by Drew Wagar
‘Take cover!’ he yelled.
There was a wild scramble all about him. Folks pushing and shoving to get indoors. Struggling he was borne by the crowd inside, animosities forgotten in the desperate panic to escape the wrath from above.
A burning wall of heat swept across the harbour walls. Kiri saw the sky go white, tinged with a fierce blue, actinic light. She remembered it from the mountains of Drem.
She heard screams and yells.
Nerina and Rihanna turned to see the cause of the commotion.
In that moment, Kiri pushed out all her remaining strength, grasping at their minds in fury. The blow overpowered them, breaking their grip.
No! You won’t have me.
Kiri staggered up, tottered backwards to the edge of the harbour wall. Nerina and Rihanna scrambled to reach her.
Kiri!
Kiri shook her head, then raised her arms and stepped back.
She let herself fall into the churning waters of the harbour. She saw white fire, blue streams of writhing colour, then a shocking cold and darkness.
Nerina and Rihanna ran to the edge, looking over it. There was a splash of white churned water bubbling back to the surface, but nothing else.
Kiri was gone.
Epilogue
Round 2307, Seventh pass
Smoke rose from the city of Amaris. Buildings were blackened and burnt, some smashed down by fire, others by the impact of dachs or the flying machines as they fell from the aerial battle that had taken place overhead. Around the harbour lay smouldering wrecks in the shallow water, and further out to sea was drifting flotsam from the vessels. Of the dachs that had been airborne as the flare struck there was no sign, none had seen what fate had overtaken them.
Hundreds were dead, their bodies immolated in the streets as the fire had blasted down from above. Few Taloon soldiers had survived, and many of those were killed in retribution before the guards could restore order. Those that survived were locked away.
The Mobilis lay beached in the harbour, its prow dented and the hull burnt and blackened.
Coran ran to the ship, jumping on to the tarnished decks. The burnt remains, scattered planks and rigging from the vessels it had rammed lay all across it, tangled in the forward mast, which was bent at a cockeyed angle. It was listing in the water, rolling to starboard.
Through the smoke he could make out a figure. He staggered forward, waving smoke out of his eyes. The figure straightened, having pulled back the hatch at the rear of the ship, just above the engine bays.
More figures. Shapes he recognised.
‘Daf, Creg … Mel!’
The two men were hauling the battered engineer up between them. She was cursing at them.
‘I’ll be all right, had worse burns than this.’
Coran stepped through the smoke and then ran to them, clapping the burly men on the back and pulling Mel into a bear hug.
‘You’re alive,’ he managed to say.
‘Yeah, just,’ Mel replied. He could see she was covered in grime, soot and grease. ‘Thought we’d bought it at the end there.’ She caught sight of the ship as the smoke blew aside. ‘The Mobilis … the ship … my beautiful ship!’
‘Damn the snuttin’ ship,’ he said. ‘We’re alive!’
‘Did we win?’ Mel asked, holding on to him for support.
‘Hard to say.’
Reunited, they started searching the city for survivors as teams of workers began clearing rubble and dousing the remaining fires.
Two of the flying machines remained. The big equipment transport, though burnt and blackened, had proved indefatigable in the face of the dachs’ attack. One of the mid-sized personnel transports had survived as well. The other two had crashed in ruins on the city. Of the smaller flying machines, one could be seen wrecked upon the harbour wall, the other two remained unfound.
The medical transport, unused in the fight, now came into its own, the remarkable technology aboard healing those with the worst injuries.
Coran and Mel were triaging the wounded when a whirring came from overhead. One of the small flying machines descended into the senate square alongside the medical transport. Dust whirled about them as the machine settled down. It was battered and dented, its exterior caked in dirt and streaked with scorch marks.
Coran looked at Mel.
‘Ren?’
The doors opened.
