sometimes the kid waits for her, balancing easily on ledges too small to see. Often he does not.
Nails crack and fingertips bleed. Muscles ache and limbs tremble. Vesper pauses often, gasping for breath, listening to the sound of little legs clipping merrily above her.
But she does not stop. She does not allow herself to stop. With a grim certainty she realises that she is not done yet. There are still things to do.
And so she climbs.
When she finally reaches the top, she allows herself a brief sleep and a cuddle with the kid, then she strikes out north, putting her back to the Breach.
It is not forgotten though.
There are few distractions as she walks, letting thoughts drift. Vesper murmurs to herself, biting her lip or shaking her head. She sighs often, though not through fatigue.
Sometimes she remembers the kid and strokes his head. Hooves crunch on little carpets of crystal, marking the remains of an alien forest. Rations are eked out, shared. The kid’s presence brings only a brief reprieve and soon Vesper’s thoughts turn inward again, a frown like her father’s returning.
*
Scout pads out of the broken building, weaving through rubble where the door used to be. From his mouth hangs the body of an infernal, one of Gutterface’s children. It thrashes around, little arms clawing the air in wild sweeps. Scout shakes it violently, turning the shrieks into stutters.
The Dogspawn finds Samael in the street, presiding over a growing pile of empty shells. Bodies, animal and human, distorted for the pleasure of their hosts, now broken by the Man-shape’s army.
He opens his mouth, letting the mangled form drop at Samael’s feet.
It lands on the floor with a soft plop, beady eyes peeking through slitted lids, hoping for escape.
Before such ideas can take root, Samael inserts a finger and thumb into a ragged wound in the infernal’s stomach, plucking out its essence.
The impish spirit tries to flee, throwing its formlessness about his hand, like a fly against glass. He studies it, a wisp of hate and mischief, curiosity and venom. Just like the others.
Samael begins to work the tiny essence, spreading it out, isolating individual moods and thoughts. He remembers that the Uncivil used to do this. With time he will be able to distill the essence down to its basic form, cutting away the personality until only a pure, neutral substance remains.
While he works, Scout picks up new scents and goes hunting.
The battle for New Horizon has been quick and relatively bloodless. Gutterface met them at the walls with the bulk of the Demagogue’s forces but quickly realised it could not win. When the great infernal surrendered the rest fled and now the noises that ring out in nearby streets are of slaughter, not combat, as the last of the Demagogue’s allies are dug out of their holes and destroyed.
Undaunted, Samael works on.
It is dark when Vesper arrives at New Horizon, its many lights smudging the sky like a dirty beacon. As ever, the gates are open and, as ever, all the bodies have been swept away. Such precious resources are never ignored for long.
The air is full of unease. New monsters rule the city now, exploring its nooks and crannies, staking territory, jostling for the most gain.
But, however grim it might become, life goes on. Human slaves may be off the menu but bodies can always be sold, one way or another. Drums beat and voices shout, trading insults and prices, the two often interchangeable. Many may have died or lost holdings but every loss is a chance for someone else, and the people of New Horizon waste no chances.
Vesper glances at the horned figures scurrying past, at the groups who clump together, dangerous, and loners hugging to the shadows, willing to do anything but make eye contact. The kid stops and begins to shake, simply unable to cope with further horrors. She scoops him up and tucks him into her coat, away from hungry faces.
Up ahead, a Dogspawn blocks the road, prowling its width, the play of its muscles visible beneath patchy fur.
There is no Handler in sight and the people of New Horizon give the creature a wide berth.
Vesper stops in front of it and raises a hand. ‘Hello Scout.’
The Dogspawn barks in acknowledgement and runs off, forcing Vesper to jog to keep his wagging tail in sight.
They travel quickly through grimy streets while people get out of their way, pressing themselves against walls with haste and, often, choice words.
Soon, the Iron Mountain comes into view. A great mound of junk, the outside peppered with lights, the inside riddled with holes and chambers. At first the edges of the junk pile appear hazy, as if viewed through a dark veil. As Vesper gets closer, she sees the veil is moving. The distortion created by thousands of insects swarming together, crawling over neon. Some lights are hot enough to cook, snuffing out little lives with a pop.
Scout stops and sits back on his haunches.
‘We’re stopping here?’ asks Vesper.
He barks in reply.
Soon, Samael can be seen approaching from a side street. He compensates better now but the limp still marks his walk and armour clanks more crisply every other step.
