‘What are you going to say to everyone when we get back?’ Zoya calls from behind me.
‘I don’t know. I’ll think of something. If we get back . . . Can you hear that?’
The all too familiar shriek of Screamers slices the sky.
‘There’s no gun on this Storm!’ Zoya shouts. ‘We can’t outfly them or shoot at them!’
The only hope is to outmanoeuvre them – not easy when you want to keep your hands over your ears. Bullets cut into wood. What can I do?
I spread my arms and take a deep breath, drawing a great gulp of energy in. I become wind in the leaves. Leaves on the trees. I scatter like spores yet still stay solid. It’s the most amazing feeling. The dive-bombers turn for a second dive, hunting in pairs as usual. They scream at me. I scream back. The sky darkens. This is not the slow creep of Umbra’s curve across the sun’s white disc, this is a storm of black feathers – I am the storm!
I send the Screamers down to furrow the ground in smoke and flames. I’d yell with joy if I didn’t suddenly feel utterly drained. My chains are so heavy! The Storm dips, losing altitude, then the nose rises again.
‘I have control!’ shouts Zoya, working the dual equipment as I rest.
No, the Crux have control – I see Sea-Ways ahead, completely surrounded now by hostile armies. Bomb-slingers send death into the city. Two more Screamers rise up to keep us from breaching the siege. Zoya has us twisting and turning while I somehow raise another furious cloud of unnatural black. One Screamer is silenced. Where’s the other? Can hear it, can’t see it . . . We’re turning every way at once in a maelstrom of feathers and fear, screams getting closer, the Storm pulling apart, time stretching, control slipping, world spinning . . .
An explosion! Shrapnel jags the Storm’s wood and wings. Fire flashes, smoke blinds – a new plane has joined the fight. A People’s Number Forty-eight Fighter!
‘It’s Furey! She’s found us! She’s saved us!’ Zoya whoops.
The fighter is so much faster than our little Storm. Furey has to make a wide arc before flying past again with a cheeky waggle of her wings. We wave to her and Ang, then they’re gone. Not for long. When the next pair of Screamers screeches into view Furey is straight at them, guns blazing.
Around Sea-Ways army-issue lamps speckle the ranks of the besiegers. They’re tiny compared to the sun they’ll have to replace. Perhaps the Crux will pray to their god to bring the light back again. In the meanwhile, they’ll have to deal with me and my darkness.
Except I’m tired. Na! Even the plane is sluggish. The fuel needle starts to tremble over the red section on the dial. Almost empty.
To the Crux on watch-duty we must be a smudge of a silhouette against the sun’s last-ditch dazzle. It’s all they can do to set their weapon sights on us.
Umbra touches the sun and takes a bite of the brightness.
‘Furey can’t fly in the dark!’ shouts Zoya. ‘And her plane’s not wood like ours. The bioweave could start unravelling, doesn’t she realise that?’
I think of Furey’s steady grey gaze back at Corona. ‘She knows.’
Three times Furey brings her fighter round to fire at the Crux anti-aircraft guns. Twice she swoops free, unscathed. That will please Ang Two-Times no end. On the third run she lets a last volley of bullets fly.
Umbra slides further across the sun. One fragile crescent of sunshine remains.
Furey’s fighter trails threads of bioweave as it begins to lose height. She swoops past me and for a moment I have a clear view of her in the pilot seat, with Ang behind. Then the fighter tilts towards Crux gun-placements. Suddenly I know why I foretold Ang would win two Hero of Rodina Nation awards. Both of them will be well deserved. Furey is going to take out the Crux siege guns to give us clear passage to Sea-Ways. One last mission. One final sacrifice.
I can’t bear that! I strain all my thoughts, all my power, to reach the fighter in time. They’re too far ahead. I’m not strong enough.
Birds sing their last song. The air chills and stills.
An explosion.
They die.
The day dies.
The sun is swallowed. It is a perfect disc of black. Night reigns.
Totality. Uncertainty. Darkness.
The black sun cannot warm us. The Nation shivers. The Storm staggers through this new night. Long before we spot the landing field the fuel indicator needle clunks to empty. The propellers stutter, the engine chokes and dies. We glide.
