Wrath of Storms

by Steven McKinnon

  ‘Myriel said it’ll work anywhere.’

  Above, something cut through the storm, streaking across the murky clouds and visible only by the cone of light from its headlamp.

  ‘Gods damn it,’ said Gallows. ‘Tell me Finn doesn’t own godsdamn military fighters?’

  A sleek motorcarriage screeched to a halt behind the statue, too large to fit through the wall’s arches. Tez peeled out of the vehicle, blood on his face. He’d gained some followers along with his broken nose, including Sykes—they didn’t look any happier to see them than Tez did.

  Finn’s guys in front, the Watch behind. ‘You up for brawling with these guys?’

  Gallows shook his head. ‘Why fight when you can run?’

  Then a gunshot ripped through King’s Square.

  Gallows grabbed Serena. ‘Move!’

  They bolted through a side arch, a stitch forming in Serena’s side. The motorcarriage’s engine wasn’t far behind; they stuck to narrow streets where the vehicle couldn’t follow, but more gunshots nipped at their heels.

  So much for Finn wanting us alive.

  ‘This way.’ Gallows led them through a lane, doubling back and slipping past the motorcarriage.

  ‘There it is,’ Serena said.

  The heavy gates of Dulwin’s tiny, open-air skyport sat wide open. Hope Finn was bluffing about the Wind. Serena and Gallows made a run for it, but three watchmen piled through, brandishing swords.

  ‘Gods damn it,’ said Gallows.

  The motorcarriage screeched to a halt behind Serena.

  ‘Listen, I love a good scrap as much as the next man,’ Tez called. ‘But it’s over. Give it up.’

  Serena clutched the vial in her pocket. ‘Reckon now’s a good time to break out Plan B.’

  ‘Reckon you’re right,’ said Gallows.

  ‘C’mon.’ Tez’s arms swept out to his sides. ‘Better me than Asal, yeah?’

  ‘Gallows—shut your eyes.’ Serena hurled the vial onto the ground and covered her eyes. It smashed and lit the world on fire, cracking like a whip and scorching the ground.

  A red plume rose from the scorch marks, crackling with arcs of bright light. It was like standing in the middle of a lightning storm.

  With the watchmen stunned and screaming, Serena ran with Gallows towards the skyport gate. The flashpowder wouldn’t last long.

  ‘C’mon, c’mon…’ she muttered.

  The gates flew open.

  Like a gargoyle given life, a hulking man in a black cloak leapt out and swept the guards away like they were ragdolls. His demonic red eyes glinted like rubies.

  Tez rubbed his eyes and swore. ‘Nyr’s tits, was that a bomb?’ When he opened his eyes and saw Enoch, his mouth hung open. ‘Bloody hell… Kill him! Get off your arses and kill him!’

  Finn’s men converged on the Stone Man, but they were a stream flowing into a rock—Enoch’s stony hands broke ribs and smashed teeth. Thin Watch blades cut and sliced at him, but Enoch didn’t flinch.

  Tez scrambled to pull a gun from his coat pocket, three shots ringing in quick succession. He backed farther away with each pull of the trigger. ‘For the love of Eiro, will someone put that bastard in the ground?’

  With a snarl, a three-legged dog bounded across the ground and sank his teeth into Tez’s leg. He screamed.

  ‘I have no intention of killing you or your associates,’ Enoch boomed. ‘Leave now.’

  ‘Here, Scruff, c’mon.’ At hearing Serena’s voice, the dog relinquished his grip on Tez. ‘Well done, boy! Well do–’

  Searing pain speared through Serena’s head. Light flooded over her, and she fell to the ground.

  Horses gallop in every direction, trampling bodies into the shuddering ground.

  Great rifts split the earth and swallow everything in their path: Homes, forests, mountains. Walls of dust sweep the stars from the sky and choke the symphony of screams into nothing. The moon bleeds red, hanging low and looming across an ash-coloured sky. Tornadoes of fire dance in the distance, wreaking death and sowing chaos throughout the broken landscape.

  Amidst the carnage, alone among the legions of dead, she stands. Blood drips from the sword in her hands.

  Beyond the devastation’s red haze, wreathed in shadow, the hordes surround her. Fear radiates from them, yet their lines refuse to break.

  Sword raised, Musa marches towards them.

