Rise of the Reaper

by Lorna Reid

  The man regarded them for a long while, probably assessing whether or not they were lying, Poppy thought.

  ‘But now that Air’s gone, we don’t know how to get there. We don’t know where to go. We … we’re kind of new to the Lands.’

  ‘Our parents always sheltered us before, in a remote town,’ filled in Poppy. Russell’s grateful look buoyed her up.

  Patches nodded. ‘So you’re going to turn up in Port George, on your own, without knowing where to go?’

  Russell nodded, looking miserable. Danny pointed to the map on the front of Patches’ newspaper. ‘Maybe we need one of those.’

  ‘Can you get maps of all the Lands that show them all laid out and which ones are closest to the others or connected by portals?’ said Katrina, biting into her apple.

  ‘Aye, but they’re often rubbish. Unless you get a good Mendes one. He was the greatest cartographer of … well, any time. A lot of other maps miss stuff off.’

  ‘Like what?’ Katrina said.

  ‘Darklands, the homelands of the enemy,’ said Patches, finishing a sandwich and taking a swig from a small hip flask that had been fished from one of his many, seemingly invisible, pockets.

  ‘The Lands near them, the Border Lands, are barely shown either. They were penalised after the war. It wasn’t anything to do with them, but people were suspicious because of their proximity to the Darklands – thought they must have been sympathisers or silent allies.’ He snorted.

  ‘The portals there are strictly controlled and there are heavy trade restrictions and embargoes in place. They’re dying on their feet; most of the Allies have turned their backs on them. It’s a disgrace.’

  ‘But why would the Allies do that?’ said Poppy, frowning.

  ‘Fear. Suspicion. Desire to bury bad memories. People are stupid. It’ll turn and bite us all in the future. You don’t push people into the darkness and deny them existence forever. Trouble’s coming there.’ He frowned to himself. ‘Allies will end up creating the very enemy they believed them to be.’

  Patches settled back against the bales and offered round the hip flask. No one except Danny took it. Probably showing off, Poppy thought, sharing a look with Russell.

  Danny spluttered slightly and his face went red. Patches took the flask back with a laugh. ‘Aye, packs a bite, doesn’t it? Should try and rest. You look done in, and we’ve a few hours until the Netherford rest stop. If you need to use the non-existent facilities, you’ll have to go back there behind the stack and use some loose straw.’

  Russell made a horrified noise and Katrina wrinkled her nose. Patches chuckled and settled back in the straw, draping his paper over his chest and falling asleep instantly.

  ‘How are we going to do this alone?’ said Russell.

  ‘Maybe we should go back?’ said Poppy. Three sharp looks told her it wasn’t an option. ‘I’m not saying that’s what I want to do, but how are we going to get there on our own? We know nothing, we know no one. We don’t know where to go, what train to get.’

  ‘If you hadn’t started on about maps, we could have asked him,’ Danny muttered to Katrina, earning a filthy look.

  ‘You don’t get the damn trains. If it’s urgent, then you go by sea. I can sort you out with a ship. Now, give an old boy a rest, eh?’ Patches muttered, turning over and curling up beneath his paper.

  ‘An actual ship?’ whispered Katrina, looking genuinely excited.

  ‘We don’t even know if we can trust him,’ whispered Russell, watching the man’s chest rise and fall.

  ‘Do we have a choice? He seems okay. How else are we going to get to Isa?’ said Katrina.

  ‘We don’t know him, Katrina,’ said Russell.

  ‘Fine, then bloody stay here,’ hissed Danny. ‘But my mum is where that creature is, and if it is at Darrant Ridge, that’s where I’m going.’

  ‘This isn’t all about you anymore, Danny.’ Russell’s voice inched up. ‘It isn’t always about you.’

  ‘Didn’t fucking say it was. But I’m not giving up on her. Just because we’re going to save Isa, doesn’t mean I can’t think about saving my mother, too, who could also end up dead in that battle or by whatever that thing was.’

  ‘I never said you should,’ snapped Russell.

  ‘Yes you did.’

  ‘Enough, fuck’s sake.’ Patches sat up, straw falling from his greying hair. ‘I’m not gonnae kill you. I’m not gonnae turn you in to the authorities. I want to get to my damn ship. My ship that’s running the Pass, heading for Varron.’ He took a swig from his hip flask.

