Fair Rebel

by Steph Swainston

  With a weak hand he forced himself to open it, paced through and doubled back along the corridor inside. Here, we reached the doors to the Archer’s suite, the brass rail above them simply rings, bereft of the tapestry that once hung there. All his feathers rose up like bristles and he settled them with a shudder. ‘Why is this still here?’

  ‘Saker—’

  He tried to turn the oval handles. ‘It’s locked … of course.’

  ‘The Architect has the key.’

  He indicated it, and stood aside. ‘Jant, please …’

  I had no qualms about breaking into the Archer’s suite, but this was the most unhealthy thing we could possibly be doing. I hesitated, but Tern stroked my arm, and when I looked up she nodded subtly.

  ‘All right,’ I said. I took my stiletto from my boot, flicked the blade, and knelt down before the lock with its brass plate. I eased the point in, and rested my other hand on the cold panelling, probing for the sliding bar inside. I pressed my knife point against it, and drew it back a little. Again, and a little more. Again, and on the third time it clicked out of its mortise. I pushed the door, and it swung wide.

  Saker walked in and stopped in the middle of the room. Tern and I followed with grave foreboding. It was as Cyan had left it. It smelt of crisps.

  On a round central table, tin soldiers, brightly coloured but chipped, marched out of a little straw-filled crate. Cyan had arranged them in a line, some on horseback, some teams pulling wheeled cannon, and a mass of play-worn tin Insects stood poised to attack them.

  Behind them, a stack of volumes were some of Saker’s archery theses, Cyan’s notes on ballistics trials, a half-written report, then a crimping machine and the components of cartridges.

  Saker rested the tip of his finger on a toy cannon, and rolled it a little. Its reflection moved in the polished table top.

  The walls of celadon green damask showed patches where his pictures had been and, though the paintings had gone, I remembered them all. On the far wall had hung the most realistic Awian still lifes. By the fireplace, a silhouette portrait of a woman with a braid had left an oval patch. Prints had occupied those two large squares; one a plan drawing of his palace and grounds, the other a nautical chart of Tris. Their nails were still projecting and, on the walls instead, Cyan had tacked big signed posters of some rock band called Wagtail.

  In place of the chandelier Cyan had hung a regular lamp, dwarfed by the frescoed ceiling. Nothing on the mantelpiece but a vase of Insect antennae; she’d never grown out of collecting them, and samples of rifle locks. Her dirty clothes were piled by the bedroom door and the empty fireplace was full of crisp packets, between the andirons with gilt ends shaped like eagles.

  Saker swept a glance around the room, and went to look out of the window, crossing from the grey and violet carpet onto the parquet floor. The series of tall, eight-paned windows corresponded exactly to the arches of the loggia outside; he gazed out of one, across the passage and through the arch, over the striped lawn to the hospital garden.

  The carpet was the same apart from Cyan’s wine stains, and bore the impressions of Saker’s furniture like thousand year old footprints. There had stood the boulle caisson full of chess sets. There once stood a pair of silver vases fully my height entwined by lizards: every spine perfectly cast. There, his jousting armour and an abalone-inlaid sea chest he bought back from Lythos. There, the little dimple made by the point of his cello when it rested against the wall, and there, the dents of the piano’s feet conjured up its ghost.

  Tern met my eye with a grimace. We waited upon the silence and, as Saker said nothing, she tried, ‘No one responded to the bounty I offered.’

  Facing the window, his reflection on the glass. ‘They won’t,’ he said softly. ‘Swallow gave them music. They’ll die for her.’

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘I never noticed … Why did I never notice … how beautiful a view that is?’

  He gathered himself and went to the bedroom as if through thickened air. Tern and I followed, stopped in the doorway. His four-poster had gone and in its place was a simple bed of pine, but the grey lampas silk canopy remained. He looked up to it. ‘Who’s been sleeping in my little room?’

  The covers were thrown back, still untidy from when Cyan rose to ride to the Front. They smelt of her. He smoothed the sheet and sat down. Her muddy boots thrown under the chair in the corner, her quiver of arrows and a bowl of crisp crumbs on the floor. There was the entrance to the bathroom and the long, folding panels of the empty wardrobe. Three rooms is all you get.