He stops further back from Vesper than usual and Scout suddenly rounds on her. Ears prick up and teeth are displayed.
She takes a step back. ‘What is it?’
‘He is trying to protect me.’
‘From what?’
‘From you.’
She follows the Dogspawn’s gaze and finds the sword is in her right hand, humming, ready. She does not remember drawing it. Bringing the hilt to her lips, she whispers, ‘What is it? Samael is a friend.’
Wings reach out, brushing eyes shut. Through the sword she sees the world anew. Samael is brighter than before, distinct veins running through his essence, flowing together now, ordered. The tether between him and Scout remains clear. It would be a simple matter for her to sever it.
Behind them, the Iron Mountain looms large and dazzling. She sees the flies lit from within, each a tiny spark of essence, linked by wires, ethereal, that float in the air. Many of the strands tangle together, loose ends drifting, all angled towards something within the base of the Iron Mountain.
‘It’s not you, Samael. It’s something inside there.’
‘The Man-shape is in there. It is waiting.’
‘For me?’
‘Yes. I will take you.’
Vesper follows Samael along a path of trampled machine parts and old packaging. She raises the sword and flies immediately disperse, buzzing angrily to a safer distance.
Samael ducks his head and steps into a passageway, shoulder plates squeaking against narrow walls. They zig zag along it to come out into one of the larger chambers. In an old life, the space was a hangar, part of a sky-ship. In place of tanks and trucks, infernals lurk in the shadows, waiting on the word of their new king.
The Man-shape appears comfortable on a throne of steel and leather. Each leg has been placed carefully, artfully, to create the impression of a human in repose. In truth, the seat is unnecessary as the Man-shape’s shell does not tire, an indulgence to alien vanity.
From the chest upwards, the Man-shape is cloaked in darkness. It turns its palms upward in a gesture of welcome. ‘What has become of the Yearning?’
‘It’s gone. Destroyed.’
‘And I feel the Malice is all the stronger for it. Can you dim its gaze? My shell only blocks so much of its ire.’ She slides the blade back into its sheath, muffling vibrations. ‘That is better. I have taken New Horizon and made it my home.’
‘What happened? Is Jem okay?’
‘He lives. Samael believes he is not beyond restoration. He is with the mortals claimed back from the Demagogue.’
‘Did you destroy the Demagogue?’
‘Not as you mean it. Our kind is different to yours in this respect.’ The Man-shape gestures and two figures shuffle forward. Each appears like a crash victim, badly restored. Vesper covers her mouth, swallowing repeatedly. ‘Where once stood our enemy, Gutterface, I have two new members of my court. Their essences have been diluted and blended. Vesper, meet Guttershamble and the Faceless Prince.’ The Man-shape gestures again and they retreat meekly to their corners. ‘The Demagogue is a different matter. I have sealed it within its palace.’
‘Why didn’t you kill it?’
‘I only kill when I need to.’
‘Aren’t you worried it will break out?’
‘No. After all the exits were sealed, we collapsed the palace around it.’
‘But a powerful infernal could survive that, couldn’t it?’
‘It will have survived, there is no question of that. But I hope it will be too broken to free itself.’
Vesper shakes her head. ‘You should have gone in there and killed it.’
‘Our agreement was that I take the city and free the enslaved mortals. Nothing more. The Demagogue is too powerful to defeat and remain unchanged. My solution is satisfactory for all parties.’
‘Okay then. I suppose we’re done. Only …’
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t know. It feels like we’ve started something here. What happens now?’
‘Now you go back to your home.’
‘Yes, but … I know our peoples have fought and … well I was hoping there could be a different way. I mean, you’re not the Usurper and I’m not The Seven. We might be able to find a way to understand each other.’
‘I am listening.’
‘I don’t have the answers yet, there’s a lot to think about but I’d like the chance to speak to you again one day.’
‘You are welcome here Vesper, so long as you can muffle the Malice.’
‘Then I’ll take Samael and Jem and be on my way.’
‘Yes. Tell me, how do mortal allies show their appreciation to each other?’
‘I don’t know but I think you just did.’
‘Good. And are you appreciative of me?’
‘I am. And we will speak again, I promise.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
They leave New Horizon together, a Dogspawn, a small goat, a half-breed knight carrying a wasted man and a young girl carrying a sleeping sword. They have supplies for those that need them and fresh clothes for Jem and Vesper, though Vesper still wears the old coat. She has grown since she first put it on, the edges brushing ankles rather than heels. Sleeves still hang too long, gobbling everything from sight save fingertips.