Zoella stepped out. Behind her was Fitch, his hat burnt and frayed. From the opposite side of the machine another figure stepped forward. Coran squinted, seeing another woman, her hair bright white in the warm light of Lacaille.
Mel ran to Zoella, grabbing her and pulling her into a hug.
‘Zoella!’ she gasped. ‘Are you all right? What happened? Where is Meru? Who is …?’
Zoella didn’t return her hug. Mel drew back, looking at her. Zoella looked shocked, her gaze distant and unseeing.
‘Zoella?’
‘Meru’s alive,’ she whispered. ‘He’s only a little hurt … Ren …’
Her expression was angry. Mel grasped her, her own eyes wet with tears.
‘Oh no …’ she said.
‘You said you would keep him safe,’ Zoella said. Her gaze was locked on Mel, but she was pushing her away. ‘I trusted you …’
Mel swallowed. ‘Zoella, we …’
‘On the harbour wall,’ Zoella sobbed, her voice breaking. ‘Why was he there? Why …? You let her kill him!’
Coran came up behind them both, to put his arms around them. Zoella pushed past him, ignoring them both, striding away.
Ren’s body was found on the harbour wall. With great reverence it was taken down, covered in fine linen and then laid to rest in the custom of the people of Amar. He was accorded a special place in the senate halls, lying amidst worthy figures in the history of the city.
Coran was called on to mark his passing with a eulogy.
He stepped forward, his head bowed. Mel was at his side, Zoella standing away from both of them. Meru was still unconscious, in the care of the mechanisms aboard the medical transport.
‘Ren. I didn’t know him well. Just a kid …’ Coran stopped for a moment, his voice catching on the words. ‘But maybe the bravest soul I’ve encountered on my travels. He didn’t let his age stop him from doing what needed to be done. He fought …’ Coran’s own voice cracked, but he struggled on. ‘He fought with the same determination shown by the mightiest of us. This wasn’t his homeland, but he defended it as if it were. He gave his life for this city, for Amar. I’m proud of him, and we’ll never forget his sacrifice.’
There was a mumble of approval around the senate hall.
‘To Ren,’ Coran said.
His words were repeated by those present. All except Zoella. She stood stock still, staring at the linen draped over Ren’s body. There were no tears.
Folk around them were leaving, giving the crew of the Mobilis time to themselves. They stood there for a long time, lost in their thoughts. Daf, Creg, Fitch, Coran, Mel and Zoella.
Fitch gave a nod and walked away, followed by Daf and Creg. Coran went to touch Zoella, to give her a reassuring clasp around the shoulders, but she shrugged him off, stepping away.
Coran watched her. He could see she was trembling, her lip curled and her teeth clenched.
‘She’s not in a good place,’ Mel whispered. ‘No grieving, just anger.’
Coran nodded. ‘She won’t talk to any of us. What do we do?’
Mel guided him outside and out of earshot, leaving Zoella within the hall.
‘I don’t think there is much we can do,’ Mel said. ‘She’s blaming us … blaming me … for putting Ren in harm’s way. If I hadn’t persuaded you to let him fight …’
‘The boy wanted to do his part,’ Coran said. ‘And he did, he may have saved us all.’
Mel’s face was streaked with tears. Coran pulled her into an embrace.
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘If I hadn’t said what I said, he migh
t still be alive …’ Mel said, her voice choked.
Fitch wasn’t far away. He looked over at them, peering out from under his hat.
‘He made his choice,’ Fitch said. ‘We all did. And I almost had her too.’
‘Who?’ Mel asked, looking up.
‘The witch girl,’ Fitch said. ‘Had her on the floor and almost blew her away. Snuttin’ rifle jammed on me. She scorchin’ near killed me; she’d beaten me down on the ground. It was Ren who saved me. He distracted her, stabbed her right in the leg.’ He grinned. ‘How she howled.’
Coran looked at him. ‘The witch girl?’