  He sat staring at nothing, into a private world of grief. Tern took my arm, and we prepared to leave him to it.

  The motion made him stir. He flipped open a jewellery box on the bedside table and drew forth Cyan’s ruby pendant on its slender chain. He seemed to know it’d be in there. He slid it in his pocket and approached us without seeing us; we drew back and let him pass, eyes blank, with determination he walked out, across the neoclassical carpet, through the double doors and disappeared down the corridor. We hastened after him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I called.

  ‘Finding my feet!’

  He plucked open the door to the loggia, slipped out and passed the other side of the tall sash windows. I won’t let him get away that easily. I caught up with him halfway down. ‘Where are you heading?’

  He shuddered to throw me off. As if trying to wake himself. But there are many levels of waking and he was only halfway. ‘The gym. I can’t have a shower in there!’

  We reached the end of the Simurgh loggia, across the gap and into the Breckan one. I stopped to let him go. He turned on his heel and, walking backward a few steps, drew lips from clenched teeth. ‘The Litanee were followers waiting to happen! They’ll die for her, and they’re coming for us! This place is no fortress!’

  He whipped round and hastened down Breckan. One hand on his quiver hanger, his wing joints hooked above his shoulders.

  I went back to Tern. She was in the corridor, walking to and fro. She said, ‘I’m not going in there again. It’s horrible.’

  ‘Oh, love. Horrible doesn’t begin to describe it.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘He should never have set foot this side of the Dace Gate.’

  I looked through to the ceiling. No wonder he’s like a cornered beast. He’d commissioned it in the seventeenth century to be painted as Awia – a beautiful lady barely-clad as an archer, seated on a cloud surrounded by winged victories. They floated up to the limitless heights of the sky in a trompe d’oeil so flawless I’ve often thought I could take a trip, lie on the carpet and soar among them. The same improbable dawn-pink light shone on romantic ruins … which I always thought very apt, given that he is one.

  His chandelier had been made from raindrops, immortalised on a whim of the Emperor over a thousand years ago. When time had started passing for him again, they’d fallen down and wet the carpet.

  I closed the doors but couldn’t lock them. Tern led away and we returned across the grass and past the gymnasium.

  CHAPTER 36

  As we passed the gymnasium, I had a clear memory of Saker, with Swallow, twenty-five years ago when she was visiting for one of her first petitions.

  He was lifting free weights at the far end of the weights room and Swallow was watching him, and singing under her breath. I’d just come in from flying circuits, and when I saw her I leant all the way over backwards, put my hands on the floor behind my head, and flicked up my legs in a handstand. Slowly over; I did two more backflips on the spot. She laughed and ran to me. ‘This is boring!’

  ‘Yes, but he has to do it,’ I said.

  ‘Boring!’

  ‘We’re going to fight Insects in the amphitheatre next. Do you want to watch?’

  She sighed. ‘He never stops.’

  ‘Of course not. One off-day and a Challenger might turn up. We must be our best every single day. There’s no such thi
ng as a retrial of a Challenge.’

  ‘Well, this doesn’t help me get any closer to the Emperor, or the Circle!’

  I flicked my towel into the basket in the corner. ‘Then why don’t you sing in the theatre?’

  ‘It’s empty.’

  ‘Swallow, if you start singing, everyone will stop and listen; word will get round. You’ll have half the Castle in there by the time you belt out a barcarolle.’

  ‘Hey … great!’

  I offered her the key.

  ‘Thank you!’ She tiptoed and kissed me on the cheek, then left, reflected in the mirrors past the fixed weight machines. I sat down on a bench, unlaced my pumps and, dangling them from one hand, set off for the dining hall. A crack sounded the length of the gym, and an arrow appeared in the wall before me.

  Saker was standing with his bow and a handful of arrows, furious.

  ‘Hey!’ I said. I stepped forward and he shot an arrow into the wall in front of me, another into the wall behind, and a third in front of my toes into the mat.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I yelled.

