by Bali Rai
‘Got it from my mother.’
Oscar’s smile faded a little and he shook his head slightly. I looked around, making sure that the few customers we had couldn’t hear us. Membership of the Resistance was an offence punishable by death and we took care to speak cautiously when other people were about. However, the customers I could see were too busy getting drunk to even care.
‘She used to be so nice to me,’ he said. ‘Remember that time we knocked May’s herb pot over? She shouted at everyone except me.’
‘I remember,’ I replied with a warm smile and a slight lump in my throat. ‘You were always her favourite.’
Tyrell rapped his knuckles against the mahogany bar and broke the memories.
‘Service is terrible,’ he said, his eyebrows arching.
Sometimes, when I think about how much Oscar and Tyrell mean to me, I get emotional. I don’t even know why it happens, but today was one of those days, perhaps because of Samuel. As I wiped away tears, they said nothing and made no judgements. They never do.
The three of us are the same age, and I’ve known Oscar and Tyrell my whole life. Like most of the human population, they are Unwanted. They’ve always been around, and as far as I know neither knew his own family. My mother, my aunt and Mace brought them up, and I’ve always seen them as my brothers.
Two years ago my brothers fell in love – with each other. I remember how nervous they’d been, how reluctant to tell anyone but me. They hid their relationship for nearly six months, though I urged them to speak to the elders, to be open about their love. When they finally spoke up, some of the more old-fashioned people outside our circle made an ignorant comment or two, but everyone soon got used to seeing them as a couple, and for me, it just brought the three of us even closer.
‘You want something,’ I told Tyrell, ‘get it yourself – don’t care how big you are.’
Tyrell grinned at my childish reply, reached across the bar and pulled me to him with one mighty hand as though I weighed nothing. He used the other to caress my face.
‘Little sister . . .’ he cooed, like a lunatic. ‘Maybe we should get you a man – ease all that tension?’
As I told him to go and stick his head up a patroller’s arse, Jonah came into my thoughts and it must have shown.
‘She’s thinking about a man!’ said Oscar excitedly. ‘Look at her little face.’
‘Martha?’
I shook my head, trying to break free of Tyrell’s grip.
‘Tell us and I’ll let you go,’ he offered as he held on tightly.
‘I’m not thinking about anyone!’ I protested, hoping that he’d believe me.
‘Oscar,’ he asked, ‘do you think our sister is telling the truth?’
‘No,’ Oscar replied, ‘but I think she might suffocate if you carry on. Let her go.’
Tyrell agreed and I pulled away from him, straightening out my clothes.
‘One day,’ I said, ‘I’m going to get you!’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he joked. ‘Heard it since I was little.’
‘Little?’ asked Oscar. ‘When were you ever little, Tyrell?’
We chatted some more before Tyrell, double-checking that no one could overhear us, mentioned Samuel. I knew that he’d wanted to talk about our friend’s death from the moment he sat down, but I also realized that he wouldn’t just bring it up. I knew why too, and I understood completely. Tyrell’s jokes and annoying habit of manhandling me were his way of softening the situation, of checking how the ground lay. For me, just the sound of Samuel’s name caused my stomach to churn with grief.
‘I’m trying not to think about it,’ I replied truthfully. ‘It hurts too much. It’s like there’s this piece of us that’s gone.’
Oscar jumped up and sat on the bar. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Feels like it can’t be true, you know? Like any minute now he’s going to walk in, pretending to be his dad and ordering us about. Trying it on with any woman with more than five teeth in her head.’
At that last line, the three of us began to giggle, partly because it was funny and mostly because it was true. Samuel had been trying to charm the women since he was ten years old. I doubted there was an adult female in the city that he hadn’t tried to chat up at some point in her life.
‘I dunno what happened,’ Oscar continued when we’d stopped laughing. ‘We were fine until the demons ambushed us. But even then, it’s not like we haven’t been jumped before. Samuel and Aron just broke away and then we lost sight of them.’
‘Did Aron tell you any more?’ I asked, picking up a rag and wiping the surfaces, just to occupy my hands.
‘Not much,’ replied Tyrell. ‘He had that shifty look on his face. The one that makes me want to slap him senseless.’