Fitch nodded. ‘Yeah, vicious little bitch. Knew how to fight though, wielded her staff with a fury, not going to forget that in a hurry. That and her black glove.’
Coran swallowed. ‘Black glove … on her left hand?’
Fitch frowned. ‘Er … yeah … why? Is that important?’
‘It was Kiri,’ Coran said, looking at Mel. ‘Kiri killed Ren.’
Mel nodded. ‘That’s what Zoella meant … something in her eyes, the hate …’
There were shouts from outside, from the road that led down to the harbour. As they emerged from the hall they could see a crowd of people down at one of the quays.
‘What’s going on?’ Coran demanded.
‘No, it can’t be!’
Coran and Mel turned to see Zoella standing behind them. There was a fierce expression on her face. Her mouth was set firm, her lips a thin line.
Before they could stop her she pushed off through the crowd.
The sound was the first thing she sensed. Chants, jeers, cries of anger and frustration all about her. Then came a lurching sense of motion, her body not under her control, but being pulled and pushed back and forth. Pain in her arms and legs.
She was being dragged.
She opened her eyes, her vision was blurred, but she could make out a shoreline, ships, a harbour … and a crowd of people. Her arms were above her head. She craned her neck to see both her hands were in the grasp of someone else and she was being pulled, her legs dragging along the rough ground. She twisted and yelled out.
Her cry brought an answering shout of surprise.
‘She’s alive! The scorchin’ witch is alive!’
She was hoist upright and stood, swaying on her feet, her vision blurry, facing her captors. All around her the crowd was growing, pushing closer, every face full of anger and the intention of violence. She could feel water running from her body, the warmth of Lacaille upon her skin.
I must have washed up on the shore … in Amar … Nerina and Rihanna tried to tear me …
‘Witch!’ someone shouted. The chant was taken up. She could feel their murderous fury. She steadied herself, holding her hands up and striking out at the owner of the voice, seeking their mind and applying pressure. With a screech someone behind her fell.
‘Witch!’
She whirled around, her arms raised. She sensed another person grabbing at something, all about her hands were clenching. She felt fear and terror.
As it should be!
‘Witch!’
She sought out another, crunching into their mind as they raised their hands.
But there were too many.
Something struck her in the temple. She was thrown to the ground, her vision reddening with blood from her forehead, her head ringing with the impact. Dazed, she tried to get up, but she staggered and fell back to the ground, too dizzy to stand.
Then came the blows. She fended off one, but another caught her in the chest, another in the side. She felt her body spin and sprawl across the ground, feeling the dirt grind into her skin. Someone stamped on her outstretched hand sending fresh paroxysms of agony crashing into her.
‘Witch! Witch!’
A hand gripped her hair and yanked her up. Another blow struck her full in the face, another in the stomach. She collapsed, only to be yanked up again. She was winded, wheezing and gasping for breath, her vision a jumbled whirl of colours tunnelling into blackness at the edges.
Numbly now, she felt her hands stretched out before her, felt a rope bound around her wrists. She was jolted forward, staggering to keep upright as she was hauled along.
She could barely see. They had roped her to the back of a cart. Hergs were pulling it, hauling her along a road, leading away from the harbour and up into the city. More projectiles struck her. She caught a whiff of rotting vegetables. Faces loomed close, she felt their spit upon her face.
Something struck the back of her legs, she lost her footing and yelped in pain as she was dragged along the ground by her wrists, still secured to the cart. She felt her clothing rip and tear, and then more pain from her legs and side as her body was scoured over the rough paving.
The motion stopped. More commotion, more yells. They were dull in her hearing now. Somehow this seemed familiar. Visions flickered in her mind.
I am here, Kiri.
A girl, a young girl, with bright eyes and an innocent face.
Tia? You can’t be here … you’re in the after … so long ago … it must be my time … my time to join you …
The rope around her wrists went slack. She fell to the ground and lay there, immobile, still gasping. Someone was arguing, she couldn’t hear. Her vision was tunnelling in about her.
