by A. L. Knorr
The land was rougher here and every boulder seemed to promise an ambush. We crept along, unopposed, skirting the bare valley floor. The wind continued to howl, hampering our hearing somewhat, but we heard no alarm.
Did Ninurta really have such confidence that he didn’t bother to set a watch?
The moaning whistle of the wind faded as we approached the wide stairs on the western face of the ziggurat. In its absence a steady rhythm rose, backed by the trilling of pipes and the strum of stringed instruments. Intermingled was a low chant, almost a whisper.
My arms prickled with goose bumps, and a chill rolled down my spine like ice water.
The point squad reported all-clear for the short sprint across the valley floor to the stairs. From there, it was only a matter of lugging ourselves up to the higher tiers where we anticipated Ninurta would be holding court.
We held, though, waiting for word from Daria and Sark that they had touched down and were nearing the approach from the other side.
“What do you think?” Stewart had shuffled back down the line to Hadlynne and me. “That madwoman o’ yers goin’ to come through?”
I shrugged. My body was tense from the undercurrent of power pressing against my mind. Gingerly I reached out my metallic awareness. Seams of copper answered back, so precisely ordered that they couldn’t be natural, quivering in a latticework of metal within the stones of the ziggurat. The chant rose, and I felt I was going to be swept up in the undertow as the power drew inward and was funnelled down into the copper conduits, plunging down deep into the earth.
It was like a tide, surging with the rise and fall of the syllables of the chant, each time climbing a little higher. I leaned into it and felt hundreds of individual wills rushing past me to gather and plunge, all directed by an intelligence so focused it hurt to sense its raw intention. Ninurta was drawing power, the souls of his gathered offspring, and driving it like a spike into the earth.
“Somethin’ bad is happening,” Bordeaux observed, a ghost of fear an unnatural and unwelcome addition to his flinty voice. “We can’t hang about.”
“Steady on, man,” Stewart warned gruffly, but then turned to lean close to my ear. “He’s not wrong. We can all feel somethin’ unnatural about, and we can’t sit here with our thumbs up our arse.”
I nodded, letting my metallic senses play across the network of copper, wondering if I could stymie the power being driven down. I was sure that so much power couldn’t be stopped, but anything I could do to slow its descent or sap its strength would buy us time. We would have to risk alerting Ninurta.
“Keep an eye out.” I held out my hand toward the ziggurat. “I’m going to make mischief.”
The ground beneath our feet gave a tremble that turned my knees to jelly.
“Mischief accomplished, I ken,” Stewart grunted.
“That wasn’t me,” I whispered, unable to keep the fear out of my voice. “I think it’s already started.”
Stewart’s face paled and clenched until veins throbbed at his temples.
“Then we’re goin’ in,” he growled, turning toward the ziggurat with a look of sheer loathing.
“Wait,” I called as he stomped off, orders rumbling in his chest to match the last echoes of the shuddering earth. “I think I can disrupt the metal conducting the power downward.”
Stewart didn’t stop moving, calling over his shoulder. “Good, do that while we advance.”
Sweat sprang up on my brow as I reached out to the veins of copper in the ziggurat, probing for weak points.
“You don’t understand! I’m not sure if it will destabilise the structure. It doesn’t do anyone any good if you’re crushed by a collapsing pyramid.”
Stewart seemed about to argue but paused at a sharp breath from me when I felt a souring influence that could only be Kezsarak sliding along one of the further branches of the ziggurat. The copper began to twist and rupture as the corruptive infection spread along the widening web of metal. On the next wave of tidal power the conduit was not up to the task: a series of tiny ruptures, cascaded outward in a dazzling and terrifying display.
Before I could share what I was sensing, there was a tremendous crack as though the earth was shattering pottery, and the entire ziggurat shivered. Some stones fell away, mammoth blocks as big as four-door sedans tumbled like children’s blocks to the valley floor. Other stones splintered and shifted leaving jagged lines spider webbing across the structure as the last of Ninurta’s harnessed power grounded out through the structure. Dust and rubble billowed between open seams in the stone. I ducked my head against the storm of debris as it spread over the valley floor, pelting us with bits of stone and grains of metal.
