Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

Gallows heaved his rifle up to Basud’s head and pulled the trigger.

  His body crumpled to the ground.

  ‘G-Gallows!’ spluttered Rend. ‘He was a witness!’

  Valentine rounded on him too. ‘You off your rocker?’

  ‘He was Doctor Mathieson.’ Gallows’ voice carried no emotion. ‘He ran this place. He knew we’d kill him if we found out who he really was.’

  ‘Mister Gallows.’ The tremor in Rend’s voice was at odds with his square stature. ‘I am placing you under arrest.’

  ‘No you ain’t.’ Fallon pulled Rend back. ‘He’s right.’

  ‘S-sir?’

  ‘Saw a photo in his office. Slipped it before you lot saw it in case you wasted him before he led us outta here. I was gonna shoot him myself.’ He grinned at Gallows. ‘About time you got your balls back.’

  Rend opened his mouth—but before he could speak, a body flew through the air, leaking blood from a thousand different wounds.

  ‘Belios!’ swore Sturrock.

  Up ahead, shrouded in shadows, the huge silhouette of a man stood like a black tombstone against the blazing red warning lights. Gallows couldn’t fathom how, but he knew it to be smiling at them.

  Then, like demons escaping Hell, three monstrous wolves burst from the darkness.

  ‘Fall back!’ bellowed Fallon. ‘And bolt the goddamn door!’

  Valentine pulled Gallows through the door. Sturrock’s shotgun blasted through the gap before he slammed the door closed and barred it with a heavy wooden beam. The high-pitched scrape of claws on metal could be heard, but that wasn’t half as maddening as the howling.

  ‘What in all hells is happening here?’ asked Sturrock, panic rising in his voice.

  ‘Rend, Gallows, take point!’ ordered Fallon. ‘Back the way we came—find another way to the railway!’

  Rend was a million miles away; he stood immobile in the centre of the control room, rifle hanging at his side, mouth gaping.

  ‘Move!’ Gallows dragged Rend across the room and booted the door at the other end open. He checked the corridor beyond. ‘Clear!’

  Something pounded against the barricade, denting the metal. Sturrock brought his shotgun up. ‘Surely not…’

  ‘Stay calm,’ urged Valentine, checking her gun. ‘We’ll get through this. We’ve been in tighter spots.’

  ‘The Mouthshutter didn’t even scratch ’em!’

  ‘Listen to me! We don’t die tonight.’

  Another crash against the door. The impact peeled a hinge away.

  ‘Impossible…’ muttered Sturrock, retreating.

  ‘Valentine, Sturrock, get your arses in gear!’ Fallon was already with Rend and Gallows, wending their way back through the boiler room.

  ‘Major, you got a plan in mind?’ asked Valentine.

  ‘Don’t die!’

  Gallows tried to make sense of what he’d seen—everything he’d learned—but it was futile. All he could do was focus on the task in front of him. Get out. Stay alive. Then you can get justice for Sera.

  A set of double doors blocked the passage ahead.

  Rend slung his rifle over his shoulder. ‘Here, help me-’

  The door erupted in a barrage of twisted steel. Rend flew backwards, flailing like a ragdoll. A giant, muscled black wolf pounced on him, pearly saliva trailing from its snarling jaws.

  Rend struggled under it. Its growl filled the world and its claws sank into Rend’s chest. A terrible scream burst from him. Claret blood seeped through his uniform.

  Gallows braced the stock of his rifle against his shoulder, took aim, and fired.

  Three rounds burst out, and dark blood oozed from the holes in the wolf’s head.

  ‘On your feet, Rend!’ urged Gallows.

  Rend got to his feet. ‘I... Th-thank you.’

  Gallows brought the Vindicator up again and aimed it down the corridor. ‘Save it—there’s more coming!’

  Religion didn’t hold much water with Gallows—but witnessing a horde of hulking wolves charge towards him amidst fiery red light and hissing black pipes made it very hard not to believe in Hell.

  He opened fire as they raced towards him, silver gleaming fangs sharp as razors. The reflexes of his muscles worked in concert, like he’d been practicing on the range every day since the war. Basud was easy—he was a close, stationary target. But this…

  Short, controlled bursts. Conserve ammunition. Only fire when you’re sure you’ll hit.

