Angel Arias

by Marianne de Pierres

I’m . . . why? Why do you speak to me? How can you speak to me?

  The strength of our bond is unusual. I’ve tasted your fear strongly in the past days. Are you safe?

  Yes. But what’s happening on Ixion?

  Our brothers have not calmed in the wake of your leaving, as I thought they would. Brand still plots against me. Stay away from here. Be safe, baby bat. Times are dangerous.

  Tell me about Joel and Suki. Lenoir? LENOIR!

  ‘Naif!’ Jarrold’s voice interrupted her thoughts a bare second before a rope dropped down and hit her shoulder. ‘Naif, I found some. Tie it around your waist.’

  She jerked back into the moment and began fumbling to tie a knot. With more confidence, Naif reached up to Jarrold. This time his grip was sure and she levered onto the next rung without falling.

  He was panting though and had to rest before climbing up onto the next one. By the time they reached the top of the stanchion, Naif’s arms and shoulders ached from being pulled, her legs and arms were scraped from bumping against the rough metal and she was exhausted.

  ‘Jarrold?’

  He was lying next to her in a small mud cave above the top rung, not moving.

  She leaned over him, alarmed.

  He expelled a big breath in her face and laughed. ‘You’re heavier than you look.’

  Naif punched him on the arm. Suki would have had a clever remark to make, but Naif couldn’t think of one. She was desperate to get out; claustrophobia had hold of her now they were in a smaller space again. Darts of panic shot through her stomach. She pushed her fist into her belly to banish them.

  Jarrold relit the stub of the candle. His hands were steady. ‘This last bit we need to crawl up the tree root.’

  Unlike their descent from the other end of the bridge where there’d been space to move, their path was a tiny tunnel, barely wide enough to fit Jarrold.

  Crawling upward, using a long, thick tree root for grip, was the hardest thing Naif had ever done. Each movement strained her muscles to their limit. Roots and rocks scraped her skin and she tasted dirt in her mouth. Her nose clogged with the smell of it and she had to close her eyes to keep them from stinging. Tears poured down her face but she refused to sob. Or to stop. She lost track of time, doing her best to shut Lenoir’s concern out of her mind.

  Only when her head brushed Jarrold’s hand did she pause.

  ‘Wondering where you were?’ he said as he reached down and helped drag her out of the hole.

  She lay still for a time breathing and crying silently.

  Jarrold let her be, neither speaking nor insisting she move on.

  When she’d caught her breath and her senses righted, she became aware that they were in the dark corner of a room lit only by light coming down some stairs on the far side.

  ‘We made it,’ said Jarrold when he saw her sitting up.

  She still couldn’t speak. She swallowed to ease her throat and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes to clear the dirt and tears.

  Jarrold didn’t seem in a hurry to move either. Instead, he felt for her hand and pressed some bread into it.

  She sucked it for a while until her jaw would work. Once she’d swallowed the crumbling dough, her spirits and energy lifted a little.

  ‘There’s more food upstairs. Gurney and I left some when we came before. And there’s a bucket of rainwater at the back door.’

  She nodded. That was good. She was thirsty.

  He handed her some cheese. ‘All we need to do now is get up the stairs.’

  Naif’s voice lingered in Lenoir’s mind; a distraction he had tried to shed, but could not. The humans he’d bonded with before had bent to his will; they’d come at his calling and could be blocked from his mind when he grew weary of them. But when Naif was troubled, he could think of nothing else but her.

  That had never happened. Never had he been able to feel another’s emotions so keenly.

  He pushed apart the thick, pliant strands of his cocoon and uncurled from his resting sac so that he could let his feet drop to the floor of the cave.

  More pressing things should be occupying his thoughts than the slim, serious girl whose life he’d saved.

  Since he’d seen Naif safely aboard the airship, the balance of powers had shifted on Ixion and it was no longer safe to rest beneath Syn. Instead, he and his allies shifted location every few days, avoiding Brand and her believers.

