by EeLeen Lee
Red paper nightingales were to be released from a giant net. The crowd joined in with their contributions; some folded them out of leftover coffee filters, pamphlets and sugar paper. Children were told to write their wishes on their own birds to make them come true.
“Most will fall into the aquifers beyond the checkpoints,” said Hitei, “to be collected and recycled as paper pulp. They’ll end up as next year’s tribute.”
The wind will always bring dust,
After a sandstorm the sun shines brighter.
No longer on the ships to nowhere,
We cross the abyss towards home.
A Corund member read out a stanza from a popular poem Dust and Argol. As soon she finished, the monument was unveiled. The orange fabric fell away, revealing four looming monoliths covered with laser-engravings. This display and the huge net of paper nightingales suggested underlying tension between regimentation and resistance. The unblinking eyes of Mias knew where you were coming from, but not where you were going.
The susurration of rain had finally stopped and announcements were made; the nightingales were to be released.
Dumortier kept track of communications, nervously anticipating the silence before an explosion:
“—Keep crowd behind barricades, they’re spilling onto the Avenue.”
“—Advise on canal approach with Newts.”
“—Maintain Shirpen speed and distribution of officers.”
NADIRA WAS GLAD for the monument’s beauty, for its own sake, for the sake of what it commemorated and for the sake of where it stood. The Thousand Echoes and the Forty together. Why should a commemoration be denied to them? Nothing should have to spoil the glory of this day.
Queen is red and in the crowd, Dumortier had broadcast. If all Pleo did was stay in the crowd Nadira could enjoy this day as a civilian. It was as if all activity and communications had slowed down. Constabulary and Spinels stayed glued to their devices; no incident had happened yet.
UP ON A wide purpose-built stage, the same Corund official cut a thick ribbon around the net. The crowd applauded as the paper birds floated away.
All of them, that is, but for a cluster which remained stubbornly on the ground. Smiling out of incomprehension, the official tried to rake them up with his bare hands. Something invisible slapped him to the stage floor.
“The main stage! Move!”
Dumortier tried to go around the edges of the crowd, who were panicking. Could Pleo project her thoughtform from a distance? The official tried to get up, but was struck again.
Damn it, where are you, Pleo Tanza?
“Request for firearms use,” Nadira said over the comms.
“State your request.”
“Glass heart rifle,” said Nadira, enunciating each word as to leave no doubt. “With flexi-mounting.”
“Denied.”
Dumortier made it to the stage and grabbed the official. He passed him to a pair of officers who whisked him to safety.
“I have previous use of glass heart,” insisted Nadira.
“Noted but still denied—”
“Dumortier 0986,” he interrupted. “I second the request for glass heart.”
“Noted again. Still denied. You’re free to observe for the sniper unit.” SeForTec clearance had its limits, but snipers were useless unless they could see their target.
Dumortier checked the stage: still clear. He yelled, “Where are you?”
In response, the cluster of paper nightingales suddenly flew up into his face.
“She’s climbing onto the Aront Barge,” Dumortier heard Nadira say over his personal comms.
Then who was controlling the action onstage? He swatted paper birds out of his face and saw Saurebaras standing in the wings. She winked at him and turned to leave.
PLEO STOOD ON the deck of the Aront barge, a confection of gold and spun materials for cruising along their new canal. She dripped water onto the fine carpet as she made a beeline for the Aronts sitting near the prow. She directed her thoughtform and it swatted Dogtooths aside.
“I’m here for you. Karma is too slow!”
Matriarch Aront retreated before Pleo, looking panicked.
“This is for Cerussa and Gia.”
She moved to strike the Matriarch down.
An explosion rocked the barge before she could reach her.
DUMORTIER HEARD IT before he saw it: a flash of light and flames licking the once-intact structure of the barge.
Does it end here?
He must have spoken to Nadira unaware, because she replied over the comms, “I hope so.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
No writer works and writes in complete isolation and so follows a list of those to most gratefully thank:
To my parents for putting up with their overgrown child with her head stuck in too many books and imagined worlds.
To my brother for leaving piles of his old science fiction paperbacks and comics lying around the house at a formative age and setting me off on various journeys.
To David Thomas Moore: thank you for taking a chance with this novel, editing, for your boundless patience and encouraging emails—drinks will be on me.
To Kate Coe: thank you for your time, editing, and insights while going through this novel. Your discerning eye helped so much—drinks will be on me as well.
To my beta readers of this novel over the years. You all know who you are and thank you all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
EeLeen Lee was born in London, UK, but has roots in Malaysia. After graduating from Royal Holloway College, she worked for several years as a lecturer and a copywriter until she took the leap into writing. Her fiction since has appeared in various magazines and anthologies in the UK, Australia, Singapore and Malaysia, such as Asian Monsters from Fox Spirit Books, and Amok: An Anthology of Asia-Pacific Speculative Fiction. When she is not writing she can be found editing fiction and non-fiction, being an armchair gemmologist, and tweeting at odd hours at @EeleenLee.
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