  ‘…ena! You okay?’ Gallows resolved before her. They were inside the skyport.

  ‘I… Something hit me.’ Blinding pain filled Serena’s head. Sweat reeked in her nose and, when she tried to move, the ground tilted beneath her.

  ‘I checked,’ said Gallows. ‘There’s no injury. Can you walk?’

  Serena got to her feet. ‘I… Did you… see that?’

  The look on Gallows’ face told her that he hadn’t.

  ‘The bodies, the red moon...’ Serena let her voice fall away. She leaned against a wall to let her heart slow.

  ‘C’mon, the Wind’s just ahead.’

  The strange vision faded behind her eyes like a half-remembered dream. Lightning forked overhead, illuminating the silhouettes of airships perched on landing pads.

  ‘Where’s Enoch?’ she asked.

  ‘Still fighting. C’mon, he ain’t saving our asses for nothing.’

  ‘Right.’ Serena stood straight.

  They approached the Liberty Wind’s landing pad—even in the darkness and the rain, Serena recognised the shape of her hull, the curve of her rotors.

  But something wasn’t right—skyports should be hives of activity, yet there was no land crew hauling cargo or guiding craft in to land, no trolleys full of luggage skidding across the concourse.

  In the shadows beneath the Liberty Wind’s bow, an old woman in a thick, black coat stood, hands clutched to her abdomen, long, grey hair sodden in the rain.

  Myriel.

  Then moonlight glinted off something.

  A knife, at Myriel’s throat.

  Serena’s chest tightened. ‘No—not Myriel.’

  ‘Give up!’ yelled the watchwoman at Myriel’s back.

  ‘Don’t panic,’ Gallows muttered. ‘We can get out of this. We’ve still got Enoch.’

  Serena’s power crackled in her fingertips. ‘We’ve still got me.’

  ‘If you drain yourself too much and they take you, this has all been for nothing.’

  ‘She has a knife to her throat.’

  ‘Reckon you shoulda stayed in that snoozing ken, Gallows,’ Tez called from behind. ‘You’d have got your throat cut with a smile on your face.’

  Gallows and Serena stood back to back. ‘Oh, Tez,’ he said. ‘There ain’t a woman alive who could satisfy me as much as breaking your nose did.’

  Thunder crashed overhead. For a split-second, the skyport lit up in a silver flash. Men’s screams told Serena that Enoch was still fighting.

  ‘Whoever the walking statue is kicking Sykes’ head in, he won’t last forever,’ Tez yelled.

  ‘We don’t have to fight,’ Serena whispered. ‘Or run.’

  ‘You reckon you can get inside everyone’s head?’

  ‘There’s a third option.’

  ‘What?’

  Serena had been running her whole life. She’d been running before she even realised it. She’d spent her childhood being ferried across the world, hidden away like a shameful secret. And what good has it done?

  People had died because of her—like her crewmates aboard the Liberty Wind. They were Serena’s first family. Kin, just like the Raincatcher’s Ballad said.

  And she swore she’d never let anyone die because of her.

  The old mage wore a smile, but her brow knotted in worry.

  ‘I’ll turn myself over,’ said Serena.

  ‘Like hell you will,’ said Gallows. ‘Anyway, it might be me they’re after—you said so yourself.’

  Serena opened her hand to the sky, savouring the sensation of the rain as it fell in her palm. ‘Raincatchers never get to see t
his part.’ There was a rhythm to it–she closed her eyes and listened to the music of rainfall dancing on tin roofs, and the hulls of airships. She listened to the song of the wind.

  Lass, it ain’t the fear that does you in—it’s the panic that does it—but only if you let it.

  Captain Fitzwilliam’s words—words he spoke the very first time Serena stepped aboard the Liberty Wind.

  She opened her eyes. ‘I’m going to turn myself in!’ she called to the woman holding Myriel. ‘Let her go.’

  Tez laughed. ‘The girl’s got bigger stones than you, Gallows.’

  ‘Let her go,’ Serena demanded again.

  Roaring thrusters cut out the watchwoman’s response. Her face screwed up, and she looked to the sky.

  Cutting through the clouds, three fighter craft circled the skyport. Serena followed their path; spears of light from their nose lamps sheared through the night.

  Their light swept over a raven-haired woman slinking across the skyport concourse. She wore a pilot’s jumpsuit, and her flawless, ochre skin glowed in the rain.

