Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

  Damien stood rigid and placed a fist under his chin, analysing the scene.

  The smell made Gallows want to gag. Just as he was about to speak, a muffled explosion sounded outside. ‘That’ll be the ignium charge. Listen, fun as staring at the desecrated remains of a prize cow is, I think we can discuss this outs-’

  The ground tremored and sent Regina to the floor.

  Gallows lunged to help her. ‘You okay?’ He had to shout to be heard above the aftershock. Hessian accepted his hand and he yanked her up.

  The ceiling split.

  ‘Outside!’ Damien commanded.

  Gallows wrapped his arm around Regina’s waist and helped her outside. ‘Holy shit,’ she said. Gallows followed her gaze—ahead of them, a rupture cleaved through the earth, throwing rock and dirt—and racing towards them.

  ‘Damn boy!’ Regina shouted. ‘What kind of bombs did you use?’

  ‘None that would cause this,’ Damien called back. ‘Move!’

  Gallows couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The earth between him and Regina split and shuddered, throwing Hessian onto her back. A mound rose from the earth, growing bigger with each second.

  Something was breaking free from the ground.

  ‘Go!’ Gallows urged, pulling Hessian to her feet. ‘Get inside!’

  Regina didn’t argue.

  ‘Tyson, move!’ Damien dived out of the way but Gallows was a second too slow: The ground lurched, sending him spinning through the air. He landed hard on his chest, the fresh wound in his shoulder oozing more blood. ‘What in pissin’ Irros…?’

  He twisted onto his back—and his blood froze at the sight before him.

  Bright red and pitiless eyes leered down at Gallows, belonging to a viper so big it blotted out the sun.

  Its skin was flaming gold and blood red—like the sand and earth—and its head was crowned with dark black bone, which twisted into a nest of horns. The fangs in its hinged jaw gleamed like steel.

  They snapped at him, clamping like some monstrous machine.

  Gallows rolled, evading the beast’s attack. Its tongue darted back and forth as Gallows scrambled backwards on his elbows. It hissed—a cacophony of anguished screams, suffocating his senses. It reared its head back, poised for another strike.

  Gallows twisted again, lumbered to his feet and drew his shortsword—it felt pathetic, but he spun and brought it up-

  The snake wasn’t there.

  What the hell?

  Gallows checked behind him, sword raised. His breathing was the only thing he heard. Damien stood some distance away, head angled like he was listening for something.

  Then, by Regina’s house, the horses brayed in terror, twisting and skidding on the dirt, trying in desperation to escape their bonds.

  The viper erupted from the earth and—swift, brutal—buried its fangs into the nearest horse, Galileo, painting the area scarlet. Sunbeam nickered, legs skidding on the cracked earth.

  ‘Holy shit!’

  Regina. The beast would turn her house into sawdust and swallow her whole.

  Gallows tightened his grip and charged. Sensing the challenge, the snake’s red eyes turned on him.

  His skin knotted. Fear spread through him like black ink in a cup of water, infecting everything inside—but Gallows kept running.

  The viper’s tongue whipped the air. Gallows deflected it with his sword, ducked beneath its fangs, and slashed his knife across its belly. He may as well have attacked it with a feather.

  Gallows ducked and ran, rolling along the ground as the snake’s barbed tail spun towards him, drilling into the earth. He sliced at it with his sword, arcing blood into the soil.

  Again and again he lured it and slashed, chipping away at its skin—but it wasn’t enough.

  Damien. Gallows had to reach Damien. He couldn’t hope to beat this thing on his own.

  It unleashed its merciless hiss again; Gallows fell to one knee and pressed his fist against his ear. He couldn’t hear his own scream, but he felt it well enough.

  The beast came at Gallows like a train. He tumbled from its path, scything his sword at it to no avail.

  Where the hell is-

  Damien shot past Gallows and vaulted onto the beast’s back, his two daggers gouging skin and gore. The viper howled and thrashed and unhinged Damien from its back, fangs bared to the sky.

  Damien rolled on the ground—and the snake disappeared again.

  ‘You okay?’ Gallows called. Damien nodded and drew his blades again.

  Where in all Hells is it?