  Fallon appeared by his side, the muzzle of his rifle snapping from target to target. The bullets took a lifetime to find their mark.

  ‘Forward!’ Fallon shouted. ‘Sturrock, on point!’

  Sturrock’s shotgun roared, halting the wolves’ advance. ‘Where in hells did they come from, eh? Someone answer me that!’

  ‘Whoever that was back there must’ve set ’em loose,’ said the major. ‘Gallows, with me; Valentine, look after Rend.’ Fallon’s voice remained loud but level—strong, like an anchor holding a ship in a storm.

  ‘This is insane,’ said Sturrock. ‘We gotta move, that big bastard’s right behind us an’ I’m running low on shells.’

  Gallows armed the sweat from his eyes. ‘We can use an ignium charge to make a door to the railw-’

  The crash of metal cut him off.

  ‘Move!’ yelled Sturrock.

  Valentine opened fire at another wolf as it snapped at her feet.

  Get out. Stay alive.

  The five of them ran through the boiler room, vaulting over pipes, turning corners at a dizzying pace. Ignium hissed from metal conduits, leaving a sunset orange mist hanging low on the floor. The enclosed space choked the air from Gallows’ lungs.

  Something knocked him from behind with the force of a freight train—an amarax.

  Gallows scrambled for his weapon. The bullets sunk into its chest but it kept coming. It stared right at Gallows, prowling across the floor to him, reddened fangs enough to inspire nightmares for life.

  It leapt.

  In an instant, its claws dug into him, howling jaw snapping an inch from his face. Gallows unsheathed his knife and rammed it into the roof of the amarax’s mouth. It found brain.

  Adrenaline propelled him to his feet. He retrieved his Vindicator, knowing the wolf’s brothers were close.

  Gunfire popped out around a corner, and there he found Fallon and the rest besieged by amaraxes. One almost bit Rend’s leg clean off, were it not for Sturrock’s Mouthshutter.

  ‘We can’t keep this up!’ yelled Valentine.

  They pushed forward, fighting every inch of the way. Not only that, Gallows could feel the presence of the Tombstone Man at his back—assuming it was a man. Gallows had no way of knowing if he was human.

  They came to one of the surgery rooms they’d passed on the way down.

  ‘We’re getting further away from the railway!’ yelled Sturrock.

  Gallows mopped the sweat stinging his eyes. A stitch had appeared in his side, needling his organs. ‘Damn, how do we-’

  And then he spotted it.

  Twin shafts of weak light spilling through a weak section of wall.

  ‘Valentine, give me one of your charges!’

  ‘Catch!’

  He did.

  Gallows thundered across the passage, a wolf’s head exploding from a gunshot right next to him. He set the timer on the putty-like substance and hurled it at the wall, where it stuck.

  ‘Fire in the hole!’

  He found cover, counting back from three…

  Two…

  One…

  The explosion made his head ring.

  There was no telling what would be in the next room, no way to know that it would lead to safety.

  ‘Come on!’

  Valentine followed him.

  Gallows peered over the edge of the hole he’d just made—electrical pipes and wiring fizzed and sparked. The shell of a maintenance control panel hung there. ‘It’s a maintenance shaft, we can slide down!’ Gallows clasped onto t
he wires and slid down. It was like clutching razor wire—his arms and legs scraped all the way down.

  He landed in a dark, narrow tunnel, unable to see two feet in front of him.

  ‘Come on!’ he called up. The palms of his hands bled.

  Rend was next, then Fallon.

  Valentine’s legs swung over. ‘Sturrock! Move!’

  She slid down, Sturrock coming right after her.

  ‘This way!’ yelled Gallows. ‘Follow the tracks!’

  ‘Gods above, that thing better not be there,’ said Sturrock.

  Gallows led the way, throat tightening with every second. He stepped over trailing cables and snaking wires. The walls of the maintenance passage closed in with every step. This has to be the right way. It has to be.

  ‘I can’t see shit!’ snapped Valentine.

  ‘Here!’ A door at the end of the route—Gallows kicked it open.

  Fiery, yellow eyes stared back.

  ‘Amarax!’ Gallows stepped back, rifle jittering in his hands.

  ‘On me!’ yelled Fallon between bursts of gunfire.

