A Plague of Angels

by Sheri S. Tepper

  They had established certain habits and customs on the journey west, their own chain of command, their own ways of laying out their camp and setting guards for the watches of the night. Orders were issued by Captain CummyNup to his lieutenants and from them to the troops. Despite being Captain, CummyNup often followed his old practice of wandering around in the dark, and it was during one of these midnight peregrinations that he encountered Coyote for the second time.

  “Whatso, CummyNup,” greeted Coyote.

  “Whatso,” replied CummyNup.

  “You still lookin’ for Basio?” asked Coyote, in a good imitation of ganger talk.

  “Still lookin’,” said CummyNup “Got more men than before too. Whatever Basio need, we got it.”

  Coyote scratched as close to his rump as he could get with a contorted hind leg and thought about this. “You see that canyon over there?” he asked, pointing to a pocket of dark in a landscape largely made up of such pockets.

  CummyNup said he did.

  “Basio needs you to be down that canyon, cross the bottom, ready to go up the far side by mornin’.”

  CummyNup sucked his teeth and thought about this. “How far from here?” he asked finally.

  “Far enough you should leave pretty quick now,” replied Coyote. “And don’t make any noise!”

  CummyNup agreed absentmindedly. When gangers went off on a tally, they never made any noise. Not until the battle started He could get the men started and have them where Abasio needed them by morning.

  Later, the thought crossed CummyNup’s mind that if Abasio came back, CummyNup might no longer be Captain. He worried at it only momentarily before setting the thought aside Basio, he told himself, was his friend.

  In the woods along the Big River, Wide Mountain Mother camped in the midst of the warriors of Artemisia. Though the night had turned chill, the campfires had been allowed to burn down except for those few at the perimeter of the camp, where members of the Owl and Weasel societies stood sentry. It was one of these, Black Owl, who heard the voice in the night.

  “Not eating you,” it said in a softly furry voice.

  “Halt!” cried Black Owl. “Who goes there?”

  “Not eating you,” repeated the voice. “Not throwing spear.”

  Black Owl thought this over. After a time, he swallowed, lowered his arm, and said, “Very well. Not throwing spear.”

  He held it, however, at the ready, as a bulky form came out of the darkness and into the farther edge of the firelight. It took considerable self-control to hold it then, for what sat in the firelight was unmistakably a bear.

  “Chief woman,” said Bear. “Go get.”

  “Wide Mountain Mother?” asked Black Owl “You want her to come here?”

  “I go, spears,” said Bear. “She come. No spears.”

  Black Owl jiggled from foot to foot, wondering what to do next “You’re going to wait for me?” he asked at last, rather plaintively.

  Bear grunted what sounded like an assent, and Black Owl took off at top speed for the tent at the center of the camp, the one occupied by Wide Mountain Mother and half a dozen of her eldest daughters.

  Considering that she had been asleep when he arrived, Mother returned with him in an extremely short time With her came a group of daughters, each of them armed and all of them suspecting a trick When Bear greeted them with “Not eating you,” they immediately took off in several directions to find out who was pulling the strings.

  Wide Mountain Mother herself merely sat down and stared at him. “You talk,” she said at last.

  “So do you,” said Bear in a grumpy voice.

  “You’re the one Arakny wrote about,” she said.

  “Possible,” said Bear “I know her.”

  “You bring me word of her?”

  “I bring word. Move now. Go that way.” He pointed with a large paw. “Up road. Sneaky, like coyotes. Morning, you fight!”

  “Fight whom? For what reason?”

  “Fight dead things. For the sake of living things.”

  A long silence.

  “Is that all?” she called. “Is my daughter well?”

  She received only a retreating grunt in answer. In a few moments, the daughters returned to say no person had been found The Bear had been talking on his own. Wide Mountain Mother had already figured that out.

  North of the Place of Power, a certain being sat upon a crag and considered themes of life and death, legend and history, good and evil. Beneath and around the large being, others of its kind and related kinds assembled to await the morning.

  “This affair reminds me of long ago,” said the large being upon the crag to a smaller being nearby “When men carried swords of bronze and lived short but mythy lives.”

  The smaller being scratched a mosquito bite and did not answer. Its own memory did not extend that far.

  West of the Place of Power, Hero leaned upon his lance and peered toward the wall Around him burned the campfires of his fellow Heroes. There were a good many of them, more than he had thought there would be.

  “We’ve been talking,” said another Hero, coming up behind him.

  “Of what?”

  “Of proper ways to kill these things We agree we aren’t likely to survive the attack, but we feel we should make some effort to do as much damage as possible.”

  “Surely.”

  “One of the things we’ve come up with is earplugs.”

  “Earplugs.”

  “The walkers have this sound they make. It’s crippling. But with earplugs, one can stand it.”

  “Earplugs and a pure heart,” said Hero.

  “Of course,” said his colleague. “And a pure heart.”

  South of the Place of Power, Coyote and Bear met by appointment.

  “One thing you can say for humans,” commented Coyote, “they lead complicated lives Very interesting.”