It’s strangely peaceful to slide over Sea-Ways, lower, lower, ground-bound – down. In a peacetime Eclipse the streets would be dazzling with lights. Now blackout rules and power-rationing leave the city dim. At a bombed warehouse, flames are the only illumination, alongside the lamps of fire-fighting teams. No other trucks are out on the streets. We see no people scuttling down the pavements.
I open up the Storm’s landing gear and take a deep breath. Time to face the squadron . . . and rejection. Time to discover the true price of stepping off the path. I gaze at my hands. They look normal. I touch my face. It feels normal. The black feather I pick out of my hair is definitely not normal. The fronds are so soft. I stick it behind one ear. My corvil croaks in approval.
They must hear the bump of wheels on the ground. A rectangle of light appears as a door opens. Petra’s got this amazing expectant expression on her face.
‘I knew it!’ she calls out. ‘I knew you’d come back!’
Another door opens. Fenlon peers into the dark with an unlit choke dangling from his lips – a small affectation copied from Furey. He strides over, cursing very impressively. I think this must be his way of celebrating our safe return. It’s less painful than the usual back-slaps he gives.
‘First you’re off to Corona without stopping to say good-bye-and-go-well, next we hear the siege is complete and no one can break out of the city, let alone into it . . . and here you are, large as life and twice as miserable. Don’t tell me you’re going to mope all the way through the Long Night. I’ve had enough of gloomy reports – ration riots in the city centre, a spate of suicides already, and some hysteria about spies or something supernatural . . .’
Zoya pulls herself up from the cockpit. ‘Someone should tell him,’ she murmurs.
Fenlon’s not done. ‘Before connection went scatty there was an update about a People’s Number Forty-eight Fighter stolen from its hangar in Corona. Nothing to do with you two by any chance?’
I swallow. ‘Furey . . .’
‘Might’ve known it! That woman was born to trouble as sure as the sun rises and sets, or in this case, gets blocked out by a great big gas giant of a planet. Sent you back without her, did she? Staying in Corona to live the high life in luxury, is she?’
‘I’m really sorry. She was in the stolen fighter. Her and Ang escorted us to Sea-Ways. They didn’t make it.’
Now, when time changes it’s nothing to do with me, it’s all about the way a man ages in mere moments. His shoulders slump, his spine curves, his skin goes grey.
‘Ridiculous. A woman like Marina Furey doesn’t die.’ He fumbles for the choke, finds it, sniffs it for a moment then drops it to the runway and grinds it under his boot heel.
Petra sags too, as do the others who’ve gathered round.
Dee grabs Zoya as she climbs from the Storm.
‘Ang’s gone as well? Are you sure? She didn’t look like she was going to die, and she didn’t want to either. She always said my company would kill her off twice as fast as the Crux ever could.’
Zoya winces. ‘There was nothing we could do. I’m so sorry.’
‘Come on,’ says Lida. ‘We should go inside; the temperature’s dropping.’
I blush. ‘Can you help me out, please?’
Petra’s shocked when she sees the pool of bane-metal chain-links in the cockpit.
‘Yeldon, you’ll have something to cut these, won’t you?’
He leaps up and looks in. ‘What the . . . ? Zoya, what’s going on?’
Zoya is as g
rey as death. ‘There’s something a bit . . . abnormal . . . going on,’ she begins.
It’s at that point my strength seeps right away and I collapse.
The hiss of steam. The bubble of boiling water. The clatter of a spoon in a mug. These are the noises I wake up to. I open my eyes to a sweet-smelling cloud.
‘Drink this . . .’
I scrabble to get out of the reach of Haze and whatever she’s offering me.
‘What . . . ?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Haze says. ‘It’s not poisoned. They say you’re more useful alive than dead.’
‘What are you doing here? Where are the others? Where am I?’
‘Never mind, drink this.’
‘How long have I been sleeping?’
Haze shakes her head. ‘Hard to say when this night goes on for ever.’
‘How long – tell me!’
‘Four days’ worth of night.’
Four days! The Long Night will soon be over and here I am, lying around like one big lump of uselessness! I throw off the covers. And nearly faint again. When I look down at my arms, my skin is so fine I can see right through it to a pattern of veins like black lace.