  ‘Stand down!’ the woman yelled. She hefted a repeater rifle, the kind Serena had seen Gallows use before.

  ‘Who in Belios’ ballsack are you?’ demanded Tez.

  ‘Ashaki Qitarah—and these people are under the protection of Cap’n Vabrizio.’

  Tez paled at that. ‘Piss off—these belong to Finn.’

  ‘She’s welcome to take it up with the captain.’

  Tez stayed silent for a moment, before spitting on the ground. ‘Nope, not worth it.’

  After Tez disappeared, the watchwoman let Myriel go. Serena ran to the old mage and threw her arms around her. ‘Gods, are you okay?’

  ‘Quite all right, my dear.’

  ‘Careful.’ Gallows put himself between Serena and the new woman, Qitarah.

  Myriel rolled her eyes. ‘You’re quite safe, Tyson. If you’d listened to me and talked to Genevieve Couressa like I suggested, we’d have avoided this kerfuffle. Honestly, the lengths a man will go to in order convince a woman he doesn’t like her baffles me.’

  Gallows avoided Serena’s eye. Together, they followed Qitarah to the skyport, where the Queen of the North took Serena’s breath away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lance Corporal Valentine gave the order, and Private Khan kicked the door down.

  ‘Khan, take point with Weatherby—I’ll babysit the copper. Remember—non-lethal shots—we need the Lightbearers alive. Go.’

  She followed Khan into the abattoir, sticking close to the Watchman behind her. She didn’t know him well, but Valentine reckoned Constable Tristan was one of those coppers who worked into retirement without ever setting foot in Dustwynd.

  Her squad passed a curtain of meat hooks hung from rails. They glinted red from the rays of the early-morning sun. No animals had been slaughtered here for years, but the stench of blood and death leaked from the walls like offal from a carcass.

  Still smells better than the rest of Dustwynd.

  Khan held up a hand—clear.

  Valentine followed her down a metal stairway. The steps whined as soon as she put weight onto them. The smell worsened the farther they got, and Constable Tristan retched.

  Imagine that’s how the pigs felt, too.

  Aside from the dirt and broken glass, the slaughterhouse stood bare. It was a popular spot for Farro Zoven’s thugs to carry out interrogations—just one whiff of the stench and a glimpse of a bloodied meat hook was enough to make most men talk.

  The Watch used it, too.

  ‘Heard something,’ Weatherby said. He peered over the edge of the rail, Vindicator angled down. Constable Tristan’s sword scraped from its scabbard.

  ‘Keep the steel wrapped,’ Valentine ordered. ‘Use your truncheon.’

  Tristan’s pretty face screwed beneath his curtain of whisky-brown hair. ‘But—’

  ‘If the glint from a lamp catches on that and gives the Lightbearers warning, I’ll take your sword and run you through with it. Truncheon. You two, down—we’ll keep watch.’

  Khan and Weatherby delved deeper into the abattoir. In a few minutes, they’d reached the bottom and checked the surroundings. ‘Place is clear,’ Khan called from below. ‘No-one here.’

  A pit opened in Valentine’s belly. They knew we were coming. ‘All right, we’ll hit the basement. Watch the cor—’

  Something crashed behind Valentine.

  ‘Runners!’ Tristan called.

  Valentine spun, but it was too late—Tristan bolted after two men in overalls.

  She pelted across the walkway—Tristan disappeared around a corner, and Valentine managed one step before a scream lashed out.

  Shit.

  Gun tucked close to her shoulder, Valentine prowled around, ready to step over Tristan’s corpse and shoot the fleeing Lightbearers in the legs.

  Instead, she found Tristan alive and well, with a body at his feet. The second Lightbearer cowered against the wall with the tip of the constable’s Watch blade in his throat. A black steel revolver lay on the ground.

  Tristan withdrew his steel, his skin pale and his brow furrowed.

  The dying man gasped for breath, blood bubbling from his wound. He reached a hand out to Valentine…

  Then his eyes closed.

  ‘Gods damn it, Tristan, we needed information.’

  ‘Sorry, I…’ With his bloodied rapier, Tristan motioned to the gun lying on the walkway. ‘It happened all at once… I’ve never killed a man before. It’s…’ His voice trailed away.

