The Waking Fire

by Anthony Ryan

  “Not even as a pirate?” Lizanne asked in Varestian which drew the faintest grin from the woman, but no more words.

  “Quite a sight,” Arberus commented, nodding at the ships falling into line behind the Laudable Intent, the warships with their turtle-like armour and the many others now pulling away from the dockside in accordance with the carefully-worked-out plan. The intention was to form an arrow formation with the Protectorate ships at the head. Skarhall had claimed it was well within the capabilities of the merchant fleet, but how long they could maintain it once free of the harbour was another matter.

  Lizanne swung her gaze towards the sea beyond the doors, finding it unexpectedly placid. She knew this to be illusory. The Blues had a tendency to disappear beneath the waves for hours or days only to rear up without warning and snatch or roast unwary souls who had ventured onto the mole. The Laudable Intent increased speed as they entered the gap in the wall, Skarhall setting a speed of eighteen knots, well within the range of his engine but still a push for the newly converted warships following. They passed through leaving a frothing wake, all eyes intent on the surrounding water. For a full minute nothing happened and they ploughed on through untroubled waters free of the slightest eddy or betraying splash.

  “Do they sleep?” Burgrave Crovik wondered, sweat trickling down his plump face and all trace of his claimed nobility now absent from his voice. “They might be sleeping.”

  “No,” Red Allice told him, gaze fixed directly ahead. “They don’t sleep.”

  The Blue drake erupted from the sea directly in the ship’s path, moving so fast the forward gun-crew had no time to react before the first blast of flame swept down. They were saved from annihilation by the armour plate that surrounded the position, though from the screams, not all the crew remained unscathed. The gun fired as the Blue heaved itself onto the fore-deck, the shell tearing a chunk from its coiling flesh. It pealed out a screech of pain and rage before fixing its gaze on the exposed humans on the platform above, whereupon it lunged higher, mouth gaping.

  Lizanne had injected a mingled burst of product during the drake’s first attack and now unleashed her Black to stop it just short of the platform. Arberus and his men let loose with an immediate volley from their rifles, aiming for the head and eyes as they had been taught. Lizanne saw one bullet strike home on the Blue’s right eye, blood and vitreous humour exploding as its head remained fixed in place, though the rest of it continued to thrash, the elongated body thumping spasmodically onto the Laudable’s armour. Lizanne risked a glance to ensure the three other Blood-blessed had drunk their fill and gave a curt nod of command. As one they unleashed a wave of Black, propelling the beast clear of the ship. It landed in the sea a few yards off the starboard side and immediately began to coil for another strike just as every Thumper and Growler able to bear on it opened fire. The sea roiled red around the drake, the hail of bullets and shells tearing it to pieces in a matter of seconds.

  Lizanne didn’t pause to watch the drake sink, instead scanning the surrounding sea, heart sinking as Blue after Blue rose from the waves and began knifing their way through the swell towards them.

  “Some moderation, if you don’t mind,” she cautioned Crovik as he guzzled down another vial. “Drink only when they come close. Let the guns do their work.”

  She looked to the stern, seeing that all the warships were now clear of the harbour, every gun firing. She tracked the course of one shell from the next ship in line, watching it impact on the water just as the Blue it had been aimed at twisted aside, snaking around the exploding fountain of spume with barely a pause. It submerged upon coming within the last twenty yards of the ship, diving beneath the keel to spring up on the port side, water steaming as it spewed out its flames. It managed to birth some small fires aboard the ship before intersecting Thumper and Growler fire cut it in half, the severed parts still twitching and coiling as they subsided into the waves.

  The scene was repeated along the line, Blues rearing up only to be cut down or forced to abandon their attacks by the weight of fire. The Laudable Intent was attacked twice more in quick succession, one Blue launching itself at the port side whilst another cast its flames at the stern. In both cases the guns were able to inflict sufficient injury on the drakes for them to veer away, leaving a red slick on the waves as they plunged into the depths.