The room shakes. Haze hardly flinches. ‘It’s just the Crux. They’ve been throwing bombs at us for ever. My papi . . .’ She has the grace to blush. ‘He says the Crux will come into the city the moment the Eclipse ends.’
‘And my . . . your mother?’
‘Still at the factory – the bit that hasn’t been bombed. I was helping there till Zoya came and told me you were sick.’ Haze frowns. ‘She was mean to me. She said I had to get you better or she’d tell your corvil to peck my eyes out. So this is medicine I used to make for the old mother in the forest in winter when she felt weak, until she got so bad she couldn’t stop me running away.’
‘You left her when she was sick?’
‘She stole me from my family and made me a slave! Why would I stay?’
Trust. Mistrust. Loyalty. Who knows what’s what any more? I take the mug and gulp the hot liquid down. It seems fine. The warmth that spreads through my body is certainly welcome.
‘Is Reef here?’
Haze shrugs. Doesn’t know, doesn’t care. ‘Lida wants to see you.’
We muster in the privacy of Furey’s office – the former headteacher’s room. They practically have to drag me there by my arms because my legs are still numb, even this long after the chains have been cut off. At least my skin’s not so laced with black. I may even look normal again.
It’s bitterly cold after four days without sun. Frost crusts the leaves of plants pushing between the window-frames. Slick supplies must have run out during the siege.
I keep my eyes low, focusing on big boots, knotted laces, dirty trouser hems . . .
They’re all here, the people I knew as friends. Dee, Petra, Mossie, Yeldon, Zoya, Lida . . . Others too, civilians from the city and, most shockingly, my papi. I’d know his cracked brown boots anywhere; I’ve tripped over them in the doorway often enough. What should I call him now I know he’s not my father any more? You never think of your parents having names like normal people.
Little Tilly is here too, sitting in Mossie’s lap. Tilly opens and closes her hand to me in a solemn wave. Someone must’ve broken the news of her mother’s death. How can she even understand what dead means? I don’t. I keep expecting Furey to burst into the office blowing a squall.
While the others shuffle uncomfortably about the edges of the room, Lida fumbles for a packet of chokes and taps one out. The mere sight of a lighter-box is enough to make me tremble with fear.
‘So, here we all are,’ she begins.
‘All of who?’ asks Dee.
‘Dee, for once just shut up. All of whoever’s going to be here right now, OK? All of whoever there is left. Plus our odd little Pipsqueak. Have you brought the chains just in case, Yeldon?’
Yeldon shakes a cascade of bane-metal. I grip my stomach.
Lida ignores me. ‘Fact is, Sea-Ways is on the brink of being over run by Crux. Fact is, normal communications are down. Fact is, brutal and simple, we’re screwed. You got something to add to that, sir?’
Papi has opened his mouth. He closes it again and looks, unhappily, at me.
Lida continues. ‘Long Night is not going well, that’s the point we’re starting from here.’ People nod. ‘It’s like the whole city’s disconnected, literally and mentally. Four days we’ve been sitting here with Crux bomb-slingers smashing missiles down.’
Even as she says this another distant thud makes the air shake.
She drags smoke from the choke, coughs violently, then stubs it out and points to me.
‘You predicted this, you know, at that fortune-telling thing we did. You said I’d get charge of my own squadron.’
‘I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. Because of Furey . . .’
‘ . . . dying. Right. Sorry, Tilly. Look, should the kid even be here?’
Mossie wraps her arms around Tilly. ‘The bomb shelters are full.’
‘And they stink,’ adds Petra.
Lida snorts. ‘She might be safer there than in here, if all the rumours about Pip are true.’
I keep my eyes down and mumble, ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
Lida’s brow goes up. ‘So what Zoya says isn’t a fey-tale. You really are . . . ?’
Papi sucks in air through his teeth.
I just sigh. ‘A witch? Yes. I think so.’
That makes Lida laugh, and not in a merry way. ‘You think so? What am I supposed to do now? We’ve had no updates from Aura since the Eclipse started. Is that your fault?’
‘I think . . . I mean, yes, probably, but only by accident.’