  The labyrinth of island caves was extensive enough to hide from them, though he hated to skulk and cower in his own home. Yet Brand’s numbers were greater than his. Only eighteen still followed him, including his two bonded humans, while twenty had gone to Brand. Of those remaining, several had disappeared into the dark, perhaps sent mad by the division among their kind.

  Varonessa held the rest close to her – a small band only, but they had the future in their hands. Whoever they sided with would wrest control.

  Lenoir wanted to believe that Varonessa would capitulate to him. He hoped that she merely feigned neutrality, buying herself time to confirm her decision’s correctness.

  Varonessa did not like change and that counted in Lenoir’s favour. It also meant that she had not moved from Syn, their resting place since they’d settled on Ixion. She still shared that place with Brand.

  Anger rattled through Lenoir like rocks shaking loose in an earth tremor. He must find a way to see Varonessa. As hereditary arbitrator among them, it was her obligation to ensure the survival of the clan. With so much unrest among their brothers-of-the-dark, Varonessa would be obliged to listen to Brand and her malcontents. He must ensure that what he hoped was her lip-service to Brand’s side became no more than that.

  And he must keep his own safe.

  My own.

  Once that had been simply the Riperian clan, but now Brand’s dissent and this girl – this human – had forced other considerations upon him. Frustration at his situation clashed with his longing to see Naif. He ached to taste her again. Her blood had been like a rainbow in the dark; fierce and pure and exotic.

  ‘Lenoir?’

  Test’s pale face emerged from between the strands of her sac, interrupting his musing. His second always rested near him, and remained attuned to his movements.

  ‘Move the others to the place we agreed. I must check on the young,’ said Lenoir.

  As Test slid out of her pouch, Lenoir heard the slight sucking noise and smelled the secretions. For a moment, he felt nostalgic for their distant home world, where their sacs had numbered in the thousands. Not this pitiful handful.

  ‘The girl holds you in thrall, Lenoir. You tend her human friends that would harm us, ahead of your own family.’

  ‘These circumstances are not something to be seen in such simple terms, Test. You know that.’

  She dropped her voice to a soft whisper. ‘I know that Dark Eve and the young one they call Clash have done nothing but work against us. And yet because of your bond with the girl, you protect them. There are but eighteen of us and even some of those are wavering. I no longer understand what you want from me.’

  ‘You must keep them right. Keep them believing. That is what I want from you.’

  ‘But our agreement with the Elders has served us. It has kept us alive. By helping these young ones you threaten that.’

  ‘To truly survive we must adapt. Ixion is on the cusp of change. We can bargain, make new rules.’

  ‘Then surely we should stop the young ones who interfere? Come down hard.’

  ‘No!’ Lenoir let enough power surge through his voice for Test to taste it. She swallowed hard and her fingers clenched.

  The other sacs in the cave began to shake and their occupants moaned in one accord.

  ‘Lenoir,’ Test gasped. ‘Please.’

  He withdrew his power and gave his second a piercing stare. ‘We must learn – that is how we survive. Our home world was destroyed because we did not do that. These militant young humans may be our allies in the end. We cannot foresee it all.’ He softened his
gaze and warmed his voice. ‘Trust me, Test. As you have always done.’

  Test lowered her head in deference. ‘Of course, Lenoir. But do not forget us.’

  ‘Forget my blood?’

  ‘The girl clouds everything because she is in your blood now too.’

  ‘Her name is Naif.’ His chastisement was mild but firm. ‘Honour that.’

  Lenoir left Test in the cave and went to the lava vents they used to reach the surface. Ripples in the smooth rock made it easy for him to grasp with his strong fingers, and the sides felt comfortingly solid against his body as he ascended.

  Above ground, the night air was warmer and music thrummed against it, creating vibrations that helped calm him.

  On light feet he ran along a scant, dark path, barely feeling the stress of the incline or the sharp rocks that flicked up against his legs. It was a relief to be in the open after days in the caves; a relief to expend some energy.

  He followed the streaming light trails made by the kar tracks and let them guide him to where his carriage lay hidden near the church of Agios.