I understood what Tyrell meant about Aron. Like the others, he was part of the family, but recently he’d been acting strangely. In the past few weeks he’d fought with Oscar and Samuel, taken a hiding from Mace for remarks he’d made about another elder called Prior, and given me the creeps by telling me that he loved me. Don’t get me wrong; I do love Aron, but only like I love the others. Like I said – they’re brothers, but nothing more. Nothing like that. Thing is, Aron reacted badly when I told him that, and since then everyone else has been paying the price. I can’t seem to make him understand my feelings. He thinks that I’ll change my mind, but I won’t.
‘Mace wants to see if the demons left anything of Samuel,’ added Oscar.
I nodded. ‘I told him he couldn’t,’ I replied. ‘Even if they left something, it won’t be our Samuel. Just a few body parts . . .’
The thought of his remains made my stomach turn. I’ve seen countless deaths, grown up knee-deep in blood and guts, but it doesn’t make any difference. Thinking about someone I love being torn apart makes me sick. I’m glad it does too – the day I lose that is the day I’ve forgotten what being a human really means.
‘Aren’t you working today?’ I asked them both. Most of us had jobs, and the boys worked in factories deep in the industrial zone, where they helped to make clothing for the Wanted. As a result they were always tired.
‘Start in an hour,’ Tyrell replied through a yawn.
‘I’ll make you some coffee, then,’ I said.
‘Thanks – I need it,’ he told me, stretching his arms behind his head.
I set about making his drink as my thoughts turned back to Samuel and Aron.
6
THE MAYOR KNELT at his master’s feet, in Valefor’s inner sanctum, head bowed and stomach churning. The air was fetid, the stench of rotting flesh assailing his nostrils. Other smells lingered too: the metallic tang of iron-rich earth, the alkaline aroma of urine, so rich that the Mayor could almost taste it. His knees rested on a pile of dried dung, fat bluebottles buzzing in lazy arcs all around him. A fresh pile of his master’s faeces steamed silently to his right.
‘Where did they get these weapons?’ asked Valefor.
The Mayor mumbled his reply, aware that one wrong move might end his life.
‘SPEAK UP!’
‘I do not know, great lord,’ offered the Mayor as his hands began to tremble.
The demon lord lifted a muscular, fur-covered leg and pushed the Mayor back with his hoof. He landed on his behind, his right hand scattering the fresh pile of excrement.
‘You offer nothing,’ whispered Valefor.
The Mayor lifted his head, vainly wiping his hand on the stone floor. Valefor remained on his throne, flanked by two patrollers. His eyes, cat-like and violet, bored into the Mayor’s face. Giant, pond-green wings with dagger-like golden tips curled away from his feline body. His head, resembling some diabolical reptilian donkey, had a long, thick jaw and dangerously sharp teeth. Teeth that had crunched through the bones of many a poor soul.
‘I need some time,’ begged the Mayor. ‘I’ll find them.’
Valefor stood, towering above everything and everyone, unfolding powerful arms that ended in razor-sharp claws. A thick layer of wheat-coloured
hair covered all but the very tips of his arms. His wings flapped behind him, a sure sign that he remained unconvinced.
‘Each time there is a problem you tell me the same thing,’ he said, ‘and each time you fail me.’
‘I promise to—’
‘SILENCE!’ demanded the demon lord.
The Mayor felt his bowels contract. A layer of greasy perspiration covered his face. His heart thumped inside his chest.
Valefor sensed this and smiled. ‘I scare you,’ he said softly.
‘You are mighty, my lord,’ cowered the Mayor.
‘And yet you continue to fail me,’ Valefor added. ‘This situation is perplexing.’
The Mayor sensed that he needed to prove himself. That Valefor would favour strength over weakness. Gambling on this hunch, he rose slowly to his feet, watching his master’s every move, nerves jangling.
‘They kill your fellow demons,’ he said bravely. ‘Yet your own kind does less than I to combat their actions.’
Valefor considered this reply, nodding after a short while. ‘You speak truthfully,’ he admitted. ‘But know this, human. I am nothing like those legions that serve me. Ancient is the spore from which I was created and long have I existed – since before your species first took breath. My power is not of your understanding.’
