Deeplight

  It hadn’t occurred to Hark that he was the captain. He’d never been captain of anything in his life. He hadn’t even been captain of his own life. Yet here he was.

  He took a deep breath and looked around him. They were in the Undersea, but time and air was running out.

  The Butterfly was still thirty feet above the sea bottom, with a good view across it. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of motion. Something large and dark was gliding slowly between the rocky spires. It was too big to be a shark, and too slender to be a whale. Oars twitched, filament-fine in the distance.

  It was the Abysmal Child.

  CHAPTER 41

  It took only a moment for Hark to point out the Abysmal Child to his companions.

  No sign of the god, signed Selphin, her face tense.

  Still in the hold, Quest signed feebly. If it were free, we would know it.

  Hark blinked. A glistening line seemed to have been drawn round Quest and Selphin, as though to make it clear that these two objects were important. His mind felt like an open wound, his thoughts tender and exposed, but he was starting to recover a little now.

  Selphin, as usual, came out with the most important and awkward question.

  What do we do now? she asked.

  Let’s hide before they see us, Hark signed. Then make a plan.

  He set the Butterfly on a slanting descent path, and halted it when a rock pillar hid it from the Abysmal Child’s view.

  Hide? asked Selphin doubtfully, and gestured at her surroundings. Screaming submarine! They’ve heard us already. They’ve seen us already.

  They’ll have heard something, Hark signed back. They probably don’t know what. They may not have spotted us either. We’re small and hard to see.

  It was one thing to notice the large outline of the Abysmal Child, its black metal distinct against the pale silt sea floor. Spotting a much smaller glass submarine against the coruscating underside of the Undersea’s surface would be a lot harder.

  The Butterfly’s scream sounded holy and terrible, and not remotely like a submarine. Someone hearing it for the first time was unlikely to guess what it was, or where it was, for that matter. Many sea creatures could sense the direction of underwater sounds, but people couldn’t. To human ears, underwater noises were generally loud, strange, and from everywhere at once.

  Selphin rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, then blinked hard.

  Everything looks strange, she signed. She was gazing out through the glass wall of the sub. Hark looked out in the same direction.

  A shiver was passing through the seabed, as it if were a living thing. The rock pillars were juddering and shifting. Some pushed upwards, becoming a few feet taller. Others sank further into the seabed. The purple dark-light was fluctuating around them, flickering like flames. He could feel the light’s coolness against his mind, the way sunlight warms the skin . . .

  Hark realized that Quest was tugging hard at his arm.

  The Undersea will enchant you, the priest signed, ashen-faced but icily calm. Concentrate! Does the Butterfly have weapons?

  Hark stared down at the controls and forced himself to think. He was fairly sure he knew what all of them did now.

  The Butterfly has its scream, he signed. That can knock you out like a cudgel. It probably wouldn’t be so loud outside the sub, but he still didn’t envy anyone nearby without ear protection. There’s nothing else.

  Would the scream melt their god-glass? asked Quest, frowning in concentration.

  Hark shook his head. Vyne had told him that the Abysmal Child’s windows were of specially tempered glass that no single note could melt.

  Our scream might stun the crew for a bit, he signed. But that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t help us get in the hold to destroy the heart.

  Can we ram them? suggested Selphin, then winced and shook her head. Hark didn’t much like the idea either. The little Butterfly’s solid inner sphere had a decent chance of surviving collision with the bigger sub’s withersteel hull, but the glass wings and tail seemed softer when in motion. If they were torn to shreds, the Butterfly wouldn’t be a sub any more, just a glass globe with slowly suffocating people inside.

  If we damage the Leaguer sub but do not destroy it, signed Quest, Undersea water will get in and bring the god to life. That thought dampened the discussion for a few moments.

  We could wait until they bring the god out, signed Selphin slowly. Then ram the god.

  Hark exhaled slowly. It was the best plan they’d had yet, even though it involved throwing themselves at a god in an experimental submarine.

  We’d need to be quick, he signed. Knock it apart before it can glue itself together properly.

  Quest was shaking his head.