  Gallows had to concentrate to see it, but the outline was there—a heat haze on the horizon, flitting between fists of bleached rock. Gallows’ heart rocked in his chest. He struggled for breath, a great weight pressing on his lungs. ‘What the hell… is this thing? What kind of monster can camouflage itself like that?’

  Damien said nothing. He stood as still as stone and closed his eyes.

  A split-second later, Damien spun as the snake re-emerged. Its two lower jaws snapped with speed and power, but they only caught air.

  Damien buried one of his daggers in its left eye. The beast shrieked and whipped its tail back and forth, but Damien weaved between its strikes.

  And then it turned a sickly yellow-white before disappearing again.

  ‘Damn coyotes my ass!’ called Regina. Gallows turned to find her brandishing a shotgun. She tossed it to him. It was a military-issue Millarburg; not the double-barrelled kind most farmers had lying around. ‘My boy’s,’ Regina explained. ‘See it gets put to good use.’

  ‘Get back!’ Gallows called. The weight of the shotgun felt good in his hands.

  Damien scrambled onto a chalk-white rock, eyes closed, sunlight glinting on his raised daggers.

  Sure, you take the high ground. Gallows drew the firearm to his shoulder. He snapped his aim at every shimmer in the air, every small movement.

  Silence rolled across the rocky terrain. No croak from critters, no birdsong, no breeze…

  Where are you?

  The ground lurched.

  ‘Ty, look out!’

  But Damien’s warning came too late.

  Rock exploded and a great fissure opened up, swallowing Gallows and pulling him down; he plummeted through the earth, head glancing off rock. His face mashed into dirt, and the shotgun slipped from his fingers.

  He landed belly-first in a dark cavern. The impact punched the air from his lungs and the taste of copper flooded his mouth.

  With immense effort, Gallows pushed himself to his feet. A shaft of light from above speared through the blackness of the cave, and nearby vibrations told him the snake was nearby.

  The shadows reminded him of his old cell—and the interrogations.

  Nidra was worse than this thing—and I survived her.

  Stone and dirt spilled around Gallows’ feet. He threw himself back as the snake’s crown of horns sheared through rock. The vague outline of its body shifted in the shadows, and the red of its good eye glinted like a ruby.

  Damien zipped down from above and landed on the beast’s back. His knives sank into flesh and the snake shrieked. Its hiss was ten times louder down here, but Damien remained, the blade in his right hand jackhammering into its back, gouts of blood erupting.

  A snarl clawed from the snake’s mouth, and it shook Damien free. He hung there, suspended in mid-air.

  His harness, Gallows realised. Damien had tied the rope to the white rock above.

  The beast’s fangs snapped up at Damien, but every time it got close, he activated the winch, pulling him higher and out of reach.

  It gave Gallows time to retrieve the shotgun.

  Damien wavered in the air, frustrating the viper. He taunted it, lured it—and when its great jaws widened again, he activated an ignium charge and hurled it into the snake’s mouth.

  ‘Thirty seconds!’ Damien yelled.

  Gallows took aim. ‘Hey! Asshole!’ The pellets roared through the snake’s barbed tail, turning spike
d bone into nothing.

  It howled in pain and drew away from Damien. The beast rocketed towards Gallows, jaws wide enough to swallow him whole.

  ‘Twenty!’ called Damien.

  Gallows screamed and wrenched the shotgun up, the viper’s razor fangs staring down at him. The gun quaked in his arms as he fired—once, twice…

  Five times he pulled the trigger into the roof of its mouth, turning its head into a ruined mash.

  But it was still alive.

  ‘Ten!’

  The snake’s body lashed in slow, heavy movements. Gallows hooked a boot into the gap where its face used to be, heaved himself up and ran across its undulating back. It almost sent him flying off.

  ‘Five!’ Damien dropped lower and held out an arm.

  Heart racing, Gallows kept running and leapt towards his partner…

  Damien grabbed him. With his free hand, he activated the winch.

  They flew to the surface as the explosion thundered below, a stew of bloodied guts and bone erupting. Flames licked Gallows’ boots.

  Gallows rolled on the ground and breathed, grateful for the clean air. He waited for his heart to slow down before he spoke.

  ‘Hey! Remember the time we killed a giant mutant snake?’