  “I do believe this is actually working,” Edgerhand commented, pointing at the fleet behind them and the surrounding sea now free of drakes. He turned to Lizanne and offered a florid bow. “May I be the first to offer my heart-felt thanks and congratulations to Miss Blood.” He rose and stepped closer, speaking softly. “I do happen to know a most excellent bistro in Feros . . .”

  He was interrupted by the boom of the forward gun. Lizanne turned in time to see the spout of red and white a few hundred yards dead ahead and mentally congratulated the gunner on his aim. To hit a single drake at such a range was quite a feat. Then she noticed the disturbance in the surrounding waters and realised the shot hadn’t been aimed at only one target. The sea swelled, lifted by the combined wakes of Blues moving in a close-packed mass coming straight towards the Laudable at far too great a speed for them to evade.

  They learn, Lizanne recalled, emptying the Spider’s reserves of Red, Green and Black into her veins. They always learn.

  The forward gun had time for one more shot before the drake pack closed, vapourising the head of a Blue just as it reared out of the water, but it did nothing to discourage the others. For a few seconds everything became a chaos of noise and heat, the frenzied chatter of the Growlers, the slower percussive thud of the Thumpers and the screams, drake and human. Lizanne directed a combined blast of Black and Red at one drake as it lunged for the platform. Despite the numerous wounds leaking blood from its shimmering scales, it continued to thrash against the heat and force she cast at it, seemingly uncaring of its scorched black eyes and shattered teeth. It finally fell back into the sea thanks to a concentrated volley from Arberus’s men, one lucky bullet finding its brain.

  “Down!” Red Allice grabbed Lizanne about the waist and bore her to the deck as the air above the platform turned to flame. Lizanne managed to keep the fire at bay with a concentrated wall of Black, soon reinforced by Allice and Edgerhand. However, they had been too slow to save Burgrave Crovik. The flames receded to reveal the pretend nobleman standing in the centre of the platform, his body untouched below the shoulders and his head a smoking cinder. Incredibly, he managed to take a few steps before collapsing to the deck.

  Lizanne raised herself to risk a glance over the edge of the armoured walls, seeing Blues latched onto the Laudable from end to end, some clearly in their death throes but still hanging on. Their intent was obvious, and seemed about to be fulfilled from the way the sea was washing over the ship’s upper works. Within moments they would be swamped.

  Lizanne snatched a vial of Black from one of the product caches, gulped it down and leapt clear of the platform, Green-boosted strength carrying her to the prow where two drakes were tightly coiled about the hull. She dodged a lunge from one, teeth snapping the air inches from her legs, then leapt onto the beast’s head. She clung to the spine at the base of its skull as it tried to throw her off, screeching all the while. Focusing her gaze on the ridge between its eyes she unleashed half her Black with enough force to shatter the bone shielding the beast’s brain. The Blue’s struggles reached a new pitch of desperation and she found herself in the air once again as it threw her off, though not before she had drawn one of her revolvers. Sailing backwards through the air she fired all six bullets into the exposed red-grey mass and had the satisfaction of watching the Blue slip from the Laudable’s hull before she plunged into the shocking chill of the sea.

  She went under for only a few seconds before kicking to the surface with ease thanks to the Green in her system. She spat brine from her mouth and watched the Laudable plough on through the waves, sitting highe
r in the water now but still part covered in Blues despite the constant blast of the guns. She could see Arberus’s tall form waving desperately from the platform but knew even with the Green she couldn’t hope to swim to them now. She cast about for the nearest ship, instead finding herself confronted by a tall spine cutting the water only twenty yards away. Turning, she saw another behind her and realised she was being circled.

  Various plans ran through her mind, all equally hopeless. She could feel her skin numbing as the product seeped from her veins and wondered if the Blues could sense it somehow, perhaps delaying their attack until she no longer posed a threat. Or, she reflected with a cold detachment she thought she might have lost by now, they simply wish to savour the moment.

  Whatever the case, the Blues didn’t raise their heads from the water until the last drop of product had faded from her body, three of them rising from the sea to stare down at a small, struggling figure now rendered all too human.