I will be with you soon, Tia. We’ll be in the after together, there will be no more pain there …
‘Kill the witch! Kill the witch!’
Another blow was coming, she was sure of it. She could sense fingers tightening around a club. The blow would crush her skull. It would be the end of her.
More voices, more shouts. She blinked, trying to clear her vision. The crowd was backing away. She couldn’t move, every breath sent shooting pains through her midriff, she could taste blood.
‘Bind her eyes first, she’s dangerous! Then kill her.’
A woman’s voice. She recognised it. It was accompanied by a sense of white hot wrath and anger.
Zoella!
She felt her head lifted up and a swath of material was wrapped about it, cutting off her fading vision.
Murderer!
Kiri could not form words to retort.
Another voice. A scuffle.
‘Back off! Put those down! We will deal with her. She will be brought to justice, but not like this.’
This time, it was another woman’s voice, gruff and sharp. It was a voice used to being obeyed.
Kiri could still hear the rumblings of discontent, but she could sense the crowd was backing away. A man’s voice reinforced the message.
‘Go back to your duties townspeople. We have won a victory. This woman will stand trial for her crimes, do not fear!’
A moment later the woman’s voice was close by her ear.
‘Shards,’ it said. ‘She’s been ripped to shreds.’
Kiri felt a finger on her neck.
‘She’s still alive,’ the voice continued. ‘Looks like we got to her just in time.’
Kiri felt herself hoisted up none too gently. She yelped as something grated in her chest, the renewed pain was too much for her body to bear. Consciousness slipped away and blackness claimed all her senses.
The Scattered Isles were many marks sunward and shaderight of the island of Amar. For the most part they were barren and inhospitable, but they were the only land between Amar and the continent.
Brief stretches before they had served as a staging point and waymarker for the mighty fleet of Taloon, now barely a dozen vessels remained and those were burnt and scorched. Above, festooning the cliffs and outcroppings, hung huge reptilian creatures; the dachs of the priestesses. They too were vastly reduced in numbers. Many were injured, either from the aerial battle above Amar, or from the ignominious retreat before the wrath of Lacaille blazing from above.
Higher still, on the exposed tops of the isles, the priestesses had gathered to tend their own wounded.
Rihanna had organised the efforts as best she could. She had made i
mpossible choices, choosing between those who might live and those whose passing could only be eased. Less than half of the priestesses who had set out from Taloon remained and many of them would likely not survive the next stretch.
And then there was the decimation of the soldiers of Taloon. The lives of men might be of little concern, but Rihanna had never before seen such death and destruction as when the fleet of ships was consumed by the flare. Only the tiniest fraction had been spared.
Amar. We overreached ourselves. We underestimated them. Nerina’s obsession with Kiri … we even lost her, drowned! Nerina’s folly has brought us to this.
The high priestess stood on the cliff top, facing away from the carnage, staring out to sea.
Nerina’s eyes closed.
Merrin!
It was several moments before she received an answer.
High priestess? I did not expect to hear from you so soon …
The battle did not go well.
Another significant pause.
But, the might of Taloon and our own people combined, surely …
We were poised on the edge of victory, but Lacaille dashed our chances. A flare scorched our hopes, the fleet destroyed, our priestesses cut down. We have retreated. Many are hurt.
Nerina could feel the shock and dismay echoing back to her.
What can I do?
Send forces into Airea. Their King is dead, slain in the attack. There will be unrest, we will subdue it before it starts. Taloon is ours now.
I shall arrange it immediately. What of …?
Nerina allowed a little feeling to seep into the mental connection.
Rihanna survived, she acquitted herself well. She will lead our priestesses home.
That is good to hear. And …?
Now there was satisfaction.
Kiri was weakened, broken. I tore her … almost. I took much of her power.
She lives?
No. She fell from the harbour wall. She is dead, drowned. But she knew her place before the end.