  Chapter Four

  No matter how she sat, the back of the chair dug into Serena’s spine.

  Sister Ingrid’s voice called from behind the wooden door of her office. Petrakis was in there, and Catryn.

  She rested her elbows on her knees. This is it. Kicked out, with nowhere to go. Every single day she dreamt of leaving this place, but now that it was happening? She wasn’t as excited as she’d imagined.

  But then she thought of Evelyn, and the corner of her mouth curved like a knifepoint. Tiera would be proud.

  The door swung open and Sister Ingrid’s face sneered at her. ‘Inside, girl. The Sister Supreme is waiting.’

  She’d seen the inside of the bare and basic office many times, seen the characterless paintings on the walls, portraits of men and women in religious clothing that no-one gave a damn about. Funny how they all had the same stern look on their faces like the sisters. It was like they were all trying not to laugh.

  Serena’s nerves betrayed her and she snickered at the thought.

  ‘My dear, do believe me when I tell you that this is not a laughing matter.’ Sister Petrakis’ voice was as dry as all the old books in her office. ‘Sit.’

  Petrakis wore the same light brown habit as the other Sisters, but also a white coif around her head. Serena didn’t see the point of it—it was just there to show she was more important than everyone else. She sat with her back straightened and cocked her head, her sharp chin jutting out like ignicite. ‘Serena. I am disappointed to see you in here once again.’ She nudged a copy of The Analectus and the Great Gospels of the Indecim closer to her. ‘The Gods brook forgiveness, but also justice—and wrath. Have you nothing to say?’

  ‘Evelyn deserved it.’ What was the point in lying?

  ‘That is not for you to decide.’ Petrakis didn’t have to shout—her voice cut like a steel blade.

  ‘Did you see what she did to Marrin? She-’

  ‘No excuse, girl. As noble as looking out for your classmates is, no-one possesses the right to visit physical violence upon anyone else. This is new for you; usually you’re here for truancy and slipping out after curfew. Is this a one-off, Serena, or merely the first time you were caught? You’re less than one year from being released from our tutelage, and what skills do you have to your name? Six months with the Raincatchers. The purpose of this institution is to give young people who cannot afford entry into the Royal Academy or the Fayth Collegium a place to learn and foster skills—a place to train under the stewardship of the Fayth. You have not diversified your skillset nor indicated any desire to take holy orders and undertake any of the Gods’ disciplines, leaving the Raincatchers your only real option. Not easy work, and difficult to keep a place aboard. Continuing down this path of disobedience and violence will be a short road indeed.’

  ‘Raincatchers love disobedience and violence,’ said Serena.

  Sister Ingrid snorted behind her. ‘And we cannot assume even the Raincatchers would take you on.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with the Raincatchers,’ commented Sister Catryn, eyes trained on Ingrid. She sat in the corner. A whirling hum buzzed from the metal brace clasped across her right knee. Catryn wasn’t as snobbish as the other Sisters, and she had a dishevelment to her clothes that Serena liked. ‘What, you’d rather she took up an apprenticeship with the Courtesans?’

  Ingrid gasped.

  ‘Sister Catryn tells me you refused to take today off,’ said Petrakis. ‘After… the events of last night. I think you should reconsider that. Despite what you may think of us, we do wish the best for you, Serena.’

  Serena brushed her face, unable to meet anyone’s eye. ‘Yeah, I… I think I acted out of grief.’

  ‘I see.’ Petrakis’ face softened, but not by much. ‘We are here for you to talk to.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘I understand.’ Catryn leaned forward, soft eyes peering through thin spectacles. ‘It’s hard. As your dorm sister, you can speak to me in private if you want. Don’t be scared, okay?’

  ‘She’s lying!’ howled Ingrid. ‘She’s using a tragedy to justify an assault that she’s likely been planning for weeks!’

  ‘Sister!’ Petrakis’ voice silenced Ingrid. And the birds outside, probably. ‘Serena,’ the Sister Supreme continued, ‘you will take the rest of the day off—and stay away from Evelyn Drassler until I make a decision as to your punishment.’