There has been a change in the wind and clouds have come, papering the sky grey.
Just outside New Horizon, Vesper comes to a stop. ‘Oh …’ she says.
Jem sits up in Samael’s arms. Sunken cheeks have regained some colour and eyes some of their old sharpness. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know how we’re going to get home. I’ve been so busy thinking about the Man-shape and New Horizon and Tough Call and Verdigris and the Yearning and, well, everything, that I haven’t thought about how we’re going to cross the sea.’
‘How did you get here?’
‘I came in a sky-ship but it was shot down.’
Samael tilts his head, signalling that they should continue. ‘I used to cross the oceans. I will take you home.’
‘How?’ asks Vesper. ‘Do you have a ship?’
There is a pause and when Samael’s voice does come, it contains warmth, uncharacteristic. ‘Yes. It may need work.’ He does not add that he hopes it does. Techniques come to mind, bringing with them sensory memories, the feel of tools in his hands and the roughness of raw material, the sense of potential and above all, an impulse to experience it all again.
Jem looks over his shoulder and spits in the dust. ‘Goodbye, New Horizon. This is the last time I’m setting eyes on that shit hole of a city, I swear.’
Vesper frowns. ‘Not for me. I’m going to come back here one day.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I made a promise.’
‘And do you always keep your promises?’
Her eyes lose focus, attending to a memory but she nods, emphatic. ‘Always.’
The journey home feels very different to Vesper. Between the infernal blood in Scout and Samael’s veins, and the sword’s presence, none of the usual hunters of the Blasted Lands bother them. Things seem almost safe. She finds herself relaxing into the rhythm of travel and because Samael doesn’t sleep, he takes all of the night watches.
Sleep and security bring peace of mind and fresh focus. Her thoughts are often elsewhere, practising conversations, worrying about the future and the decisions she leans towards. Sometimes, though, she looks around, at the world of her Uncle’s stories. For so long now she has been looking for threats, or expecting trouble that it is refreshing to enjoy her surroundings with new eyes. She sees scars of ancient wars and the daily ravages of nature, animals and plants fighting each other for food, for shelter, for access to the light. She sees other things too. Flowers with petals like insect wings, from one angle transparent, from another a cross-stitch of rainbows. Pink fungus with spiky hair that squeaks when touched. A half-breed rodent, tiger striped, that hangs from nearby trees and dances in exchange for treats.
The kid only eats the first two while Scout, much to Vesper’s horror, eats the third.
At Verdigris, the group keeps a low profile and Jem gets some good deals, trading their unwanted things for essential supplies.
After they leave Verdigris, Samael leads the way, taking them on a different route to the one she came on. Vesper is sad not to pass Wonderland and speak to Neer again but happy to miss the forest of stalks, and the swarm that lives within it.
They stick to the coastline, trailing it until they reach the northern peninsula. Much of the land has broken away over the years, swallowed by a hungry sea, but five great discs remain, bobbing on gentle waves. Each is a mile across, a miniature settlement in itself. Buildings rise from the discs, their smooth walls blending in, as if the everything was carved from one block of plastic.
The five circles are without power, engines stripped away, their lights dark. A quiet monument to a better age.
Samael stops where the rocks meet the water. ‘Wait here,’ he says. ‘I won’t be back for a while.’
Jem and Vesper watch as the half-breed strides into the water. Waves lap ever higher as he progresses, touching first ankles, then knees, waist, chest, until even the plume of dark hair vanishes from sight. Only Scout follows, his head just visible as he paddles after his master.
That night, they shelter in a rocky hollow, enjoying a fire. Jem sits close, fingers spread above the flames, while further away, the kid dozes, one hoof pawing at something imaginary.
They listen to twigs popping and enjoy the woodsmoke that tickles nostrils.
Jem breaks the silence. ‘You never really told me how you defeated the Yearning.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Well, yes, you did, but not in any kind of detail.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it and anyway, there isn’t much to tell.’
Jem snorts. ‘I find that hard to believe. Will you at least tell me what happened to your friend?’
For a long time, Vesper looks at the flames. Absently, she bites her lip. ‘Duet died fighting the Yearning. She sacrificed herself so that I could finish it off. She’s the hero, not me.’