  Not enough, he signed. The heart would escape. We must destroy it!

  Hark didn’t like where logic was leading him. He was fairly sure his companions wouldn’t like it either.

  The Butterfly rams the god, he signed. I go outside the sub and smash the heart.

  There was a pause while the implications sank in. Undersea water was breathable, and wouldn’t crush you to a pulp like the water in the deeps of the real sea. You could never be sure how it would affect you, however.

  There’s only one hatch, signed Selphin. If you open it, the sub fills with water. No more air. She was right. This plan meant all of them breathing Undersea water until they reached the surface again, if such a return were even possible. Selphin put a hand over her mouth, and her breaths became shallower and more shaky.

  One can breathe Undersea water for a long time, Quest signed, and Hark remembered that he was speaking from experience. One does not always get Marks.

  Selphin was glaring at Hark, evidently making calculations. Then she scowled and thumped the arms of her seat hard.

  You can’t go! she signed angrily. You need to stay, to pilot the sub! I’ll go out! She folded her arms hard, and was clearly gripping them to stop them shaking. Hark remembered her adopting the same pose just after shooting Jelt.

  He felt an unexpected rush of affection for Selphin, and her proud, stubborn courage. She had braved her fear of the sea to come all the way to the Undersea, and now they were talking about flooding the Butterfly, which clearly terrified her. He couldn’t ask her to fling herself up into the Undersea as well.

  After we ram the god, we won’t need anyone piloting the sub, he pointed out. Just someone pumping the bellows, keeping the Butterfly screaming while I grab the heart.

  Selphin’s panicky scowl relaxed a little, and after a few moments she nodded.

  What are the Leaguers doing now? asked Quest. Hark edged the Butterfly forward so that he and his friends could peer.

  The scenery outside was no longer palpitating. The Abysmal Child had settled on the sea floor and raised her many oars aloft. Several figures in metal diving suits were now visible outside her. Some floated, while others walked on the silt, their feet stirring up greyish clouds. They appeared to be unscrewing the side of the hull.

  They’re opening the hold! signed Quest urgently. There is no more time!

  Hark guided the Butterfly downwards so that he could attack at a flatter trajectory, and avoid slamming the sub straight into the sea floor after ramming the god. Selphin yielded her seat to Quest so that he could make use of the seat belt, and clambered into the narrow gap behind the seats. There she hastily sealed and strapped the breather boxes, and secured the air-bottles in their rack, before wedging herself in and bracing.

  Hark’s god-glass knife had melted during the journey, fusing with the fabric of his belt pouch. It wouldn’t be much use for destroying the god-heart, so instead he tucked a heavy wrench into his belt.

  The dun-coloured sea floor was closer now. It bewildered the eye, appearing to be in gentle, roiling motion. With a shock, Hark saw that thousands of white, spindly starfish were blindly writhing over each other in the bone-pale mud. Disturbed silt rose in little clouds, then eddied to form shapes and patterns.
Letters, these were letters, and he would be able to understand them if he thought hard enough, if he felt hard enough . . .

  Two people were jabbing him painfully in the arm. He started, and looked round apologetically.

  There were shapes, he signed. I wanted to understand them.

  They would tell you only of fear, Quest replied.

  Quest was right; Hark had been forgetting. The Undersea was where all the fears of the Myriad ran, like rainwater into the sea. Every scintillating drop of it was aglow with human terror.

  When the Undersea water comes in, signed Quest, breathe the water in quickly, but remember that you are breathing fear. Do not believe what it tells you.

  Hark took a deep breath, exchanged signals with his companions, then carefully slid the Butterfly out from the pillar to get another view of the Abysmal Child.

  He could see the Leaguers more clearly now. They wore cylindrical diving suits of a sort he had seen before, with holes for the arms and legs, and windows in front of the face so they could look out. One of them was lying on its side, knees drawn up, hands over its faceplate. Perhaps Hark wasn’t the only person struggling with the mental effects of the Undersea.