  The amarax’s claws scored the ground. It gouged skin and blood from Fallon’s thigh—he screamed, before Gallows’ gun silenced it.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked the major.

  Fallon spat on the wolf’s corpse. ‘Keep moving.’

  Gallows pressed through, bullets snapping at smaller wolves whenever they appeared.

  ‘Shit!’ screamed Sturrock. ‘He’s behind us!’ His shotgun boomed. ‘Where are you?’

  An almighty crash resounded, and stone and dust enveloped Sturrock.

  The Tombstone Man had followed them.

  Korvan—that’s what Mathieson called him.

  ‘Run!’ said Fallon.

  They did.

  Gallows could feel that thing behind him with every step he took. His chest felt like Nyr herself was drawing life from him.

  ‘This is insane,’ Sturrock muttered. ‘Reckon I hit him. Didn’t make a scratch!’

  ‘Red light, up ahead!’ called Rend. ‘The chamber!’

  ‘We get on the train,’ growled Fallon, ‘then we use every bullet and demo charge we got left. Incinerate the bastard!’

  ‘There!’ called Rend. ‘The train!’

  Gods above and-

  The wall between Gallows and Fallon exploded.

  White stars filled Gallows’ vision, dust and rubble choking his lungs.

  Hideous laughter filled the tunnel.

  ‘Get behind me!’ Sturrock roared, charging into view. His shotgun cut through the gloom. Korvan retreated through the hole he had made, cackling with every hit he took.

  Valentine dragged Gallows across the floor to an adjoining passageway ‘This way! Sturrock, move!’

  Gallows hawked dirt and blood onto the floor. ‘Where’s Fallon, Rend?’

  ‘Heading to the train! Move!’

  ‘Just run!’ roared Sturrock.

  Their feet pounded the concrete. Get out. Survive.

  They twisted through the tunnel. When the bronze hulk of the train came into view, Gallows could have cried.

  Brickwork flew out in all directions.

  Through his blurred vision, Gallows picked out the hazy image of their pursuer.

  ‘Valentine, go!’ Sturrock pressed his shotgun towards Korvan’s head, and Gallows got his first good look at the monster: His eyes were white as ice, but for their pinprick pupils. Long, bone-white hair hung in dreadlocks and an olive green overcoat hung around his frame. His muscular chest was visible, riddled with scars. Thick chains had been wrapped around his black trousers and boots.

  ‘How are you still alive?’ hissed Sturrock.

  ‘Sturrock, come on! Come on!’ urged Valentine.

  ‘Die, you bas-!’

  Korvan swept the shotgun from the corporal’s hands. Sturrock floated in the air, suspended and immobile.

  The thing had him by the throat.

  It slammed his head into the wall opposite with a sickening wet thump.

  Words tried and failed to issue from his mouth.

  ‘Get off him!’ Valentine’s voice.

  Click. Click. Click. Click.

  Valentine cast her empty rifle to the ground, and Gallows realised that he’d lost his.

  ‘No!’ Valentine unholstered her revolver and fired it at the thing, but the bullets didn’t even register.

  Sturrock’s hefty frame flailed against wall in slow, jerky movements. For a split second, Korvan looked down the passage at Gallows. His grin was even more chilling than looking into an amarax’s.

  Ice filled Gallows’ veins. ‘Come on!’ He pulled at Valentine, forcing her to move.

  ‘No! Get back! Help him!’

  White light flooded the tunnel. Fallon had started the train.

  Gallows pulled at Valentine, yanking her along with him. A tormented, high-pitched scream twisted in the air behind them—Sturrock’s voice, wailing louder and sharper with each second.

  But worse was the silence when it stopped.

  ‘No! Let me go! Sturrock! Torun! Get back! Get back!’

  ‘We have to go!’

  ‘Screw you!’

  ‘He’s gone! Run!’

  Gallows ran as fast as his legs would carry him, Valentine hanging from his arm.

  The train’s doorway lay open ahead of them.

  Gallows pushed Valentine through, then leapt after her. ‘Fallon, move!’ The train shook into life.

  ‘Where’s Sturrock?’ asked Rend.

  All Gallows could do was look on as Valentine pounded at the door, face red with fury.