  Serena nodded. ‘Sure. Okay. Thanks.’ As far as penalties went, it could’ve been worse. No Evelyn, no talking about last night… Good. If Petrakis sent her out onto the streets—well, that was fine. She’d make it work. She wasn’t scared.

  ‘In the meantime,’ Petrakis began, ‘Junior Councillor Enfield will be visiting. Though you may not wish to talk to us, I expect he will require a full account of last night’s incident. You may go.’

  ‘The time is eleven in the morning on the Tenth Day of Terros. The time is eleven in the morning on the Tenth Day of Terros.’ The mechanical voice emanating from the tower swept over Petrel’s Tail. Sunbeam could only move at a slow trot along the busy thoroughfares. ‘Citizens are reminded that the Information Towers are property of the Crown. Any damage inflicted on the King’s Property is considered to be an act of anarchy. Any subject found vandalising an Information Tower will be detained for questioning by the City Watch. Repeat: Any subject found vandalising an Information Tower will be detained for questioning by the City Watch. King Owain—blessed be his name and long may he reign—wishes you a good day.’

  The trumpeting fanfare that heralded and closed each message spluttered out, grating against Gallows’ nerves.

  Vendors peddling sweet-smelling foods, candles and perfumes thrust their wares in front of them. Gallows ignored them, having lost the patience to say ‘no thanks’ after an elderly woman shoved a mouldy persimmon fruit in his hand and made him pay for it.

  Up ahead, a troupe of jugglers flung their rubber balls to and fro. One of them was on the ground and another perched upon the peak of the arched skybridge. The last member—the sole female of the group—wore stilts and stood on a gigantic wooden wheel. She turned it with her elongated legs, riding it like a giant unicycle as she caught the balls and threw them back to her partners with expert precision.

  The stilt-walker beckoned the crowd towards her. The juggler on the ground bent down and hammered at a snare drum with sticks conjured from thin air. The woman juggled five balls, smiling beneath her white face paint to the crowd. Everyone turned silent as if commanded by some unseen hand, the only noise coming from the drumming. Even Gallows had stopped to witness whatever was about to happen, heart rising in time with the percussion.

  The music climbed faster, the stilt-walker’s hands blurred an
d the wheel spun, its bright painted patterns twisting into a dazzling hypnotic swirl. She leapt up from the wheel, sending it spinning backwards. She flipped high into the air, arcing straight over the skybridge and exchanged balls with the juggler on the arch. She twisted and spun in the air—before landing back on the wheel and riding it back through the arch, balls bobbing in the air around her.

  The crowd exploded into applause, and even Gallows managed to smile. ‘Well, you don’t see that every day.’

  Jets of blood-red fire arced up, searing the air, heralding the beginning of something new.

  ‘Although only Irros knows what acrobatics and candied apples have to do with remembering the spirits of the fallen,’ Gallows commented as they moved on. ‘Hey, how angry do you reckon Sheva will be when she finds out we lost a horse?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. You want to tell her?’

  ‘No.’

  The mansion house of the Musicians’ Guildhouse sat in a crescent, like the wide embrace of a rich aunt; the Hunters’ Guildhouse was tucked away in the mansion’s lower floors like a despised step-child.

  Gallows led Sunbeam to the rear stables, where a young steward took it. He regarded the two Hunters with confusion. ‘Didn’t, um… Didn’t you have two?’ the kid said.

  ‘Got hungry on the road,’ answered Gallows.

  They climbed the stone steps of the guild house in silence, the passing members of the Musicians’ Guild in too much of a hurry to even look down on them. Its rooms were all spacious, a valuable commodity in this day and age where skybridges and tower blocks were constructed to deal with the city’s overcrowding problem. The musicians’ rooms smelled of roses and honey, of teak and fine wine. The Hunters’ smelled of dirt and sweat.

  Damien knocked on Guildmaster Sheva Kirivanti’s door.

  ‘Enter.’

  Damien held the door open for Gallows. Damn. I wanted him to go in first.

  ‘Ah,’ came Kirivanti’s clipped voice. Her dark skin was impeccable as always, and her long, black hair was tied back into a tight braid that hung over her right shoulder. She peered up at them through plain, thin spectacles. She was young for her position, barely into her thirties, and younger than a lot of the Hunters.