  CHAPTER 43

  Clay

  A door slid open in the wall of the white dome as they approached. The glow that emanated from within was so bright that Clay gave a reflexive shudder despite the grip of Silverpin’s Black. She went inside and pulled him along on stiff, hesitant legs. His stuttering footfalls gave off a curious echo as he staggered in her wake and he knew he was no longer walking on stone. Glass, he saw as his vision started to clear and he made out the dim reflection of his boots on the floor. He blinked as his eyes detected something beneath the glass, some kind of great swirling pattern far below.

  Silverpin tugged him again, jerking his head up to regard the huge white crystal in the centre of the dome. Unlike the blue crystal, which had lain on the floor of its dome, this one floated in mid air, held aloft by means unknown and revolving slowly so that the light streaming through its myriad facets varied slightly. It took a moment for him to discern foggy fluctuations in the space surrounding the crystal, patches of various hues forming like gathered mist, shapes coalescing in a shimmering rainbow dance.

  White, Silverpin said in his mind as she gazed up at the ever-changing shapes, is every colour combined. Clay followed her gaze as she lowered it to the huge, coiled form residing in a shallow, perfectly circular pit below the crystal. Clay was able to discern its shape thanks only to the shadows cast by the crystal’s glow and the dimmer reflections in the glass on which it lay. He would have taken it for a great marble sculpture but for the gentle swell of its chest accompanied by a rush of air as it breathed in its slumber. It was at least a third again Lutharon’s size, half-covered by the sail-like wings and encircled by its own tail, the jagged spear-point end twitching slightly so that the spines rattled on the glass.

  Although the Stinger had been lost in the blue dome his uncle’s longrifle still rested on his back. But all he could do was stand and watch it sleep. The White.

  He has slept such a long time, Silverpin said. And dreamt such wonderful dreams.

  As if in response to her words the mist-like shapes surrounding the crystal suddenly became more animated, solidifying as they circled the dome’s interior with increased velocity. They reminded Clay of flocking birds in the way they swirled about, clustering together to surround both of them in a thick vortex that recalled Miss Lethridge’s mindscape of whirlwinds. The eye-straining glow dimmed as the vortex spun and he began to make out images amidst the maelstrom of colour, gasping in shock as his own face misted into view. He was blinking in the sun, expression guarded and cheeks unshaven. Me outside the Protectorate gaol, he realised. The first time I saw her.

  The vortex shifted again, displaying another image, this time of a Green rearing up out of a darkened field at night, Loriabeth lying wounded nearby. That night at Stockade, he thought, watching the Green freeze in response to some unbidden command before a spear blade jabbed down to skewer its skull. He shot a glance at Silverpin and tried to speak, words slurring over his part-frozen lips. She lessened her control slightly, letting him talk. “Your memories . . . It saw everything you did.”

  It appears so. I knew he watched me, but not so closely. Isn’t it wonderful?

  Another shift in the vortex, another set of images, the cave in the Badlands, the twisted bones . . . then his face again, drawn in the passion they had shared, the image shot through with an angry red tinge.

  It appears we made him jealous. Silverpin’s voice carried a faintly amused tone as the image morphed into the Red Sands at night, transformed into a fiery spectacle as the Spoiled danced their death agonies beneath Lutharon’s fire. They aren’t always so easy to control. I suspect some of his anger must have leached into them.

  “The temple,” Clay grunted as the images fragmented then re-formed once more, arrows raining down on the temple as the Greens came swarming up the vines.

  Yes, she said. Wondrous as he is, still he remains incomplete, a child in many ways, and children are ever impatient. The closer we came to him the more I realised how much he needs me, how much he still has to grow.

  The vortex thinned then receded, dissipating to orbit the crystal in small clusters of memory. The images they contained were still visible, but now seemed bafflingly unfamiliar to Clay. He could catch only short glimpses as they passed by; a city of tall spires rising above the Arradsian jungle, Red drakes wheeling amongst the buildings. Then the earth seen from far above, blue oceans and white-capped mountains, growing in size as whatever had captured this image streaked downwards, heading towards a body of water he recognised as Krystaline Lake. Next a battle, Black and Red drakes filling the sky with flame and blood as they tore at each other, and streaking through the chaos, a White, tearing Black after Black out of the sky with gore-covered talons, despite the many wounds that gashed its flesh.