The structure settled into its new state, stones giving low, protesting groans as the last bits of rubble skittered and skipped down to the ground. Then there was only silence, an oppressive quiet, even the wind holding its breath.
“That’s your cue, my dear,” Daria’s voice came over the radio in defiance of the stillness.
“You heard her lads!” Stewart roared. “Move it!”
Without time to consider, I ran across the plain with the team.
And just like that, the battle to save the world had begun.
Nineteen
Stairs had to be the greatest way to end heroics before they’d ever begun.
By the time we reached the top tier, after twenty minutes of laborious and treacherous climbing, even the fittest of the team was red-faced and gulping down air. I was an utter wreck, my legs trembling, my back throbbing, as I wheezed with each step. Steadying hands on my back from teammates had kept me whole and moving upward.
Not exactly how I wanted to go into the fight of my life, but the team was already ranging ahead of me through the maze-like assemblage of pillars and altars. Many of them held fistfuls of zip-ties and tasers; the combat rifles slung over their backs as a last resort.
“Cover!” Hadlynne snapped, dragging me behind a pillar.
A mob of armed men and women came jogging toward us from one of the many passages that led deeper into the ziggurat. I felt a thrill of fear, knowing that if they spotted us or headed after the team, this could all be over.
Pushing aside my fatigue and steadying my breathing to rhythmic gasps. I stretched out my metallic senses, attaching a mental hook to weapons. It took me longer than I wanted, there were so many of them. Fortunately, the Winterthür agents didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
“What’re they waitin’ for?” Hadlynne hissed. His combat rifle already in hand.
Latching onto the last gun in the mob, I braced myself against the pillar, settling my mind. But as I gathered energy for the heavy pull I realised the weapons hadn’t moved an inch; all were hanging loosely on straps or in hands.
That doesn’t make sense.
Shouts and screams – orders and fear – echoed from the interior. I needed to get in there.
I turned to Hadlynne and put a finger to my lips before sliding quietly to steal a quick glance around the pillar.
The entire mob just stood there, arms hanging at their sides, staring at nothing in particular with eyes as black as pitch.
With a start, I remembered the packs of snarling men Daria had sent after us at Museum Station. It was clear the Winterthür agents had succumbed to the same demonic trick.
“It’s alright.” I stepped out from cover despite Hadlynne’s bewildered expression.
As one, the mob turned and looked at me. The sudden attention of their black eyes left my mouth dry, and my heart in my throat, but I forced myself to straighten and look at them directly, channelling a little of Stewart’s commanding presence.
“Daria sent you?” I asked.
With uncanny coordination, they nodded in unison.
“Did she give you instructions?”
Dozens stared on, unblinking and unmoving.
“Uh … did she tell you to follow my orders?”
The heads bobbed together with insectile precision.
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“What the bloody hell?” Hadlynne muttered. He stepped from behind the pillar.
More cries reminded me that there was a battle going on.
“Right, you lot are going to transport prisoners and the wounded off this little hill.”
Again the unsettling synchronised nod.
“Help the security team as they come.” As an afterthought I added, “You won’t be needing these to do that.”
I yanked the weapons from their limp grasps, staggering a few as the straps tugged free of their slack shoulders. A tangled ball of firearms drifted towards me as I turned back to the thoroughly befuddled Hadlynne.
“Daria’s put them under some sort of spell.” I jerked my head toward the assembled thralls. “At least they are out of the way.”
“Could they fight?”
“Probably. But I don’t know how long Daria’s hold lasts or how strong it is. I’d rather have them unarmed and out of the way than armed and possibly turning in the middle of the fight.”
“Fair ’nuff,” He nodded then cast an eye to the floating pile of guns. “Best pick yer cream o’ that lot, then let’s move. Still got to addle our brass in this fight.”
