Ella couldn’t afford to think of it now. She had to keep moving, putting one foot in front of the other, going back into her past.
Soon enough, a part of that history appeared: a steel grey uniformed guard, with a blank female corporatized face and an ugly length of gun pointed in their direction. Ella had no specific memory of the guards, but her anger, which had been simmering until that moment, erupted in an explosion. She was swifter than Ronan and not as forgiving. The air rippled and curved down the featureless corridor like the rumble of an ancient freight train, breaking with a roar over the guard, flinging her against the far wall and denying her any opportunity to raise that gun.
Ronan was staring. She could feel it, and she could even feel his thoughts: Even I can’t do that.
“I’m not afraid anymore,” Ella told him. Then she ran, not looking back to see if he was following, only knowing that now she had to find the end of the corridor. And there were others in front of her: men and women, guards and sterile-clad technicians. Those who got in her way got knocked aside, and the rest ducked back into corridors, quivering in fear from this avenging angel. Ahead Ella could hear the girl, not with her ears, but with some sense that as yet she could not name.
I’m nearly there, Ella called, and indeed it was not far now. Her feet were flying, her heart full with longing. Nothing could stand in her way. But then…
Ella stopped like all her strings had been cut. It was a set of double doors: thick, grey and very, very familiar. “My god,” she whispered, but to herself now, because the guards had all fled and Ronan had yet to catch up. “This is it.”
The girl’s call went on, but Ella could not deny what was right in front of her. Her feet were doing their own thing, moving towards the door where it had all begun. She put out her hand and touched the thick surface. There was no response—the door was locked solid—but Ella was different now, and she called upon what she realised was her Art.
The power surged forward and blasted against the steel with the force of a hurricane. With an almighty tearing noise, the doors were shattered and flung across the floor to rattle like a spent tin can. Narrowing her eyes against the dimness, Ella stepped over the twisted metal and into the past. It would take a long moment to understand what she was seeing but she took it all in an instant.
Everything was sterile, clean, like the inside of some freakishly clean serial killer's wardrobe. In place of trousers, there were only beautiful bodies. Not human, though, Ella could see that. They were Skins.
For some, the Infinity Treatment came too late, or did not work—and some had been born with imperfect bodies and wanted better. Ella was grinding her teeth, for the truth was breaking over her now.
Skins, they were called, expensive repositories for the mind, made of nanobots, electronics, anything but flesh. Never flesh. Ella didn’t need to turn over any of these bodies hanging like cast off jackets, but she did anyway.
Her own face was there. She’d known somehow that it would be. Ella stared back at herself. There was no movement in her features. The thing hanging there was only a doll.
But then what am I? Someone was sobbing. It was her, but who was she? Thousands of questions burbled and ran over her, and Ella crumbled. What sort of thing was she?
She was crying, sobbing and howling, and beating her hands against her head. Ronan’s voice came from far off. “Ella?”
Calmness rolled over her and she looked up into his bemused face. She could only imagine what he must think of all this. After all, he’d made love to nothing more than a warm doll. It was all an illusion.
“See,” she growled, tugging one of her sister-creatures around so there could be no mistaking it, “This is my history—what Doyle found. They must have been prepping me to be some pampered downloaded woman when he found me. But this,” she pulled her own hair sharply, “This is nothing—I’m nothing.”
Ronan couldn’t say anything to that. She’d always felt hollow, empty and scared, and this was the room where all those feelings had come from.
“But this can’t be,” Ronan had regained his voice. “You have the Earth Magic, Fey Art, you can’t be this.” He turned his face away from her past.
“But I am,” she shouted, holding her wrist to his eyeballs. “Do you know what is under here? Nothing but technology. No flesh, just fake skin, fake blood.”
He didn’t flinch from her anger and fear, but took her by the hand, pressing his flesh against whatever synthetics comprised hers. “Ella, there is more here. I can feel it and so could you if you just thought about it.”
Yet, she couldn’t think. Everything Ella had been sure of had been an illusion. She was, in fact, the ultimate illusion. She slumped against him and didn’t resist when he scooped her up.
Where was her off switch, Ella wondered idly.
Ronan picked her up and carried her, whispering words he hoped would hold her together; lying, saying it would be all right. None of that reached Ella. She was shut away from everything, her mind spinning on herself. Didn’t he know she was just a bundle of wires and vat grown tissue?
He walked through the corridors, carrying her easily, following the strains of the girl’s call. The grey corridors they passed through were silent, only occasionally echoing the sounds of retreating feet. Whoever still remained in the complex was not willing to risk Ella’s wrath again.
She kept her face buried in Ronan’s shoulder. The world felt like it was slipping further and further away.
Until Ronan put her to her feet. Leaning heavily against him, she raised her head slowly, not really caring what was out there. When her eyes finally did focus, it was on something that persuaded her to move.
A clear sheet of plastic composite was all that separated them. Ella took a hesitant step closer. On the other side were soldiers and technicians, all buzzing around like an upset hive. She saw none of that though; all she saw was the girl.