  “You say,” said Bear, breathing heavily. It had been a long run up the canyon, and he was winded. “Did you see her?”

  Coyote made an affirmative sound in which a great deal of sadness was mixed. “She left a message with me For him. If he’s still alive when this is over.”

  “Ah,” said Bear.

  Coyote started to speak again, then hushed himself, head cocked, listening. There were sounds all around them in the night Foliage moving. Branches creaking The sound of movement and assembly.

  “Did you talk to the Artemisians?” Coyote asked.

  “Umph,” came the answer.

  Coyote sighed. “We’ve been scouting, as you suggested. I think the caverns we’ve come up with will do the job.”

  Bear scratched his nose, wordlessly. “Big enough?”

  “I think so. Big enough for moose.”

  “Moose?”

  “We found several Big enough for them.”

  “Big enough, then.”

  Coyote nodded “Think I’ll catch a little sleep,” he said, curling up and burying his nose in his furry tail He was not really asleep. He was thinking about his feelings. Before he had language, a time he could remember, he had had a sensory lexicon. There was not only count-smell but also feel-feel, in which grief was a winter’s night without warmth or hope of spring, love for one’s mate and cubs and kindred was the smell of new grass, hot mouse-flesh, and shared warmth in the den. These things were remembered, even now that he had language, which was not an unmixed blessing. He had words for things most of his kindred did not. Apprehension. Fear. Knowledge of mortality. It was possible he would not live through tomorrow. He might die. He wondered, as men had done for thousands of years, what lay beyond that barrier. “Tired,” he murmured, surprised that it came out aloud.

  “You say,” grumped Bear, throwing himself on the ground. He had no furry tail long enough to bury his nose in, but his front paws did well enough. Heaving a deep sigh, which was echoed from all around him in the night, he slept. He had fewer words than Coyote and was thankful for it.

  Abasio moved restlessly on his b
ed, like Coyote, not really awake, not really asleep, and for much the same reason. He had fallen into a light doze when Arakny pulled at his shoulder, telling him to come at once with her and Tom and Qualary, for something was about to happen.

  “What time is it?” he demanded.

  “Not yet midnight,” she replied.

  He struggled awake and into the warm clothing Arakny insisted he put on, then followed her out into the hall where Tom waited to guide them through the labyrinth of Gaddi House to the roof. The night was dark, the stars hidden behind cloud. Beyond the crags to the north, sheet lightning flashed now and again to the low mutter of approaching thunder.

  Tom pointed westward, where they could see a flicker of scattered yellow lights.

  “Campfires,” said Tom. “The sensors picked them up. And there are beings gathering to the north and south. I don’t even know what—who they are.”

  “Who? Where?” asked Abasio.

  “Creatures. People. Animals. I don’t know There seem to be five bunches, altogether. Two coming from the east, one up the road, one across the canyon One bunch north, one west, one south. Something Ellel dreamed up, perhaps I didn’t wake the others. No point getting them all upset, but Qualary said I had to wake you.”

  “Where north?” Abasio asked.

  “Up on that precipice, and all down both sides of it. It’s the only place that actually overlooks the Place of Power. The ones to the south and west are in the edges of the forest.”

  “What are the walkers doing?” asked Qualary.

  Tom frowned. “Waiting. Jittering A few of them have fallen over or attacked one another. Four Domer men tried to go out last night. Foolish of them.”

  “Were they—?”

  “Three were killed outright One of them was badly wounded, but he got back in I think the men killing that one in the marketplace that time was only a fluke. The walker was already broken. If they aren’t broken, I don’t know if we can kill them at all.”

  “What’s that?” asked Arakny, head up.

  They all heard it, a yammering squeal that ran in both directions along the wall, like a herd of pigs being driven at great speed.

  “Walkers,” said Tom. “They see in the infrared.”

  “Infra what?”

  “They can see warmth, think of it like that Maybe they’ve seen something.”

  It was not long before they all saw it, the silhouette of a winged form high upon the precipice, huge and fell against repeated flashes of lightning.

  “Griffin,” whispered Abasio, dumbfounded.

  The griffin opened its beak and cried out, a brazen cry that awoke the sky with echoes, sending them back into the canyons, where they crashed from wall to pillar to wall in an avalanche of sound.

  Then from the west, an answering cry, the clatter of swords on shields.

  And from the south, the howl of animal voices.

  And from the east, the vrooming of engines and the shout of ganger battle cries. Abasio exclaimed when he heard that.

  And from the road below the gate, the ululations of warriors.

  “Five,” said Arakny in wonder. “Five groups! Olly’s prophecy spoke of five champions! It’s five whole armies!”

  “You’re sure all of them are on our side?” asked Tom.

  “Those war cries came from warriors of Artemisia,” she said “I believe those to the west are likely Heroes from archetypal villages. As for the animals, they are more likely to be on our side than on the side of the walkers, are they not?”

  “And the monsters?”

  She shrugged. She didn’t know “They’re here! That’s something!”

  Tom nodded slowly, wondering what had brought the groups here at this time. It-seemed almost contrived, but he had not been part of any contrivance! Perhaps His Wisdom was right. When the means were correct, the end was inevitable.