I shook my head at the Yorkshireman, a smile spreading across my face.
“I’m getting the cream right now.”
Streams of liquid metal flowed toward me, crawling up my body to form armour and wings.
---
Hadlynne and I worked our way inwards, passing several of the security team securing knots of Inconquo-blooded. They looked around as though struggling to shake off a dream. Their hands were bound and they were frog-marched toward the ziggurat stairs. I searched for Uncle Iry among their number, but a scream of men in pain forced me to rush on ahead.
Two of the security team were frantically prying at the barrels of their combat rifles, now wrapped around their throats. Their faces were beginning to purple as a slight teenager wearing only a pair of athletic shorts stood over them, a cruel grin spread over his deeply tanned face.
I sent two blades of thought to part the barrels and gather the metal to me as Hadlynne fired his taser. The paired darts were millimetres from the youth’s skin when the Inconquo snared them in midair.
That was impressive, as even I struggled with fast-moving projectiles. The teen’s glee turned to rage at our interruption of his fun. My metal-shod body shot forward as two of my wings arced overhead like twin scorpion tails.
The young Inconquo’s eyes widened, and he threw himself backward, at the same time his power lashed out to drive the wings away. He may have been quick, but even without the rings, I had more raw power. With the rings, he could no more stop me than if he kicked a football to stop a speeding car. The wings thumped into his chest, knocking him flat.
I landed with a clang of bronze encased heels hitting stone. As I wrapped steel wreathed fingers around his throat something ugly and hateful twisted behind his eyes, and I felt a will behind his push against me.
The youth squirmed in my metal-hardened grip as I looked into his eyes and felt Ninurta, or at least part of him, staring back at me.
“I’m coming for you, old man,” I snarled.
I felt Ninurta’s will rush into this unfortunate vessel, but my armoured head snapped forward into the Inconquo’s face, and the lad fell from my hand poleaxed.
Hadlynne secured the unconscious boy’s bonds while the two security team members got to their feet massaging their throats. They motioned us onward. I spared a glance at the young bloodied face, but I didn’t have time to wonder how much had been Ninurta and how much had been the boy.
Hadlynne let me take lead as we continued toward the centre of the ziggurat. Ten-foot tall statues of gods and monsters, worked from various metals, were like shrines ringing the broad stone walkway that encircled a bowl-shaped depression.
Screams continued to echo around us and I felt the ripples and psychic pressures of wills at work. I tried to pinpoint them and gauge their strength, but there was too much movement by foreign minds. Then my metallic sense drew my attention to something else: a will that had to be Ninurta’s. A level of power and control I could never dream of was knitting the exploded seams of copper together again. The thorough devastation of Kezserak’s fury made the work slow, but soon it would be repaired enough for Ninurta to resume channelling power toward the Earth’s core.
Time was slipping through our fingers.
A group of Inconquo-blooded staggered up from the centre of the ziggurat, looking as confused as those we’d seen earlier.
A massive blow smashed me to the ground, knocking the breath from my body. My metal-encased frame was driven down hard enough to crack stone; only instinctive reinforcements and the power of the rings kept me from becoming paste.
A stout woman in workman’s coveralls appeared, holding a crudely fashioned club of bronze sized right for an ogre. Her power thrummed through the metal weapon raised for a blow meant to drive me into the basement of the ziggurat.
There was a sharp snap and the two wired barbs of a taser landed in her side. The club fell from her grip, landing heavily enough that I felt the impact through the stones. A second later the woman herself folded over, her body curling up like paper before a flame.
“Thanks,” I said as my wings propelled me to my feet.
Hadlynne nodded in recognition, beginning to smile, but the expression died on his face as his eyes bulged at the sight of something behind me.
I whirled, wings raised. An enormous grey foot stomped down on me. My wings interlocked to form a hedge of protection, even as the towering body behind the foot bore down. Sparks flew off my metal appendages as they were ground down, forcing me into a crouch.
