by Jaine Fenn
‘Is he alone on the bridge?’
‘Reckon so. I suspect he doesn’t play well with others. So at least we outnumber him.’
Sais had meant it as a joke, but Kerin took him seriously. ‘Then I could act as a diversion!’
‘What?’
‘I could rush in there to distract him, then you come in with the crossbow and . . . incapacitate him.’
‘Kerin, this weapon I referred to, it’s called a needle-pistol, and it fires a stream of metal slivers extremely fast. You won’t have seen anything like it. It slices people up.’
‘Then I must try not to get hit,’ she said simply. ‘What is the alternative? You said it yourself: we have been lucky; the only chance we have of killing the third Sidhe is to be in a position of strength, with a closed door and the best weapon. Either that or we keep skulking around until she finds us.’
‘When you put it like that - all right. Let’s do it.’
‘Can I have one of your spare crossbow bolts?’
Sais handed a bolt over. Kerin took it, grasped her knife firmly, then nodded to show she was ready.
‘I’ll be right behind you,’ he said.
Kerin turned and ran back round the corner into the command corridor. When she reached the door she flung the crossbow bolt in, then charged through after it, head down. Sais followed hard on her heels.
The pilot was standing to the side of the door, just as Sais expected. He was swivelling round, his gun tracking Kerin. Before Sais could react, Kerin cried out.
Sais made himself focus on his target. He fired.
The pilot looked surprised, and dropped his weapon. His mouth opened, but any sound he might have made was drowned out by Kerin’s scream. He pressed his hands to his side and fell over.
Sais, still standing in the doorway, punched the door closed. He passed the pilot, writhing on the floor, kicked the needle-pistol out of reach, then carried on to Kerin. She was down too, and she wasn’t screaming any more.
She held her arms tight across her chest. There was a lot of blood, but her eyes were open and they tracked him as he approached.
He crouched next to her. ‘Kerin, Kerin, can you hear me?’
She nodded, her eyes wide, her lips pressed into a hard line.
‘I need to see - where did he hit you?’
‘Arm,’ she croaked.
A survivable wound, thank God. ‘Hold on there, Kerin. I’m going to get something to deal with it.’
‘Help me . . . up,’ she whispered
Sais hesitated, but she was the healer, even if she was the patient too. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Raise the wound . . . Need to slow the blood.’
As he lifted her into a sitting position he could see the extent of the wound. She had taken the flechette round in her right arm, and the needles had sliced the flesh to the bone along most of the length of the forearm. Though the wound was nasty and was bleeding freely, the damage was limited to that one area. Her face was pale and waxy-looking, but her eyes were bright. She cupped her elbow in her other hand and looked at him, around the room; anywhere except at the meaty mess of her arm.
Sais straightened and looked up. The place was more like the den of an oversexed adolescent than the bridge of a ship. Two or more cabins had been knocked into one, and the long room was softly lit. Space art, holos of glam-models and music posters covered most of the walls. The sleeping area sported an enormous round bed piled with black satin-covered pillows. There were stacks of entertainment and game units, and luxury foodstuffs were piled on a sideboard, some of them open and partially eaten. A drinks cabinet sat next to a sumptuous massage chair. One corner was more brightly lit and relatively free of decadence: the chair there faced screens and instruments, with the largest viewscreen showing an uninteresting if familiar stretch of corridor. Sais got Kerin to her feet and half-guided, half-carried her to the seat in front of the pilot’s control console. The pilot watched them from the floor, breathing heavily through his mouth.
‘Where’s your med-kit?’ Sais asked him.
For a moment he thought the man wouldn’t answer, but he needed patching up as much as Kerin did, from the look of the blood seeping through his fingers. ‘Under the console,’ he muttered.
By the time Sais had found it Kerin’s eyes were closed to slits and she had given up trying to support her wounded arm.
Sais gave her a shot to kill the shock and mask the pain. After a few seconds, her eyes opened.
‘Are we safe?’ she asked, looking around her.
‘For now,’ he said, rooting through the med-kit. ‘But if you see anything change on that screen overhead you just let me know.’
‘Screen? I am sorry, I do not know what you mean.’
‘No, of course you wouldn’t. It’s—Do you see that picture there, of the corridor? It’s showing what’s outside the door here.’
‘A picture?’ Kerin frowned. ‘Why would a picture change?’
‘It’s not so much a picture, more like a window - except it doesn’t show what’s directly behind it, but a scene from elsewhere; in this case, the corridor outside.’
‘Aha! Is that how the man knew you were there?’
‘Got it. I’m going to do something about your arm now. The wound’s messy but you haven’t lost too much blood.’
Kerin nodded, her eyes focused on the screen.
‘Right, this, well, bag, goes over your arm. It’s meant for fractures but it’ll keep everything in place. Your arm will go numb once I pull the tab, so we’ll need to rig up a sling. How are you feeling?’
‘A little odd, but my arm no longer hurts.’