‘I know, my lord,’ said the Mayor. ‘Which is why you can trust me. I would never act against your wishes. I am not that foolish. And I value this privileged existence you grant me.’
Again the demon lord considered his reply. ‘This is also true,’ he agreed. ‘I give you power over the pitiful humans – and in return all I ask is that you keep them under control, stop their puny efforts to resist. It is such a small thing to ask. Yet these weapons pose a conundrum. The Unwanted have no access to rifles. How, then, did they come to possess one?’
The Mayor shook his head. ‘I don’t know, my lord,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps the Resistance has reached us from the north . . .?’
Once more, the Mayor gambled. Officially, the Resistance was a major threat: a highly organized, ruthless enemy, threatening the very fabric of the brave new society built after the War. In the citadels, where the Wanted went about their daily lives, they made a convenient scapegoat. Resisters were terrorists and they faced the full might of the government. Citizens were urged to remain vigilant at all times, and their own fear of terrorism kept them compliant.
However, the reality was different. Those who ruled considered the Resistance a futile attempt at creating hope amongst the Unwanted. They saw them as a small, badly trained and disorganized rabble, riddled with infighting and often infiltrated by the human government. Despite some minor losses, the Resistance had caused no real problems.
Not until recently anyway. In the past few months something had changed. To the north of the country, the revolt had grown. Reports had reached the Mayor of growing demon losses. If he’d heard the stories, Valefor must have done so too.
‘Perhaps,’ replied the demon lord. ‘It matters little to me. My legions are mighty . . .’
‘Yes, my master,’ said the Mayor.
‘And you are adept at deflecting your duties.’
‘My lord, I—’ began the Mayor, only for the demon to interrupt.
‘Fret not, my deceitful deputy. I almost admire this deviousness,’ he said.
The Mayor smiled, watching Valefor’s wings grow still. A plump, dark-skinned servant approached the demon lord. Her head remained bowed, her feet shuffling. Lunch was being served.
‘Stop this resistance,’ warned Valefor. ‘My patience will not stretch much further.’
‘As you wish,’ replied the Mayor.
‘I do wish,’ said Valefor. ‘But I want no more failure. Make use of my legions. My trusted aide, Mias, will be available to you.’
‘I shall not hesitate to call on them.’
‘And dare not fail . . .’
The Mayor shook his head. ‘I won’t,’ he promised. ‘Shall I leave you to your repast?’
Valefor shook his head. ‘Remain,’ he ordered.
The Mayor watched Valefor approach the servant, his eyes ablaze. The demon uttered words in some ancient tongue, his colossal wings surrounding the woman, binding her in a cocoon. Before he bowed his head to eat, he turned to the Mayor.
‘DO NOT FAIL ME!’ he whispered, the words continuing to echo around the Mayor’s head after he’d spoken.
Turning back to his prey, Valefor opened his powerful jaws wide. As the servant’s cranium splintered, vomit rose in the Mayor’s throat. He fought it back, swallowing and rushing to the door. Behind him the patrollers howled with blood lust.
Twenty minutes later, the mercenary Stone drove the Mayor through potholed streets back to his gated residence, rain pounding against the windscreen of the only car in Fire City. Its once sumptuous interior showed signs of ageing, the leather cracked and faded to grey. The transmission rattled and the undercarriage squeaked. Stone had seen other cars, proper cars, in the citadels. To find one that worked outside the citadels was rare.
Not that he wanted to be out here. For Stone, assigned to work alongside the Mayor by the human government, his time in Fire City was a necessary evil. Once his assignment was done, he had other plans.
The car sped past an open expanse of green that had once been a park. Most of it was overgrown, the weeds so dense that it was impossible to penetrate them without a machete. A stone arch stood above the tangle of grasses, a crumbling reminder of the past. Hungry rats the size of small dogs prowled the periphery, searching for food. The Mayor’s residence overlooked the open space, although once behind the five-metre perimeter walls, it could only be seen from the upper floor.
‘Are you listening to me?’ the Mayor demanded.
‘Yeah,’ replied Stone, his tone as sullen as his expression.
‘He tried to scare me, Stone. Me. As though I were some cowardly unfortunate. I had to set him straight.’ The Mayor sat back in the seat.