  “What good are champions when Olly is already gone?” muttered Abasio “Why couldn’t they have come here yesterday!”

  Tom laid his hand on Abasio’s shoulder and shook him. “Even today, they may save the rest of us. Remember what she told me to tell you, Abasio.”

  Abasio shook off his hand. “The mere presence of five champions is meaningless. I hear gangers down there, and I know from personal experience they have no idea how to fight these things.”

  “My people are there as well,” said Arakny. “And they have no more idea than gangers do.”

  Abasio nodded grimly. “The same will be true of the others, I should imagine. We need something more than mere fighters. We need a strategy.” He put his head into his hands, thinking furiously. He had been unable to save Olly. Perhaps he could save those who had been important to her. All those years in fantis, watching battles, trying to stay out of them as much as possible, talking them over at the barber’s afterward. If the Greens had done this. If the Blues had done that. Surely he knew something about fighting after all this time.’

  He stood tall and demanded of Tom, “Is my horse still in that cavern down below?”

  Tom shrugged. “I imagine so.”

  “The entrance is well beyond the walker lines, is it not?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Take me there,” demanded Abasio.

  “And I,” said Arakny “I will carry your word to my people.”

  Though it was Tom’s instinctive response to ask His Wisdom before he did anything, Abasio would not allow him the time. They went at once, down through the bowels of Gaddi House, toward the door behind the haystack. When they passed the tunnel where the bit-part players were stored, Abasio made an abrupt noise, as though he had been kicked.

  “What?” demanded Tom.

  “Nothing,” grunted Abasio. “I stumbled over a rock.”

  They went through the final door into the tunnel where Big Blue stood half-asleep in his pen.

  With a pang of guilt, Abasio saw that someone had given him fresh hay and water.

  “Now,” said Arakny, “what do you want me to tell my people?”

  Abasio had been thinking about it all the way down. He told her, tersely, answering both Tom’s questions and hers as best he might.

  “Wish me well,” he said to Tom, as he climbed onto Big Blue’s back “I should be able to get all the way around by dawn, starting with the animals to the south.”

  “Remember where you left your wagon?” asked Tom.

  Abasio nodded.

  “If you go up that canyon, it will lead you onto flat land south of the Place You can drop Arakny off on your way.”

  Arakny peered out the tunnel entrance, seeing fires in the canyon bottom “We can ride along the slope, here,” she told him “My people are on the road.”

  Abasio leaned down to pull Arakny up behind him, then took Tom’s hand in his own. “We will do what we can,” he said.

  CHAPTER 15

  Abasio and Arakny rode southeasterly across the slope toward the road.

  They could hear the yammering of the walkers a few hundred yards above them, a repeated squealing that moved in ripples along the wall, going and returning, a peculiarly bestial and mindless sound.

  “What the hell are they doing?” whispered Arakny in Abasio’s ear, her voice shaking.

  “Counting off,” Abasio said. “Keeping track of one another; a kind of roll call.”

  “How do you know?” she grated, wiping her forehead on her sleeve. Her sweat was cold, and it stank of fear.

  “I don’t,” he muttered “I’m guessing.”

  “Have you come up with any more good ideas?”

  He shook his head. “Just what we’ve already talked about. We’ve got to base our strategy on some assumptions, though I dislike assuming anything where they’re concerned. First assumption: They’ve been ordered to guard the wall. That means they won’t leave the wall en masse, though some of them can probably be tempted away. They’re not unintelligent Tom was very helpful about the psychology of the damned things, if you can call it that. We’re forewarned about the
deadly sound they make, so we can protect against that. When it comes right down to it, however, they’re stronger than we are, and there are more of them than there are of us, though the arrival of all these allies has evened the odds a little.”

  “So my people are to fight a war of attrition.”

  “We should kill as many walkers as possible from the greatest possible distance—we’ve talked about that. If we all try to achieve that, eschewing any heroics, we may have some success.”

  She sighed. “We could refuse to fight We could wait them out, bring in food through the tunnel—”

  “We can’t ‘wait them out.’ When Ellel gets back with the space weapons, matters will be worse. Our only chance is to dispose of them while she’s gone and be ready for her when she returns! The shuttle can go from the silo, but not return to it. She’ll have to land outside the walls. Mitty and Tom think we can do something about that, maybe.”

  “Besides, two people sneaking around on a horse is one thing. Bringing in supply wagons would be something else again.”

  “You sound much more yourself, suddenly.”

  He laughed, sounding almost joyous.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “I figured it out,” he said, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. “The tunnel. The bit-part players. It wasn’t Olly who went at all! It was one of them. Dressed in her clothes. Looking like her. She was Werra’s kindred. The old man wouldn’t just let her go off like that! He’d have sent one of those things instead!”

  Arakny stared at him in the starlight. “Why didn’t they tell us?”

  “Couldn’t. For fear we wouldn’t react right. Everyone’s told us how suspicious Ellel is. If we hadn’t grieved, fussed, cried—Ellel would have known. It was important for her to go. They couldn’t risk telling us.”