  ‘None of you’ll be saving anyone unless you shut up and sleep, anyhow. Setting aside just how you think you’ll be doing that, anyway.’ Patches lay back down and was soon breathing deeply.

  Danny and Russell glowered at one another and then settled back in the straw. Katrina had already half buried herself in straw, and Poppy rolled herself up in her cloak. Patches was right. Just what they would do when they got to the Ridge – if they got there – she had no idea.

  *

  With a jolt, Poppy’s eyes snapped open and, for a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Strange dreams eased from her mind, leaving lingering traces from the Oracle’s visions and her father’s blue eyes and easy grin.

  ‘Didn’t even know I’d gone to sleep,’ she said, rubbing at her eyes.

  ‘We there yet?’ Danny muttered, sitting up and yawning.

  Patches was at the door, peering out. ‘Nah. We just stopped at Netherford. He pulled a white hanky from his pocket and eased a quarter of one corner out of the crack in the door, near the floor. Poppy looked at Katrina, who shrugged.

  ‘It’s how us limpets get fed without being caught.’ Patches grinned and sat back against the wall. ‘Thanks to the train rats, or Nightfires, as some of the more romantic ones prefer.’ He chuckled.

  There was a faint knocking from the far end of the carriage, which gradually moved closer. ‘Here’s one,’ Patches said, easing the door slightly open. A shaded lantern swung into view, revealing a little man carrying a large bag on either shoulder, the straps digging in as they criss-crossed his chest and cut into his heavy jacket and cloak. Bright eyes peeped out from beneath a tight-knit black hat, and a scarf swamped his chin.

  ‘Alright there?’ His cheery demeanour did not fit the time of night that it must have been, thought Poppy.

  ‘Won’t he tell on us?’ whispered Russell.

  ‘No. Makes a good living looking after us limpets, lad,’ said Patches. ‘Alright, Davey?’

  ‘Alright, son? Long time, no see! How’s the Captain?’

  ‘Not bad, mate. Sends his regards if I was to run across you and Jamal.’

  ‘Aye, I miss the ship, mate, but this is the place to be for gossip. Love me some gossip.’

  Patches laughed. ‘I know. What’ve you got? I’m starved.’

  ‘Hot pies, spiced hot chocolate, cold crush, beer, cane sticks, root crisps, papers.’

  ‘Some of everything, except the beer.’ Money, flasks, and food parcels changed hands.

  ‘Grim stuff, mate,’ said Davey, handing over several evening papers. A chill scraped over Poppy’s skin when she saw the Oracle’s face on the covers.

  ‘Aye,’ whispered Patches.

  ‘There’s some who say it was the Darklanders. There’s another fragment been taken, too, at Husk. Folk are getting edgy that they’ll break free of Ianua if they can rebuild enough of that Soul Core thingy.’

  ‘Don’t know about that,’ said Patches, scanning the headlines. ‘Attack was at Husk in Youngland?’

  ‘Only a few survivors. Must have been strong mages to get through the magical protection they had there.’

  ‘Portal Mages y’reckon?’ Patches said.

  ‘Yeah. Maybe them. Those twins.’

  Patches looked at Davey, and Poppy swore he shuddered.

  ‘Don’t mention them, mate. If the Darklanders were coming back, there would have been some warning.’

  ‘There w
as,’ said Katrina. All eyes swivelled to her and she went red and stared at the floor.

  ‘Oh? Y’know that for a fact, do yah?’ Davey looked sceptical. It seemed to prickle at Katrina because her fists scrunched up.

  ‘Yeah, I do actually,’ she said. ‘Because I saw the Oracle die and I heard her tell of a rising darkness.’ Poppy shuffled at the sight of tears prickling in her friend’s eyes. ‘Old enemies. And, there’s something else, waiting. And the dead of Crowmount will rise and the City of Mages will fall.’

  Davey made a strangled noise and grabbed a pendant from around his neck. What looked like a golden turtle was swallowed up by his meaty hand as he muttered under his breath.

  Poppy shared the shocked looks of the others and wondered if Katrina would elaborate. ‘You on a straight course?’ Patches said, gravity pulling his voice to a bare whisper.

  ‘Yes,’ Katrina said. ‘I don’t know what she meant by any of it.’