She was just the same as in her vision: a sunkissed teenager with hair thick like night, resting as still as stone, like a sleeping Beauty. Except that she wasn’t asleep—not quite. The call was stronger here. There were no words this time, just an insistence.
Ella’s hand hovered nervously above the steel while her eyes darted around the room now. The people had sealed themselves in, trapping themselves in there with a girl that they were terrified of. That much was apparent from the pale faces and the guns. Ella pushed heedlessly into their minds. They had been using the child for years, draining her of power, using her to learn about magic and Art. They had kept her here, all alone, strapped to a bed, while they had taken what they needed from her.
Ella frowned. They would kill the child rather than let her in. They knew something about the consequences, something that terrified them to the point of madness. Rage boiled up in Ella then: a black fury that blinded her to reason, that made her want to destroy and take revenge. She didn’t know what she was anymore, but she knew her enemies when she saw them.
She reached out with one finger and touched the thick layer of steel.
Ronan, who had just lately learnt fear, cried out as he sensed the flood of rising power, ready to explode. He was too late.
The world shook. Ripples ran through the steel where her finger rested. It buckled before bursting in a spray of explosive power. The guards and white suited scientists on the other side were washed away in a spray of molten metal. Human reflexes were simply not enough to cope with an explosion of Art. Ronan shifted, becoming his black feline self, and leapt through after to deal with those that remained. There weren’t many.
Ella stepped through and went to the girl. The humans she had been so furious with only moments before were already forgotten. She was clean of any mortal morals, for after all, she wasn’t human herself. The rules no longer applied.
The girl was still the centre of everything, and the world tightened on her. Carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, Ella took the cool hand in hers. The connection was made. A sweet rightness filled he
r—like coming home.
The girl was the woman, and the memories she’d lost were all there. Her heart flew as she remembered New Zealand: the sound of peas exploding from their pods, the smell of lavender when Nana hugged her, the shriek of delight Sally made at any given opportunity, the call of the bellbird, and the waving fronds of the tree ferns. All this hit her in the chest, making her cry out.
She’d fallen such a long way, the water below was not kind and the damage done to her back had been the final gift of that terrible night. Dimly she remembered her rescue, the boat that picked her up, the British cruiser which had brought her here. They had found no trace of the utu virus, and then the bone-haired woman had claimed her, proved she was a relative. It had all been a lie. They knew what she was, untrained and traumatized though she might be.
Greer had come and she’d shown them how to do this terrible thing. They couldn’t control a person full of wild Art, instead they had needed her to lie still and submit. It was the scientists in their clean white coats that had broken her apart from her spirit, just so she would comply.
Her soul should have died then and there, but somehow it had strength to go on. It had found the Skin waiting for its new owner and taken that as a sanctuary. Her shattered mind had held onto the damage, both physical and mental, that the child had suffered. Doyle’s arrival had been either fate or luck. Aroha had found a way to escape the walls—even if she’d had to leave her body behind.
Ella touched her face: literally her own face. It was so young. She willed her spirit to return where it belonged with all her reawakened Art. Wanting was not, however, enough. It was too late for that. The scientists had done their job well enough that little remained in the shell of the girl. They had nearly stripped her bare.
Nearly, but not quite. Ella placed her hand over her heart, knowing that something still lay within; something they had not yet succeeded in stealing. The call for the mere was as easy as breathing. Slowly, the room began to glow with a faint silver light. In it, she could glimpse swirling mists and snow-capped mountains. Home.
With a sigh, Ella looked down at the mere lying in her hand: Whataitai’s gift was intact after so many trials. With it gone from the body, however, so too was the magic. The hospital bed was empty. Nothing remained of her child form, the one that had hugged Nana and leapt through the tall grasses of home. It was too much to bear. Chaos and fear were all around, there was too much information, too much loss to hold inside a single body, real or synthetic.
With a cry of incredible sadness, the woman let go, and darkness followed her.
19
Traps
It was over. Greer’s link allowed her to see the events happening in the compound. Ronan hovered over the woman like the protective fool he could so often be. Annoying as it was that they had broken in, it had worked out well. The spirit was back, and she had the mere. It contained all the power of land and sea that the taniwha had given Aroha. All of this could be used.
Using virtual senses and looking around her into the dark recesses of the vines and ferns of the conservatory, Greer could imagine what she would be able to do with the greenstone weapon. It was the last of the Earth Magics left in the human world. There had been many others once, symbols of a partnership between Fey and human, but people were careless creatures and all had been lost or destroyed one way or another. The taniwha’s mere was now the sole repository of the old human magic. Its last owner had been wise to leave it with Whataitai. And it had been endlessly frustrating to know that the girl had it, without being able to retrieve it—even after years of trying.
Now it was here, and with Ella fallen into chaos, there remained only Ronan to best—then it would be hers. Greer’s hand hovered hesitantly above her control cube. The trouble was that there were not many types of gas to use. The compound had been fitted with all sorts of cunning devices, including defenses of last resort. It mattered little that many of the remaining guards would die when she realized the cyanide gas—what mattered was that she would finally have the human magic she needed.