  It was close to here that he’d found Leyste stalking Naif.

  The memory brought a flood of desire. He’d carried her to his carriage, bleeding and frightened, and as they sped to Vank she’d kissed him. The beast inside him that he kept so tightly contained had almost found its way out then, stirred wildly by her touch.

  It also brought a stab of guilt. He’d killed one of his brothers on this slope that night. Without hesitation, he’d torn him apart.

  Was Test right? Had he put Naif before his clan?

  Now her blood was in him, he could no longer help himself. While he lived, so would she.

  A scream pierced the thrum of music and jangled his senses. A Riper was in trouble. Not one of his, he thought, or he would have felt it before now. One of Brand’s Ripers, or Varonessa’s. Or perhaps one of the rogues.

  In the past he would have gone to help them. But not now.

  Lenoir activated his carriage, watching its metallic legs unfold and shudder upright, like a sleeping animal shaking itself awake.

  He climbed inside and settled on the plush velvet seat. He could still smell her in here; her blood and her secretions. Strands of her hair would be caught in the creases of the seat. He fought the desire to search for them.

  ‘Take me to the dam,’ he told the carriage and settled back to watch the night kaleidoscope past.

  There had been only one safe place to take Clash and Dark Eve; only one place where Brand would not think to search for them. The uthers had accepted his strange request without argument and had cleared space among their tools and machines to make room for the much larger humans.

  Lenoir didn’t know if their simple acceptance was driven by sympathy or fear. Uthers’ thoughts were as opaque to him as their physical appearance could be translucent.

  That was the reason it had taken his clan so long to discover the Uthers’ presence on Ixion – their aptitude for invisibility. Only the small gifts they’d begun to leave for the clan, their shy gestures of greeting, gave them away. And with the discovery of their existence, so the clan had learned about their unique manufacturing skills. Uthers could make anything with their strange machines and clever minds.

  It had been straightforward at first; a barter system in which the uthers provided clothes and food in exchange for the long-coal that kept them healthy.

  But the Elders had not been content with that and –

  The carriage jolted and lurched, interrupting Lenoir’s reverie. They were on the rutted bank of the uthers’ dam. He braced himself against the upholstery so as not to be thrown about the carriage.

  After a few more moments the vehicle stopped and settled into a resting pose. He slid open the door and peered into the dimness. Enough light travelled down here from the kar tracks that he could see the mounds that formed the dam walls and the glistening water pooling behind it. He smelled damp, musty fur.

  A thin grey form was nearby. It stood on its hind legs, twisting its paws together.

  ‘Unam. I wish to see Clash, Dark Eve and the boy, Rollo,’ said Lenoir.

  The uther shook his head, almost sadly.

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Gone.’ The uthers rarely spoke and when they did, the words squeezed into the air as though great pressure had been exerted on them.

  ‘Gone?’ Lenoir slid power into his question.

  His body quickened with concern. Dark Eve and Rollo were of no great consequence to him but if something happened to Naif’s brother . . .

  The uther shuffled away towards a shadowy ridge, forcing Lenoir to climb out of the carriage and follow along the slippery bank. He mimicked Unam’s path exactly, knowing a step either side of the narrow, dry strip would send him sliding down the algae-covered slope and into the water.

  Finally the uther crossed a thick mud and rock bridge onto a firmer section of the dam. Here the dry silt was peppered with brush and twigs which Lenoir knew hid the tunnels that led down into the uthers’ lairs.

  Unlike the smooth lava vent Lenoir had just climbed, these tunnels were studded with twigs and sharp pebbles, and muddy-wet in patches. The uther beckoned him into one and crawled to the bottom. Lenoir followed and was soon covered in dirt and fur.

  Inside, the lair was lit by a lamp, and the makings of three beds lay on the floor. A pile of clothes was balled-up on one of the beds, as though hastily pushed to one side.

  ‘Gone,’ said the uther again.

  ‘Why did you bring me here just to say that?’ asked Lenoir, struggling to keep anger from his voice.