  Two other figures were cradling what looked like copper air-bottles in the crook of their arms. Hark guessed that these were probably attached to wind-guns. The Leaguers were prepared for attack.

  Six more figures in diving suits emerged from the long, black oblong of the gaping hold, carrying a wooden platform, on which rested an enormous and familiar bulk.

  Immediately it was impossible to look anywhere else. The god-construct no longer looked like a patchwork of parts. Now it had a horrible harmony. The strange dark-light glow Hark had seen for a moment around his friends snaked all over the vast figure, as if the entire Undersea had turned its attention upon it. This was where the monstrous thing belonged.

  The shape heaved and arched, and Hark could imagine the fear in the water, the terror of countless minds being sucked into the thing’s grey gills.

  Now.

  Hark pulled the Butterfly out from behind the rocky pillar and ramped up her ululation. The little sub swooped down and raced towards the awakening god.

  Hark saw the Leaguers reel back before the full force of the Butterfly’s scream. They dropped to their knees, some letting go of the platform, others losing their grip on their wind-guns.

  The floating, glistening mass of the god-construct loomed before Hark as he sped towards it. He felt the god-heart pulse, sending a shimmer through the air, and a shudder through the Butterfly.

  Then the glassy nose of the Screaming Sea Butterfly crashed into the Leaguers’ makeshift god. The impact threw Hark forward against the controls, his seat belt nearly cutting him in two. The front of the sphere was suddenly dark, obscured by splattered ichor, flabby sacs pressed against the glass, and one great, sprawling claw. A second impact jolted him over sideways, yanking his neck.

  Hark spent a second half stunned, before realizing that he didn’t have time to be. The Butterfly was still screaming, and stirring up the seabed. He could hardly see anything through the glass, and didn’t know whether the collision had properly knocked the god apart.

  Behind him, Selphin was clutching her head, her face contorted with rictus of pain. She didn’t seem to be bleeding, thankfully.

  There was no time – no time to ask if she was all right, if she needed anything. So he tapped her arm and signed the only question he could.

  Ready?

  Her eyes widened with utter terror and panic, and she nodded. Before he could think about what he was doing, Hark yanked the lever to open the hatch.

  Neither of them were ready.

  As the hatch gaped, Undersea water surged in with terrifying speed. One minute Hark was sitting in the cockpit with his hand on a lever, the next minute the water hit him like a vast icy fist. It knocked the wind out of him, and as he gasped in another breath, the water was somehow already up to his neck. Then that last trace of air was gone too, and he was floating, struggling, his belt still binding him to his seat, his mouth clamped shut reflexively.

  His eyes were stinging, and everything was indistinct and purplish. Shapes and outlines slithered out of focus. Hark wasn’t ready to breathe in the Undersea. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for any of this. But he had to be. He gathered his will, opened his mouth and took a breath.

  All his instincts recoiled as he felt the water rush into his mouth and nose, and sting his throat, then choke his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. His chest convulsed. His limbs flailed, wanting to fight his way back to air, even if he had to swim all the way to the distant surface to do it.

  It didn’t matter that he knew he wasn’t drowning. It didn’t matter that he could feel the strangeness of the Undersea water numbing his lungs instead of chilling them. At the same time he knew he was a shipwreck victim sinking under the weight of his clothes, he knew he was a child fallen overboard, too young to swim, he knew he was drowning in a broken diving bell. These terrors were not his, but they were in his eyes and throat and lungs. He was full of them, choking on them.

  Remember you are breathing fear, Quest had told them. Do not believe what it tells you.

  Hark fought back. He wasn’t drowning, it wasn’t true. He was breathing. He took breath after breath, feeling the numbing tickle of the water through his throat. It tasted the way the scare-lamps smelt.

  Selphin had drifted upwards and was flailing in panic, just as Hark had moments before. If she was experiencing what he had, she was living all her worst nightmares – a thousand ways for the sea to kill her, crammed into one moment. Her wide eyes were on Quest, though, who was leaning forward to sign to her, holding her gaze calmly and steadily.