  Gods damn it. To kill two opponents—one armed with a gun—within seconds of each other took some skill, and sharp instincts. Maybe the Watch ain’t a complete shit-show after all. She looked down at the gun. They’re better equipped than we realised.

  ‘Better them than you, Tristan. Follow me.’

  Valentine found Khan and Weatherby in the basement, examining a heavy iron door.

  ‘Refrigeration unit’s locked,’ said Khan.

  A bar and padlock made a clean entry impossible. ‘Someone’s gone to great lengths to stop us stealin’ their frozen ham,’ Valentine said. ‘Y’all got ignium charges—now’s the time.’

  Khan nodded and attached a charge to the lock. ‘Breaching!’

  Valentine ushered Tristan back. ‘Behind me.’

  The charge exploded and punched a hole through the lock. Valentine tucked her Vindicator into her shoulder. ‘Open it.’

  Khan slid the huge door open. A mist of frost swirled over the freezer floor.

  ‘Nyr’s tits,’ muttered Weatherby.

  Valentine lowered her weapon.

  The freezer was filled with bodies. Piles of them, no signs of decomposition. Some of their eyes and mouths were still open.

  ‘Damn the Gods.’ Constable Tristan buried his face in his arm to stop from vomiting.

  Private Khan inspected the nearest body, an elderly man’s. ‘Sweet Musa…’

  ‘What is it, Private?’

  Khan shot to her feet and drew backwards.

  ‘Private?’

  But then Valentine saw it.

  The body’s mouth and neck were stained scarlet, and brownish blood flaked over his clothes.

  The rest were the same.

  ‘Get back… Get back!’ Valentine barred the door behind her.

  ‘What did you see?’ Tristan pleaded. ‘What is it?’

  Valentine mopped sweat from her forehead. ‘Bloodlung.’

  DALTHEA VIATOR

  General Fallon To Address Council On Handover Progress

  Three Weeks Since The Raincatchers’ Rebellion—Does Pyron Thackeray Still Claim Innocence?

  Arch Vigil Warns Of Low Recruitment For City Watch—Is There A Crisis Looming?

  Who Are The Lightbearers, And Who Is Adaryn Kayn?

  Buzz reckoned the paper was better when Auros tal Qur was in charge—they used more exclamation marks in the headlines, and told you exactly how to react to something.

  At least
Adaryn Kayn and his Lightbearers knew how to appeal to the people: They gave out free food and water tokens. And the more Buzz surrounded himself with them, the more their politics made sense. It was unfair that the rich folk in Kingsway got more water tokens! It was unfair how much money was being spent on the opera house’s restoration while the people of Dustwynd lived in squalor! And it wasn’t right how… how…

  Well, Buzz didn’t remember everything they said, but he damn well agreed with them. Being sober for a month had opened his eyes to the wider world and brought him clarity—just one of the reasons he missed scuzz.

  The Lightbearers were right—a revolution was coming. Today would be the first day of the new order. Today they’d cast the first stone. Today, they’d declare war on the upper classes.

  Except Buzz couldn’t quite remember where it was supposed to happen.

  With calloused fingers, he peeled the newspaper from his skin and squirmed out of the hole he’d been sleeping in. Sunlight bore down on him, and already its glare gave him a headache.

  Not long ago, it would’ve taken Buzz two hours just to walk from Widow’s Trail to Old Town Square. Scuzz did that to you—it led you down avenues you’d never known existed, took you on all sorts of adventures. These days, Buzz went about his business with more purpose—no dilly-dallying, no getting into trouble with the Watch, and no Hunters’ Guild to send two-bit rat-catchers after him. Buzz supposed it was refreshing, though he did miss the chases and the danger and the not-knowing-where-his-next-needle-was-coming-from. What was life without a bit of adventure?

  Despite the early hour, Widow’s Trail’s heart—the shopping district Barra’s Bazaar—convulsed with people. Buzz sauntered through the market—sights and sounds filled his head, but it was the smells which seized his attention—pungent perfumes from apothecary stalls, stoneroach meat turning on grills, sweat pouring from stall owners. Buzz’s mouth filled with saliva and his stomach growled.

  ‘—wooden pirates an’ Raincatcher ships, get ’em now for Wintercast! This year’s must-have toy—’

  ‘—apples, plums and Phadrosi figs—’

  ‘—water token collection at the tenth hour, don’t be late—’