  Unam bent over and lifted the corner of one of the bedrolls. Underneath, there were scratchings in the hardened dirt.

  Lenoir crouched down to examine them.

  In the halo of light they looked unremarkable, even incidental, but as he concentrated, he began to see images. Lines led to squares in a pattern that he recognised. It was a map of the kars and churches.

  A number of small crosses marked the area around two places; the station at Syn and the slope below Agios, close to where he kept his carriage.

  His remembered the Riper’s cry and his heart sped up, causing his senses to heighten. What were Dark Eve and Clash planning?

  ‘Thank you, Unam. I will not forget your help,’ he said softly. He glanced up at the uther but the creature was nowhere to be seen.

  The carriage creaked and juddered as Lenoir pushed it to its limits. How foolish of him to think that Eve and Clash would stay hidden from the Night Creatures. And how little he needed any trouble they might bring. Brand would use it against him.

  Yet he could not let harm befall Naif’s brother. He cursed the bond which demanded that he protect Naif’s loved ones; cursed the threat that it placed him under. Never had he been so torn.

  Finally, the carriage settled to rest. He stepped out and listened. Inside Agios, the music peaked and lulled, and in the lulls he heard the shouts of the revellers.

  He’d hosted a party for Naif here and had the uthers make her a splendid gown; another foolish and indulgent act for which he drew the scorn of his clan.

  And yet he had no regret. Seeing Naif dressed with such elegance, her face enthralled by the marble and gold beauty of the basilica, had brought to him a pleasure that he had not felt in an age of memories. Her innocence and her strength blended in an exotic mixture which he found tantalising.

  He circled the church under moonlight, searching the paths for signs of disturbance. His brothers watched him from the bushes. This was where he had fought Leyste and killed him. Their blood was spilled on this ground.

  Help me, he called to them.

  You’ve forsaken us.

  I seek balance.

  Forsaker! Forsaker!

  Where are the young ones who call themselves Dark Eve and Clash?

  Forsaker!

  I command you to tell me! Lenoir thundered.

  Their resistance fell away; there were not enough o
f them here to deny his power.

  The Grotto. The Grotto. The Grotto.

  He sped to the top of the rock stairway that led to the Grotto and then stopped. The door at the bottom would bring him out in full view of the amphitheatre.

  Unsure of what awaited, he considered what else to do. The monks from Ixion’s past had once cleared a tunnel to a more discreet entrance into the amphitheatre. He changed direction and ran lightly along a lesser path to a prayer hutch.

  The Night Creatures shrank away as he passed, still cowed by his anger. It would not last, he knew. Others would come, and with more of them their bravado would return. Much of the time, his brothers thought as one mind and drew strength from numbers. Like at Danksoi. The clan had driven them back in the end, but they were unsettled still, wanting change.

  Lenoir opened the trapdoor in the prayer hutch. The disused passage was surprisingly clear of debris, as though someone had passed though it recently. Did the young ones know of this? Or had Brand discovered it?

  He emerged into the amphitheatre where the tunnel’s end was disguised by a waterfall of moonflower creepers. The scent of the blossoms was strong and sweet and distracted him momentarily. The creepers had been everywhere on Ixion when they had first arrived here but their blooms had diminished as though the Ripers’ presence had poisoned the delicate plant.

  Lenoir slid aside a swathe of creeper and stared down at the stage. A Riper lay there, secured by thick tether and surrounded by a group of three young ones with weapons.

  Lenoir tested the air. It was Tanel, a rogue, who’d sided with neither Brand nor him when the clan had split. Lenoir could smell his sweat and taste the acrid flavour of his fear.

  He stepped past the curtain of flowers and leapt down the roughly cut ledges with blinding speed.

  ‘Stop!’

  Clash and Dark Eve turned, startled, clubs and sharpened sticks in their hands. The other young one, though, never shifted from where she held a rough-made knife to Tanel’s throat.

  ‘Lenoir,’ said Clash.

  ‘Free Tanel,’ said Lenoir. ‘Or suffer.’

  ‘No!’ said the knife carrier.