‘Welcome to the miracle of modern medicine.’
‘When you’ve finished there . . .’ the pilot sounded uncertain. And in pain.
‘I’ll get to you when I’m ready,’ said Sais unsympathetically.
First, he needed to get the bridge locked down. Though they had nominal control of the ship now, there was still another Sidhe on the loose. They’d been lucky twice but he’d be willing to bet the last one - presumably the one scheduled to become the next Cariad and carry on centuries of corrupt theocracy - wouldn’t be so easy to deal with.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
While Sais worked at the panel in front of her chair, Kerin made herself watch the screen as he had asked. Now he had explained it, the idea of a window to elsewhere made sense, even if she had no idea how it worked. If anything, the chair was more disconcerting: it swivelled and, if she leant back too far, tipped. Damaru would love it, she thought.
Sais finished making his adjustments and went over to the pilot. Kerin heard the man mutter, ‘Even if you somehow manage to kill her, you’re still fucked, you know.’
‘How so?’ said Sais.
‘The Setting Sun won’t work without their touch.’
Kerin thought the medicine must have addled her mind, as this made no sense. Sais said, ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It’s their ship. To start the engines, to shift, for any major function, it needs one of them.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘I’m not.’ The pilot shrugged. He sounded as though he did not care whether Sais believed him or not.
Sais swore under his breath, then said bitterly, ‘So what do they let you do? Or are you just a driver and sex-toy?’
‘Wouldn’t expect you to understand . . .’ he muttered.
‘No, because you know me so well, don’t you? You know I’m not the most patient person, and you know I can be expedient.’
The pilot laughed. ‘And I know you wouldn’t torture a wounded man.’
Movement on the screen - had she imagined it? Best be sure. Kerin called out, ‘Sais!’
He looked over and she pointed to the screen. ‘I think I saw something, just there.’
As they watched, a figure appeared in the picture: Einon. He looked puzzled.
So was Kerin - what was he doing here? They had left him in the cargo-bay with Dam
aru. Damaru. Was there a problem?
‘We have to let him in,’ Kerin said urgently.
Sais said, ‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Something must have happened in the cargo-bay - Damaru was there!’
‘All right. I’ll open the door, but be careful.’
Einon had apparently given up; he walked out of the picture again.
Sais snatched up the pilot’s weapon and came over to stand by Kerin. He pressed a button on the panel, then stood facing the door, needle-pistol in hand.
What little of the corridor they could see was empty. Then Einon peered round the door. When he saw them he said, ‘Ah, there you are.’
Sais said, ‘You were meant to stay in the cargo-bay.’
‘Aye, but Damaru—’
She was right, Damaru was in trouble! ‘What is it?’ Kerin used her good arm to lever herself out of the seat and managed to stand. Her legs felt too long for her body, though the prospect of falling over did not worry her as much as it should.
‘Kerin, wait—’
Einon was saying ‘—some sort of fit. He is shouting, asking for you.’
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the pilot getting up. ‘Don’t you move!’ bellowed Sais, swinging the little silver weapon towards the other man.
Kerin started to stagger across the room. If Damaru was in trouble, she had to go to him.
Einon withdrew his head. She bounced off the doorframe and followed him out. Sais was calling out to her again, something about not knowing how Einon had found them, but she wasn’t paying attention.
Einon stood a little way up the corridor, beckoning to her. Kerin registered a dark shape near him, but all that mattered was staying upright long enough to follow the priest back to her son. She should not have let the desire for vengeance and foolish heroics get in the way of caring for Damaru. He had to be her first priority.
The change came without warning, swift and violent as lightning.
One moment, she was heading unsteadily after Einon, her head full of concern for her boy.
The next, she saw only the figure who stepped out into the centre of the corridor. The woman wore a long black robe. She had a cold, immortal beauty, with eyes as old as Creation. All thoughts left Kerin’s head save awe and wonder at being in what must surely be a divine presence.
Beside the figure, she was vaguely aware of Einon dropping to his knees, his face twisted in rapture. The woman strode up and looked her full in the face.
Kerin felt, at that moment, the comfort her mother had given, the love she had herself given to the Skymothers, and the surety of knowing that all would be well, provided she obey without question.
At the same time, deep in her soul, far from the world-filling wonder of the radiant gaze, horror grew. The small part of her mind still her own screamed that this was a Sidhe, and she had been caught.
The Sidhe put a finger to Kerin’s lips, a half-smile growing on her face. Behind the apparent humour Kerin sensed a deep, burning malice. The Sidhe broke eye contact and stepped back; Kerin found herself turning to face the open door to the bridge. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Sidhe move behind her, hiding.
Sais ran through the door, crouched low, the pilot’s weapon at the ready. Though Kerin already knew she would not be permitted to shout a warning, she still tried. Her throat was locked tight.
Sais stopped when he saw Kerin, started to open his mouth to speak—
—then jerked upright, a look of shock on his face.