‘She doesn’t look like a witch . . .’ says Dee cautiously. ‘I’ve never actually seen her eating babies or drinking blood.’
My lip curls. ‘That’s disgusting.’
‘So are monsters,’ says Yeldon, crunching his arms so his muscles flex.
Lida turns to Fenlon. ‘Does she look normal to you?’
Fenlon pulls a face. ‘I never thought any of you kids were normal, buzzing about at night when you should be safe at home doing schoolwork and watching bad shows on the stream-screens—’
‘I wanted Rain to stay safe at home,’ Papi interrupts.
Lida rolls her eyes at him. Clearly parents cramp her style.
‘Rain can’t be a witch,’ Dee decides definitively. ‘Otherwise she would have something to stop Ang being dead.’ She puts her hands over her face and cries without making a sound.
Papi looks massively uncomfortable. ‘What happens now? I came here because that Scrutiner said I should.’
That makes me pay attention. ‘Reef Starzak?’
‘That’s the one. Came to the house in person. Said I was to report to the squadron and speak to Marina Furey. Sorry, sweeting . . .’ He nods towards Tilly. ‘There’s been all sorts of talk about . . . witches and the like, and this girl Haze has been telling me my daughter’s some sort of changeling child! Are you saying it’s all true then?’ He’s looking directly at me. I turn away, unable to bear his narrow eyes and the pain in his voice.
Mossie sniffs. ‘I don’t think Zoya’s lying . . .’ she says carefully.
‘I’m not,’ says Zoya.
‘Fine,’ says Papi, suddenly impatient. ‘So let’s say Rain is a witch, what—’
Yeldon erupts. ‘Oh, we’ll just say that, shall we? We’ll just sit in the room and speak superstitions? I was brought up not to believe all that Old Nation stuff. Are you telling me she’s a monster? She looks like a little runt to me. Small enough to feel my muscles if she wants a fight . . .’
His fingers curl to fists and his feet slide to a boxing stance.
Zoya tries to pull his arms down again. ‘Don’t fight . . .’
‘It’s all right,’ he growls. ‘I won’t rough her up too much, just enough to make her think twice about trying any monster mojo on us.’
&nb
sp; ‘It’s not her I’m worried about,’ Zoya says quietly.
Lida looks me straight in the eyes. ‘I don’t know anything about witch stuff, Pip–’
‘My name’s Rain,’ I interrupt suddenly. ‘I’m not a pipsqueak . . . or a runt.’
‘Fair enough. Rain it is, then. You seem normal to me, so I’m putting these superstitious delusions down to battle fatigue, or maybe the excitement of getting a Hero of Rodina medal has scrambled your brain. Whatever. The important question is, what now? Our last ac-reqs were to lie low and keep the lights on till Long Night’s over. We’re to eke out fuel blocks and food as long as we can. Meanwhile, Mossie’s got us knitting to keep us warm now temperatures are teasing the freezing mark.’
‘That’s crazy!’ I burst out.
‘Because witches don’t like knitted knots?’ asks Mossie, half offended.
‘Because you could be doing something! You could run blockades, bomb the Crux, keep up morale – show them we’re down but not out!’
Lida shakes her head. ‘You’ve been out for four days. You’ve no idea what’s happening in the city. It’s like this attack of mass hysteria just because the sky’s gone dark. People are literally going mad without Aura and without daylight.’
Fenlon nods. ‘They say a Scrutiner was attacked on the street when he tried to stop people breaking into the People’s Number Ninety-four Museum to liberate old god-house bells.’
‘Not Reef?’
Lida explodes with frustration. ‘We have absolutely no idea who it was, or where Reef Starzak is. That’s my whole point – there’s no one to connect to and ask. At least we’re used to being out at night without lights and going without Aura for hours at a time. Everyone else is out of their heads.’
‘So take advantage of this experience. Do something to save the city!’ I persist.
‘Do what?’
‘Whatever you can. What about spreading word that we don’t just have to sit and wait for defeat? We can rise up and fight, with bare fists like Yeldon if there’s nothing else. Forget Aura! This is Rodina we’re fighting for – our loved ones, our way of life, our homeland. Fenlon, how many Storms are currently operational?’
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