  Davey was still babbling with incoherent excitement, barely pulling himself together. ‘Well, okay then, who killed her?’

  ‘Shadow assassins,’ Katrina said.

  ‘Darklanders never had no shadow assassins,’ said Davey.

  Katrina shrugged. ‘I just know what I saw. And I wish I didn’t. I’d rather not know any of it, or have seen any of it. And I don’t care what you believe.’

  ‘Shhhhushhhh,’ Davey hissed, glancing around and hunching up, as though it would magically protect him from alert eyes.

  ‘Ease down, lass, no one said you were a liar.’ Patches held his hands up and Katrina’s shoulders eased. ‘You can see, though, from our side, what it sounds like. We don’t know you’re talking truth. I mean, the City of Mages thing …’

  ‘Yeah, what is that, anyway? An actual city or a metaphor?’ asked Danny.

  Davey almost choked on his own hyper babble. ‘You yanking our chain? You just born yesterday?’

  Russell beat Poppy to changing the subject. ‘Look, we’re telling the truth. We were guests of the Sentrum, who is a friend of our parents. We were granted an audience with the Oracle and, later, Katrina saw her get killed. It’s because of one of the prophecies that we’re going to Darrant Ridge,’ he explained.

  ‘To save this friend of yours,’ Patches said. He nodded, but there was still doubt in his eyes. Katrina retreated back to her spot, pulled the hood of her cloak up, and huddled up in the straw.

  ‘The dead of Crowmount?’ said Poppy in Russell’s ear, repeating what Katrina had said. ‘You don’t think …’

  ‘Zombies? Don’t be silly,’ scoffed Russell. Poppy was about to reply that a few days ago they’d thought magic was a fallacy, when Davey’s head swivelled.

  ‘Bugger, can’t stay to hear more. That’s your man coming back. Anyway, I’ve got other trains to see to. Take care, mate, and the best to the Captain.’

  ‘Will do, mate. Take care.’ Patches leaned forward and muttered something in Davey’s ear that sounded to Poppy something like ‘keep them out of it’ and then slid the door to. He shuffled into the middle of their small area to begin sharing out the food as the train groaned and eased forward.

  ‘Dig in. You were kind enough to share with me,’ Patches said. No one needed telling twice, and Poppy tore into one of the hot pies, unfazed by the thick, burning stewy filling that oozed over her fingers.

  When they’d polished off the bulk of the food, there was nothing to do but lay back and chew on the syrupy cane sticks and drift under the hypnotic motion of the train.

  ‘Did she say anything else? You know. About Mum maybe?’ Danny said, shuffling next to Katrina.

  ‘No, sorry,’ she said. ‘Darkness, and all that. More misery.’

  ‘Was shadow assassins, eh?’ Patches mused. ‘Rare things these days, but then so are Shadow Mages, I suppose.’ He shook his head at the newspaper headlines and folded them over, out of sight.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Nearly hunted to extinction, lad,’ he replied, leaning back against the bales. ‘Their magic was feared more than any other. When people fear, they hate. And they destroy. The Land of Bellatra was one of the worst: hunting, torturing, executing.’ Patches shook his head. The cane stick in Poppy’s hands lost its appeal. The sweetness seemed oddly childish and out of place.

  ‘Things have calmed down a bit now. In the civilised Lands, at least, but most Shadow Mages hide what they are. Others have vanished. I’ve known a couple and they’re the most loyal people you’d hope to meet.’ Sadness swam across Patches’ eyes. He took a long swig from his hip flask and settled down in the straw.

  ‘Get some rest. Port will be busy and you’ll need a way onto the ship. I’ll figure that out in the morning.’

  Poppy curled up in her cloak in a nest of straw, losing herself to dreams of blades, and of Thom lifting her screaming through a portal while she reached desperately for her father, whose face was a mask of anguish.

  Chapter 15

  ◊

  RUSSELL WOKE UP WITH someone shaking him. He had slept badly, with visions plaguing him at every turn. The black creature, the scream, the metallic rasp of battle, and Isa falling to the ground. He massaged his legs and told himself that it wasn’t going to happen, that he would stop it.

  It had unsettled him to the point where he was grumpy and miserable, feelings not helped by the fact he felt hungry and dirty, having fallen asleep on his cane stick, whose syrup had practically glued his arm to a bunch of straw. He peeled it off in disgust and tossed it aside.