The pilot ran unsteadily through the door and stumbled into him. Sais sprawled forward.
The pilot looked grey-faced, but despite this, he attacked with an animal ferocity; when Sais started to get up he brought both fists down onto his back. Sais collapsed.
The pilot looked up, past Kerin, and his face erupted into a huge smile. He stepped back from Sais and bent down to pick up the weapon Sais had dropped.
Sais rolled onto his side and got an elbow under him, then stopped as he realised the pilot was pointing the needle-pistol at him.
‘Look at her,’ said the pilot, his voice slurred yet full of suppressed anger. ‘Look at her or I’ll blow your fucking head off.’
Sais raised his head and turned it towards Kerin.
‘No, not her,’ the pilot said angrily.
Moving like a man who knows he is doomed, Sais let his gaze slide on to the Sidhe, who had moved out to stand next to Kerin. She could tell the moment he truly saw their adversary; he went rigid, his body frozen in place, his face slack as death.
The pilot glanced down at Sais, gave a quiet ‘hhhmmph’, then kicked him hard in the ribs. Sais quivered at the impact, but made no other response. The pilot stepped over him, then walked slowly back up the passage towards Kerin and the Sidhe, who were standing side-by-side. He was obviously in some discomfort, yet he smiled so hard Kerin thought his face might crack.
He stopped in front of the Sidhe, head bowed, still smiling. Kerin found she could now turn enough to see them clearly: it was as though the Sidhe had become the centre of her world. The Sidhe reached out and touched the pilot’s cheek. It was a gentle, sensuous touch. He raised his head and closed his eyes, leaning into her hand as though his very life flowed from her. Then he opened his eyes and looked up at his lover. Kerin could almost sense the silent communication passing between the two of them.
Finally the Sidhe nodded and the pilot dipped his head, stepped back, then walked up the corridor to where Einon knelt. Kerin tried to watch him, but she could turn her head so far and no more: she had to keep the Sidhe in the centre of her vision.
She saw the pilot extend an arm - the one holding his weapon - and heard a whistling hiss, short and sharp, followed at once by a thin spatter, as of someone throwing a beaker of water onto a stone floor. She did not recognise the strange strangled gurgle, but the damp thud that followed told her enough to fill in the details.
She heard the pilot mutter, ‘That position was already taken, arsehole.’
Despite knowing that what she saw would be terrible, she tried once more to turn her head to look down the passage.
The gentle, commanding voice filled her mind, its presence a terrible intimacy. A moment later Kerin found her head turning fast enough to crick her neck.
The pilot stood over Einon’s body. He must have shot the priest in the face: the front of Einon’s head was a bloody mess, and much of the floor behind him was covered in blood.
Kerin had a sudden urge to vomit. The Sidhe must have stifled the reflex, as all that happened was a small dry retch. Even as the burning stench of her stomach juices rushed up the back of her nose Kerin found her head turning back, more slowly this time.
The Sidhe turned to face her, then stepped back against the opposite wall: from there she had a clear view of both Kerin and Sais. Kerin could now see Sais where he lay, though it was an uncomfortable stretch. The pilot walked in front of her on his way to stand beside his mistress.
Had she imagined it, or was there a momentary lessening of control when the pilot passed between her and the Sidhe? Could the medicine in her system be cushioning her against the horror? Maybe it would allow her to fight the Sidhe? Or was it something else?
Looking back at the Sidhe now, Kerin saw that she had turned to look at the pilot - for more silent words, no doubt. But it did seem that, for whatever reason, the Sidhe’s control over Kerin lapsed a little when she concentrated on someone else. Perhaps she could use that in some way.
The Sidhe looked at her again.
So, thought Kerin, is she talking in Sais’s head too? Does that put a strain on her, to speak to us both?
Suddenly Kerin wanted to flee and hide, anything to escape this hatred that burned colder than the sky in winter - but she could not even move.
The voice in Kerin’s head softened; no longer the embodiment of unearthly vengeance, it was more like a song she was desperate to catch the melody of.
Even as, deep within herself, she looked for ways to escape, Kerin felt contrite and ashamed to have caused this amazing being any trouble.
She was right, of course. This sky-woman was so majestic, her might assured . . . and yet she was arrogant - there must be a weakness somewhere they could use!
The Sidhe cocked her head to look directly at Kerin.
The fragment of Kerin’s mind that remained free froze.
Kerin felt the presence in her head uncoil and begin to withdraw. As soon as the pressure was released she tried to assert her will. Maybe she could raise her hands, or look away—
Searing pain exploded throughout her body; every part of her burned in cold fire. The sensation was unbearable. If she could only concentrate enough to speak, she would beg for an end to the pain, even if that meant her death—
The agony was gone as quickly as it had come and she found herself held rigid. The very act of breathing was granted as a boon. The Sidhe was right. She was a goddess who must not - could not - be opposed.
‘Maman?’