  The train lurched into life. The carriage was small, an engine room with one compartment to the rear. Gallows snatched one of the demo charges from Valentine’s belt, activated it, and cast it out behind them.

  As he did, he saw Korvan standing there, bathed in shadows, smiling after them.

  The explosion ripped through the air, fire billowing out and chasing the train as it rattled along the tracks.

  Gallows slid to the floor.

  He glanced at Valentine. She looked hollow, skin grey, body languid. ‘Are you okay?’

  No answer.

  As the train ploughed through the darkness of the tunnel, Gallows could not shake the feeling they were being watched.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sunrise swept through the night sky. A crooked column of light filtered in through the circular window in the ceiling.

  Funny, Serena didn’t remember climbing up to the rafters or wrapping the cashmere shawl around her shoulders. She wasn’t even sure when the captured watchman had quit his whining.

  She’d read the passage on Sirens dozens of times. And the image—the green hair… She’d always felt different from everyone else, but this?

  Was this why Marrin had died? Had someone figured out who—what—Serena was?

  Her stomach somersaulted when she breathed. Exhilaration, or terror? No doubt this was why Myriel took an interest in her—but what about Jozef? Why was he the only one who didn’t abandon her or pass her off?

  She’d never get the chance to ask him now. The last time she saw him, he was dousing flames with water and cursing the Gods.

  Flicker chirruped in her ear. She set him down by the dried dates and figs she’d liberated from Myriel’s kitchen, watching as he pecked at the offering.

  She raised a finger towards him, stroked his soft, candyfloss fur, willed herself to connect to him again…

  Nothing.

  ‘Flicker. Flicker. Look at me. Here.’

  The dried apricots proved too much of a temptation.

  ‘Pfffft, never mind. Probably just my im-’

  Coins clattered to the wooden floor, destroying the silence.

  Serena peeled the shawl away and clasped the candlestick. She crawled along the thick oak beams to get a good look below. The grain scraped her palms, shearing the accumulating sweat away.

  ‘Tut. What a mess,’ said Myriel.

  Serena’s
muscles relaxed. Myriel. She swept the coins on the floor, and the broken glass from the window too. A neat trick Jozef had taught Serena; place a column of coins on a door handle, on the floor and by a window, and bam—instant intruder alert.

  ‘I know you’re up there,’ the mage called. ‘I hope you have a good explanation.’

  ‘Nice to see you, too.’ Serena clambered down the ladders set into Myriel’s kitchen wall.

  Myriel’s lips widened. ‘I am relieved you’re safe, Serena.’ She wrapped her arms around her. Gods, the old woman was stronger than she looked.

  ‘Um, yeah, you too. What the hell’s going on out there?’

  Myriel craned her neck behind her, yanked the curtain back and forth over the window. ‘Place needs tidying…’

  ‘Myriel?’

  She paced from the door to the window, checking and double-checking. ‘Sweet Feria, do I have tea?’

  ‘Myriel!’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘Sweet Serena. I’m… afraid I have bad news. It seems a member of your crew killed the Prime Councillor.’

  ‘What? Fitz?’

  ‘A woman, name of Tiera.’

  The name swept the air from Serena’s lungs. ‘Tiera… killed Pyron Thackeray? Why?’

  ‘Gods know, child. But it’s not safe for you.’

  ‘No, no way, there’s a mistake…’

  It was impossible to picture. Tiera was a hard woman and didn’t take shit from anyone—but an assassin? No way. Anyway, Fitz would have talked her out of it. ‘Is she okay? Is she in jail?’

  ‘She is at large. If that Hunter is to be believed, she was controlled via some substance. In any case, I need to get you to safety.’ Myriel tidied her apartment as she spoke, fixing cushions, arranging books. ‘Gods, Serena, what happened here?’

  ‘Oh. Um, the Watch. They broke in, made a mess of the place.’

  ‘That damned Confessor!’ Myriel strode over to Serena and placed her hands on her shoulders. ‘I am relieved to see he failed.’

  The questions hanging over Tiera could wait. ‘Listen, Myriel… I found your book.’

  Myriel paled, her eyebrows lurching up to meet her hairline. ‘Demons, Doom & Blood Magic? I think you’re a little young to-’

  ‘What? No, your book, the one about myths and monsters and… Sirens.’

  The mage’s face softened. ‘Ah.’