  So much to see, Silverpin said, and he understood she was seeing all this for the first time; these memories belonged to something else. So much to learn.

  A low, rumbling sound filled the dome, a sound that seemed to cut into Clay’s being from skin to bone. His eyes snapped to the White, seeing a tendril of smoke rising from the thing’s marble nostrils.

  “You wake it up,” he said to Silverpin, spittle flying as his tongue sought to form words against the cage of his teeth, “it’ll kill us all.”

  No, she replied. Not all. Just many. It will be a time of great pain, but birth is always painful.

  She moved away from him, striding forward until she stood directly beneath the crystal. It began to pulse as she halted, flaring light so intense Clay worried he might be blinded. He saw Silverpin raise her arms as the crystal stopped its revolutions, a beam of light streaking down to bathe her from head to toe. Another rumble sounded from the White, the twitching of its tail transformed into a coiling thrash as a second beam emerged from the crystal to bathe the beast from head to toe. The beam’s colour had changed, taking on a bluish hue. White is all colours combined, he recalled.

  So much to see, Silverpin repeated in his mind, her voice dimmer now but the wonder it contained was palpable. The swirling memories had multiplied, full of yet more images of wonder and terror, flashing past at such a speed he could catch only glimpses: a White breathing fire on a group of Spoiled kneeling in obvious supplication. An egg bathed in fire and cracking open to reveal the screaming infant Black inside, the flames fading to reveal an old man in a robe staring down at the fledgling drake with the expression of a proud father. Clay’s eyes latched onto the symbol emblazoned on the man’s chest, an upturned eye, the same eye that adorned the outside of the building above. The last sight he saw before the parade of images became too fast to follow was the most baffling: a field of ice beneath a starlit night sky, small figures labouring across the field towards something jutting from the ice near the horizon, something monumentally large that vaguely resembled a church spire, but twisted with deep rents in its massive sides, as if damaged somehow . . .

  He staggered as a tremor ran through the glass floor followed shortly aft
er by a loud boom far above. It was like the explosion of the barrel Silverpin had thrown through the shaft, but ten times louder. He felt Silverpin’s grip slip for an instant before she reasserted control. He could just make out her features through the beam. Her tattoos were fading and a vertical ridge had formed on her forehead. Also her eyes, narrowed in annoyance rather than anger, had taken on a yellow hue. She’s being Spoiled, he knew. Like the Briteshore folk.

  “Stop!” Clay yelled at her as best he could through his part-frozen lips. “Please!”

  The White moved, tail snaking away from its body and wings flexing as the beams continued to perform whatever process Silverpin had triggered.

  “This is crazy!” he called to her, his words more easily formed now as he felt her Black diminish, perhaps in response to the changes being wrought by the beam. He managed to take a step, even partly raise a hand in a desperate entreaty. “Do you want the world to burn?”

  Her reply was faint, only a whisper in his mind, and carried such a note of finality he knew somehow this would be the last words he would ever hear from her: It’s not your world any more, Clay. Don’t worry, he’ll let me keep you. His kind always had their pets.

  He stared at the increasingly distorted face in the beam, watching the ridge on her forehead grow and the scales cluster about her eyes, which were now like sapphires set in gold. For a second those eyes fixed him with all the force of the Black, though her control had now faded to a fraction of its former strength. She smiled, the same smile she had shown him back in Carvenport, the same smile she wore on the trail, open, kind . . . loving. But it wasn’t her any more; he knew that at his core. She was still beautiful, but it was a terrible beauty.

  An ear-splitting boom rent the air above their heads and another tremor shook the glass beneath his feet, sending him sprawling. He looked up to see a thick pall of smoke surrounding the opening at the apex of the dome, fading to reveal a growing crack in the arcing wall. Powdered stone cascaded down onto the crystal and the White. It shifted as if feeling the dust on its hide, tail sweeping across the glass and wings gusting the air. In the beam he saw Silverpin turn to regard the White with a worried frown, and as she did so, her Black faded completely.