The pressure redoubled, but I drove two of my wings down into the stone and the braced shield held. Metallic senses reported that I was under attack by one of the immense statues, composed mostly of tin and being driven by an Inconquo who’d hollowed out a space inside.
The percussive chatter of a rifle firing reached my ears over the screech of metal on metal.
“Oi, eyes up ye ketty bast’rd!” Hadlynne roared before another blast from his weapon. “T’ink yer ’ard do yeh? I’m Sammy Hadlynne, ’ardest baller ever was! Learn me name! Sammy! Hadlynne!”
The rifle barked again, shots plinking off of the statue.
He had to know he couldn’t hurt the statue, but as the pressure slackened I understood. More shots rebounded off the statue, and the huge mass of metal turned toward Hadlynne, cocking the foot to one side.
All six wings flared outward as I seized the opportunity and propelled myself out from under the foot. Taking to the air, I swept around to smash feet-first into the statue’s chest. The metal figure gave a groan and I rode it down to the stones as it toppled backward. A spiderweb of cracks bloomed out from under the fallen colossus.
Channelling burning streams of willpower into two wings, I excited the molecules until they glowed with forge-heat. They swept downward, carving through the tin arms rising to bat me away, leaving smoking stumps. I felt the Inconquo within the statue losing focus and seized upon the weakness, plunging both wings into the dented chest. Molten tin bubbled and spat as I ripped the statue’s chest open. As my prying wings reached the cavity where the Inconquo hid, I felt their hold on the metal sever like a cord being snapped. With a final roar of exertion, I split the statue open and watched a small grey-haired woman in a stained business suit tumble out. Her body was limp, but her narrow chest rose and fell gently as she lay on the splintered stonework.
Hadlynne’s cheer was cut short by an awful crunching sound.
Spinning, I saw the stout woman tottering, hands wrapped around the cudgel that was atop Hadlynne’s broken body.
A defiant, vengeful scream tore from my throat and my power reached out to yank the bludgeon from the woman. I didn’t care if her hands came with it, so hot was my wrath.
But the club didn’t fly into my hands like it should have.
&nbs
p; It lurched up into the air then hung there, still in her hands but suspended between her power and mine. Grinding my teeth I pulled harder, and the club bearer staggered a few steps toward me, but then a fresh push of will stopped her advance. Blood began to seep from her eyes and nose from the strain, and past her crimson tears I again saw Ninurta, sneering at me.
“Monster,” I spat and slammed my will down with all the force the rings could muster.
The club twisted and then came apart with the screech of shearing metal. The Inconquo crumpled, blood flowing freely as her eyes rolled up into her skull.
I raced over to Hadlynne, but before I knelt at his side I could see that he was gone. He stared vacantly toward the centre of the ziggurat. I forced myself to follow his gaze. My heart ached, and my soul was sick, but I had a job to do. I whispered my thanks as I rose and swore that his death would mean something.
My wings opened and I took to the air to sail down into the ziggurat’s heart, an angel descending into the devil’s domain.
Twenty
Ninurta sat on his throne frantically fusing seams of copper together.
The depression formed a kind of amphitheatre around him. Knots of Inconquo-blooded milled about, still under Ninurta’s stupefying compulsion. They looked up at me with faces torn between bewilderment and terror. When Ninurta and I came to blows, his spell would not hold and they would flee.
I could not afford distraction, so I fought the urge to look for Uncle Iry.
Now I had to trust that Daria and Sark were near enough for this to work. I kept two wings folded protectively in front while the other four beat the air with thrumming strokes.
“Ninurta!”
The demigod looked up, resplendent in his ancient finery of robes and decadent jewellery. His cruel mouth twisted into a hungry smile as he reclined in his throne and leered up at me.
“Pretty birds belong in pretty cages.” He cocked one arm up on the arm of his throne and rested his head upon gilded knuckles. “I wondered where you’d flown off to, little one, but I am glad to see that you’ve come back to me.”