It was unfortunate that Ronan would perish as well, but she was fairly sure that only his blood would be required in the end. If not, there were other Fey that had escaped through the Between to the human realm. Certainly they were only of the lesser sort, but they would suffice.
Somewhere hovering over the landscape of her dreams, Bakari’s brow furrowed, reading her dark intentions. Penny snuggled in against his side, but said nothing. His fingers clenched around the control cube and he whispered a word of command, though where it came from he could not say.
Greer paused. No, there would be other ways. Ronan was still needed and she still had a hold over him. Let him bring Ella out of the compound and think he had won something for her. The truth was coming out bit by bit, and soon enough he would see the whole expanse of her plans. Unfortunately for the Trickster, by then it would be too late.
The compound was a smoking ruin, full of lifeless bodies and broken dreams. Ella, slumped over, was not herself anymore. She managed to keep her feet when Ronan helped her to the exit, but she collapsed not far after and he was forced to carry her again.
She burned. His arms ached where they touched her, but they shared no words. Tucking the greenstone weapon under her shiver cloak had been her last conscious action. Her eyes did not close, but neither did Ronan want to look into them. Ella’s eyes had been brown as moist earth, and these were not her eyes. Chaos was rumbling through her, and he couldn't guess what would emerge on the other side. They could have walked the ancient rivers again or taken the VFT back to Penherem, but Ronan would not risk either of those. So he called in a favor.
Leia from the Point came as quickly as he’d hoped. The long dark shape of the diesel Conqueror nudged its way down the alley, pushing aside the occasional rubbish bag and discarded shopping trolley. Leia shoved open the driver’s door and looked at him with a grim twist of her mouth. “Whenever you call, how come I know it’s always trouble?”
He shrugged, “I’m just that kind of person. How’s Alexis?”
Leia’s gaze dropped, “Damned Rosers—she didn’t make it.”
“Really sorry about that, Leia,” he opened the back door and slid the near comatose Ella in. “She was the best.”
“Yeah… maybe,” the woman’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Funny thing was, she spent so much time and money on cutters—wanted to live forever. And then look what happens.”
“Life’s full of irony. How’s Molly coping?”
“Hey, that kid's seen it all—just never expected to lose a mother in a gunfight like that.”
Ronan scooted across the front bench seat, narrowly avoiding an errant spring poking up through the leather. He didn’t know what to say. Grieving was the only human emotion he had yet to get a grip on. Yet looking over his shoulder at Ella curled in a ball, he started to get some idea. To really understand grief and vulnerability, you had to love someone.
“Death’s even harder to understand than life,” he replied.
Leia jerked her head, turning away from him a little. There might have been the shining glint of a tear there. “I suppose. So, where are we going?”
“Can you drop us off at Little Penherem?”
Surprisingly, Leia knew where that was. While they fought their way through the traffic she told Ronan about her childhood and how her parents had taken her to that very town for the summers.
“What are the odds on that? You going there, and me knowing it for years?” she asked. One arm dangled out the window while the other twitched on the steering wheel.
“Actually… pretty good,” Ronan thought of all those times which might have been coincidence. He now suspected they were more than that.
Leia dropped them off near the centre of the village, not far from the Green Man. Her eyes ran over the soft stone buildings, lush cricket pitch and poplars waving gently in the wind. “This is the kind of place Molly should have—not the sprawl.”
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“Maybe you should sell up and move here,” Ronan joked while pulling Ella out of the backseat and into his arms.
“Maybe indeed,” Leia bit her lip and smiled. “After all, what’s old London town got to offer me now… nothing but memories.” Ronan caught a whiff of her grief, and even that tiniest taste broke his heart. Before he could think of any platitudes for her, Leia had shoved her foot to the floor, and the car had sped away from Penherem.
In his arms Ella stirred. It was only a twitch, a spasm to indicate the inner battle still raging. He didn’t even know if she’d emerge from it at all. Looking round, he tried to decide what to do. Evening was coming on and it wouldn’t be wise to take Ella back to her own house, nor to Bakari’s.
“Uhhh-whooo,” Helen Claremount trotted into view, swung open her garden gate and waved frantically. Ronan smiled somewhat nervously, suddenly aware how bad it looked to be lingering on a street corner with an unconscious woman. He tried to look like it was a common occurrence.
Helen took no notice. “You look lost, there.” She glanced down into Ella’s quiet face, “and she looks like she needs somewhere to lie down.”
“I can carry her,” Ronan replied gruffly.
Helen’s mouth folded in, “I’m sure you could, big strapping man you are, but that wouldn’t be very good for Ella, would it.”
Ronan found himself being guided through the garden gate and into Helen’s house. It smelt of earth and warm baking, and wild flowers were stuffed into every type of vase and pot. They couldn’t possibly have all come from her garden. He raised an eyebrow.
Helen turned an interesting shade of red. “They’re from an admirer.”
“Everyone should have one of those.”
Digital Magic (The Chronicles of Art Book 2) Page 28