  Needles of sunlight javelined through the crack in the door and Patches stretched and yawned. Poppy was blinking and rubbing as best she could at the makeup smudged beneath her eyes. ‘I think we’re here,’ she said.

  ‘Nearly. Can hear the gulls,’ said Patches, smiling.

  How he could hear anything over the train was a mystery, Russell thought, but he didn’t care. He wanted to clean his teeth and use a toilet that didn’t involve straw. His bladder was screaming at him to allow it to be emptied, but he refused.

  ‘What time is it?’ muttered Katrina.

  ‘Pushing mid-morning,’ said Patches.

  ‘What happens now?’ Danny yawned and stretched.

  ‘We wait until we ease in, then, just before we stop, we jump. Follow me to the fringe of the yard and we’ll drop over the wall and cut through to the docks.’

  Jumping from an albeit slow but still-moving train with a full bladder, and then dodging across a train yard, avoiding piles of cargo, stray cats, and puddles of filthy water was not how Russell wanted to start his day.

  When they scrambled down over a broken section of wall and onto the squashed grass on a path the other side, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  They stopped at a bright, white-fronted establishment full of eye-poppingly dressed young men and women drifting around, escorting bleary-eyed patrons to brunch. After their group used the facilities, they made their way to the waterfront.

  Russell glanced back, watching the stone columns of the establishment vanish behind a large, expensive-looking furniture shop. His cheeks had been flushed since he had realised what the place was. The fact that they seemed to know Patches like he was an old friend didn’t make his embarrassment any less acute.

  ‘Don’t they worry about getting arrested? I mean, it wasn’t very secret,’ said Poppy as they stopped on the corner for Patches to chat with a pie vendor.

  ‘Why would they keep it a secret? It’s all legal. What Land do you come from?’ Patches looked incredulous as the vendor passed him a thick paper bag, whose sides were already starting to go transparent with grease.

  ‘Erm … a small one.’

  ‘Stupidly backward, I think,’ said Katrina, accepting what looked like a Cornish pasty to Russell’s mind. He didn’t care what it was, or about the grease coating his fingers as he accepted his, and began devouring it.

  ‘So they … that stuff, it’s legal,’ he ventured.

  ‘Aye,’ laughed Patches, taking half his pie out in one bite. �
��Course it is. Consenting, taxable, profitable. Safe. It’s illegal if it isn’t in a formal establishment like that. Companions like them make more than I probably do.’

  ‘Do you pay tax, though?’ asked Danny. Russell nearly choked at his cheek, but Patches just roared with laughter, along with the vendor.

  ‘When I feel like it, lad.’ He winked and tossed his bag into a bin attached to the cart. ‘Right. Later, Jonny.’

  ‘Take care, mate. Heard some ill things of late. You running the Pass, I take it?’

  ‘Always. Why? Don’t worry, you know the Riana’s the fastest ship to run the Pass. Fastest ship in the Lands.’

  ‘Tell Darnell to watch his back. The Black Dragonfly’s not been seen for two weeks now, not since leaving Clementine. Neither has the Twinton.’ The worry creasing Patches’ face made the food stick in Russell’s throat. What were they letting themselves in for? A quick glance at the others told him they were wondering the same thing.

  ‘Maybe they’re just laid up somewhere, for repairs,’ Patches said, though he didn’t look convinced, and neither did Jonny. ‘We’ll keep an eye out for them, get the word about. You know what the Pass can be like.’

  ‘That I do,’ whispered the man. His right hand moved to his left shoulder a moment, and Russell realised that his left arm was missing from the elbow down. His appetite vanished and he had no objection when Danny motioned to the pie and then lifted it from his fingers.

  ‘Well, we’re off to snatch a drink. Take care, mate.’

  ‘You too, Jal.’

  Patches led them down a small incline, and Russell’s mind was whisked away from the clothing gathered around the haunting stump below Jonny’s elbow.

  The brisk breeze from the sea buffeted his face, bringing a tang of salt and the sickly sweet notes of decay. The grey skies stirred with a few miserable clouds slouching over the horizon, while the sea stretched out before them, the sudden openness making Russell temporarily giddy. White crests reared while, along the docks, which curved away in a long crescent, the waves buffeted and rocked the moored boats and ships.