  He pulled a splay of arrows from a quiver hanging on the weight rack, clicked one to string and held the rest between his fingers. Sweat darkened the armholes of his vest. His eyes were ferocious. ‘She kissed you!’

  ‘It was only a peck on the cheek!’

  ‘Don’t you dare take her away from me!’

  ‘What? Why would I do that?’ Angry, I took a step, and the arrow whacked into the floor at my toe. Another step, another two arrows, before and behind my foot.

  ‘You gave her a key.’

  ‘To the theatre! I’m not interested in Swallow – I’m married!’

  ‘It’s never stopped you before!’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You sleep with anyone!’

  ‘For your information I don’t! Swallow doesn’t belong to you. You’re possessed! Hey! Damn it, watch my feet! Swallow belongs to herself – she’s just a friend!’

  ‘Just a friend …?’

  ‘Yes! And together we’re trying to convince San to make a place for her – the first Musician, all right?’

  He nodded, ugly jealousy subsiding into confusion. He lowered the bow. ‘All right.’

  I exhaled. ‘Idiot!’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Now, can I get out of here without you cutting my toenails?’

  ‘Don’t you trust my aim?’

  ‘I quite like my toes!’

  ‘Well … where did she go?’

  ‘She’s going to sing in the theatre. I’ll run from room to room and invite everyone to listen. Do you see? I’m on her side.’

  I’m on her side.

  I was on her side back then, and look what she’s become. All the women we chase undergo a transformation, caused by our pursuit. It’s our fault – if you chase someone you change them. Didn’t he know that? Their hearts turn to wood and their arms become the vine. Swallow was the headiest blend, but it matters not which vintage or vineyard, aroma or aftertaste, all wine changes to vinegar when time has its way.

  CHAPTER 37

  Tern and I entered my tower, and climbed the three hundred spiral steps to my apartment, past the store rooms that filled the lower part of the tower. My suite is at the top, first the Myrtle Room (pale green, empty, the last time I used it was when convalescing after Slake Cross Battle and occasionally for visitors), then another twenty steps to the bathroom (brass and white). Tern ran a shower while, in front of the mirror, I unpeeled the bandages from my neck. The skin was very red, but hadn’t puckered, and I supposed that was a good sign.

  ‘Tern, you were brave to stand up to the Emperor.’

  She wriggled out of her dress. ‘I can hardly believe I did. It was feeling the Circle break. He didn’t seem to care about Sirocco and he doesn’t care about you … You’ll never take Swallow alive, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  She stepped into the shower and her long hair ran with water, snaking above her little breasts. Streams ran down the curve of her back, poured off the tips of her olive-oiled feathers, and her rounded buttocks. ‘Come in.’

  ‘I don’t have time. I have to go.’

  ‘You never have time. You always have to go.’

  ‘If you think I’m joining you in there, with these burns, you’ve another thing coming.’

  ‘But I’ve only turned on the cold.’

  ‘It’s cold?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right.’ I hissed through my teeth as the water hit my burns. Then it soothed them. Tern pressed herself to my body and lay her head on my chest. Her nipples pushed up like pink beads against my ribs, and water ran between them. I kissed her forehead, feeling my eyelashes brush over her floating locks. She turned her mouth to mine and we kissed: she pushed her tongue into my mouth, the water running over our faces.

  She gasped a breath. ‘Oh, I want you …’

  ‘Later …’

  Her hand went between my legs and held me. Rubbed me slowly and I grew hard in her hands. I walked her a step backwards, pressed her against the tiled wall and kissed her. My erect cock rubbed her belly.

  ‘I never know what state you’re going to be in, every time you come home.’ She wiped water from her face, framed by ribands of hair – her penetrating eyes, the little sensitive defiance mixed with the love. I rested my head on her shoulder and let the water flow over us. Her tongue flicked my nipples, she took a handful of my feathers soaked back to the quills, and pulled gently like the wind.

  I soaped her skin, enjoying my hands slipping over her slick waist and bottom, her luscious soft curves. She rubbed herself against my hard body in the foam, and we let the cool water cleanse us, until we couldn’t contain ourselves any more and ran, drip-wet, up the last spiral steps and onto the bed.