  Hark wanted to stay, but couldn’t. There was no time. He unbuckled his seat belt, then pushed the hatch fully open. He dragged himself up through it, and looked around, dazzled by the dark-light.

  The Butterfly had come to a halt against the side of the Abysmal Child, with a messy splat of god-construct sandwiched between them. It looked like Hark’s ramming swoop had taken off the construct’s left claw, along with some machinery and oozing glands.

  Looking back at the Butterfly’s wake, Hark could see the rest of the god-construct sprawled on its back a few yards away. The impact had not knocked it to pieces, as he had hoped. The bulk of it was intact, but a ragged hole had been torn out of its left side. Yellowish fluids dissipated into the water in misty curls. The flesh containing the gills looked misshapen now, like a slab of grey dough someone had punched. All of this would probably heal, though, once the god-heart started to beat.

  Around the god-construct, Leaguers lay sprawled or curled, some of them vainly clutching at the metal casing round their heads. In their diving suits they couldn’t even cover their ears.

  Where was the heart? Hark swam over to the god-construct, as fast as he could.

  There! The white orb was hanging from a tangle of soft, translucent pipes. As he drew near, it pulsed, and for a moment it seemed to blaze black. A blinding shimmer rippled out from it through the water.

  He kicked hard and lunged for it. His fingers closed around it . . .

  . . . and then something large and dark hit him like a runaway horse, shoving him aside and knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, then rallied and righted himself. To his horror, he saw that the heart was gone. It had been ripped away, leaving the soft, fleshy pipes ravaged and floating free.

  Before he could recover, Hark was grappled from behind and wrestled down on to the soft seabed on his back. A wind-gun was pointed in his face. A metal-suited Leaguer was leaning over Hark, shouting something at him in an angry, panicky way. All around him, other Leaguers appeared to be getting up. Why weren’t they incapacitated any more?

  The nearest man snatched the helmet off Hark’s head, and sound returned to Hark’s world.

  ‘I said, don’t try anything!’ the Leaguer with the gun shouted again, his voice echoing inside the metal
shell. The face behind the suit’s glass plate looked as startled and frightened as Hark felt, which wasn’t reassuring. Frightened people panicked and killed sometimes.

  Now Hark could tell why the Leaguers were recovering. The Butterfly’s scream had waned to a faint gurgle. Why weren’t Hark’s friends pumping the bellows?

  Then he noticed that the rest of the Leaguers were paying Hark no attention at all. Instead, they were staring upwards.

  Twenty feet above them was a single floating figure. Hark’s heart sank as he saw the round, colourless eyes, the long-hinged jaw, the preposterous clustering of teeth.

  It was Jelt. In his hands, he gripped the heart of the Hidden Lady.

  ‘Give that to us!’ called out one of the Leaguers. The top of his diving suit was unscrewed, exposing his face to the water. It was the captain who had stabbed Vyne.

  Jelt looked mangled, half his chest badly dented like a rotten fruit. His flesh was grey and ravaged-looking, scattered with dark, leprous-looking scales. A chunk of his shoulder was missing, and there was a deep, round wound in one hip.

  As Hark watched, Jelt placed the heart against his own chest. He began forcing it into his own flesh, with a rictus of effort and pain. There were cracking and popping sounds.

  ‘Jelt, don’t!’ shouted Hark, the water tickling the inside of his throat as he did so. His voice sounded unusually loud.

  The world shuddered and shimmered as the god-heart beat. Jelt’s scaly flesh crept over the heart and closed around it. The relic had found its home.

  CHAPTER 42

  Jelt. Of course it was Jelt.

  Hark would never be rid of him. However hard Hark tried, however high he climbed, Jelt would always be there to pull him down. Even if Hark gave in to desperation, and plunged down to the greatest depths, the depths beneath the depths, then Jelt would find him there too.

  The heart beat again, and again. Each pulse sent a great ripple through the dark-light. Hark felt it pull at his bones and blood.

  Jelt convulsed. The hole in his shoulder was closing, fine dark scales sliding over the new flesh like silk. The wound in his hip was healing too, and filling with grey, misshapen pearls.