Stone eyed his employer in the rear-view mirror, raising a solitary eyebrow. Judging by the sheen of sweat on his face and the faint faecal whiff inside the car, the Mayor was being less than truthful. He was a small man with a big attitude, wearing a charcoal-grey suit with shiny black shoes, a white shirt and a pale-grey tie. As usual, Stone let him play out his charade, bottling away his contempt. For as long as the Mayor paid his wages, Stone would put up with his delusions.
‘Have you heard anything new about the Resistance here in the city?’ asked the Mayor, adjusting his tie before using a handkerchief to mop his face.
‘Nothing,’ replied Stone, his steel-blue eyes staring straight ahead.
The Mayor eyed the back of Stone’s shaven head. ‘Can you find out if anything has changed?’ he added.
‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ said Stone, braking sharply as the gates to the Mayor’s mansion approached.
‘Unlike your driving,’ snapped the Mayor.
‘Sorry, boss, I was miles away.’
‘Valefor wants action,’ the Mayor continued.
‘And what Valefor wants, Valefor gets,’ replied Stone, trying not to grin.
A couple of armed guards, human mercenaries dressed in combat fatigues, opened the gates and took positions on either side of the car, their guns drawn. Stone shook his head at the unnecessary show of force. No one was going to attack the Mayor; if they did, then he, Stone, would kill them. That was his job and he was good at it. The Mayor liked the pantomime; it made him feel more important. Another little quirk that Stone was willing to put up with. For now.
‘I’ll ask around tomorrow,’ he said.
‘Make sure you do,’ ordered the Mayor. ‘Now stop this damn car and let me out.’
Stone clenched his jaw, working the muscles, silent fury building in every fibre of his body.
‘Something amiss?’ asked the Mayor.
‘No, chief,’ lied Stone. ‘Everything’s just hunky-dory.’
7
MACE LED JO
NAH on a tour of Fire City. During the day, the streets were calm and the population went about their business almost without fear. Life for the Unwanted was a never-ending cycle of work, drudgery and more work. There were no days off, no entertainment, and no schools for the young ones. If you were old enough, you worked. And if you didn’t work, you lived on the streets, scavenging for extra food and trying to stay hidden from the patrols looking for victims for the next Hunt. Pockets of danger lurked, however, and murder was commonplace.
Desperate humans turned on each other, often killing those they robbed.
The crazed and hungry cannibals, their souls consumed and their humanity taken, hid in abandoned buildings during the day, butchering and eating the unwary. Strangers who didn’t know the city could easily find themselves on that evening’s menu.
As for the demons, they could turn on anyone, at any time, but usually kept their distance during daylight. Valefor and the other lords weren’t stupid. They realized that given free rein to kill humans, their underlings would have decimated the population.
‘You can’t hunt an extinct prey,’ mused Mace as they made their way around the city. ‘And they don’t care too much for the souls of rabbits.’
‘Extinction is preferable to this life,’ replied Jonah.
Mace stopped and eyed him. ‘Extinction?’ he asked with a smile. ‘I’d rather die.’
Jonah understood that he was supposed to laugh at Mace’s joke but he kept quiet. Instead, his eyes continued to scan the streets, creating a map in his mind. He wanted to learn the position of every alleyway and lane in Fire City. Blessed with a photographic memory, once he saw something he never forgot it. When the time came to confront Valefor, a mental plan of the city might be very useful.
A purple hue hung in the atmosphere; the clouds were dulled and grey overhead. A constant barrage of odours assaulted his senses, from the stench of open latrines to the occasional waft of sweet-smelling flowers and aromatic herbs growing wild through the cracks in the pavement. The people they passed seemed to reek of body odour and musty, unwashed clothing stiff with dirt. Some greeted Mace, but most shuffled by with their heads down. Occasional cats and dogs with threadbare, mangy coats chased after rodents, their domesticated ancestors long since discarded by humans because pets were a luxury that only the Wanted could afford. A dog outside the citadels was more likely to be a man’s next meal than his best friend. Jonah had eaten a few canines himself out in the wastelands, near-starvation forcing him to act against his human instincts.