  She was cold, so I wrapped her in her furs, went down to lick her. She put her legs over my shoulders and rested her feet on my wings.

  She was so wet … She tried to pull me on top of her. ‘I want you in me – Ah!’

  ‘I’m in you, now … does that feel good?’

  ‘More!’

  I sank the full length into her, gasped and paused. She pulled my buttocks, separating them, urged me deeper, then wrapped her legs around my backside and pressed in her heels.

  I gave her long strokes, almost pulling out each time, then pumped deep. I know her body so well, I can give her fantastic pleasure, keep her on the edge for hours, or make her come quickly with thrusts and words in the right place.

  ‘I’ll put armour on my arms,’ I said. ‘Hard cold steel, soft warm skin. I’ll let you lick the edges.’

  ‘And on your chest.’

  ‘Pressing you down. I’ll press you down with my armour.’

  ‘Bite my throat … Ah, yes, there … I want you to come. Come inside me … I want you to come. I want your come inside me. Fuck me, come on!’

  While she was orgasming under me she cried out and I pumped hard and came into her hot wetness, thrust after thrust, there was so much, and I took her hard and emptied myself. I moved in and out more slickly and stopped.

  I rested my face between her breasts. ‘Litanee.’

  ‘Right. Don’t go.’

  ‘Kitten, I’ve got to go.’

  I left her lying on the bed, and she began to tell me about Wrought as I dried my wings and brushed them, then I threw on some clothes and swigged a phial. What to take to Litanee? Just my wits, my drugs, and my sword.

  ‘Tern, do you know I describe your voice like cocoa?’

  ‘Cocoa …?’

  ‘A bowl of cocoa, like at the Front for breakfast.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Sweet and chocolately. Like you.’ I reconfigured my sword belt into a back harness, buckled it on with the scabbard between my wings. ‘I might not be able to have children, but I was a good father to Cyan, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, Jant. You were.’

  ‘Briefly.’

  I glanced out
of the window.

  CHAPTER 38

  Beyond the gleaming curve of the river there were hedges and flooded fields, black cattle on the water meadows. Something the size of a bull scurried fast across the field. An Insect!

  Russet-brown, long legs jointed above its body. It was an Insect. Or was I seeing things?

  It ran beyond my field of view and I leant out. Yes, an Insect running really fast, and stampeding the cattle into a herd before it. It lunged at the last of them, pincer mandibles bit into hide, and with two quick motions it severed a cow’s head and struck at the next.

  ‘Tern!’ I yelled. ‘There’s a bug out there!’

  She appeared beside me and at the same time five more Insects tore into view. They tangled into the herd, which pounded away across the meadow. The Insects darted after them and brought down cow after cow until they’d slaughtered them all, then hurtled off, splashing the shallow water overlying the grass. Only then did I notice two herdsmen fleeing. The Insect in the lead grabbed the last man. Its main jaws closed around his waist. He punched the chitin, but it lifted him off his feet and snipped him in half.

  Another seized the second man by the shin and dragged him through the standing water, until its jaws sheared through his leg. Blood sprayed up, the Insect ran on, then realised it had dropped its screaming prey. It turned and jumped on his chest with two sharp foreclaws, breaking his ribs. The Insect clutched, cut off the man’s head with a single bite, and all five bugs swivelled their antennae, turned and charged in the direction of Demesne town.

  All this happened in an instant. I already had my foot on the sill and pulled myself through the window. Half-out, with my hand on my hilt, I said, ‘I’ll chase them.’

  She nodded, horrified.

  I spread my wings, jumped, and flew up along the curtain wall, its stone streaming past. I crested the crenellations, above the Skein Gate, and saw the northern demesne spread out beneath me. Insects were everywhere! How many? Thirty? Forty? Running amok in great excitement, some had slaughtered the fishermen fleeing the bank and were pulling them to shreds. Some, on the far side of the river, were dashing over lines of strawberry plants. The girls who’d been picking strawberries were sprinting for their lives, but Insects grabbed them, one by one, and gashed their stomachs open.