Etiquette of Exiles (Senyaza Series Book 4)

by Chrysoula Tzavelas

  The room beyond was as dark and filthy as the kitchen, no place to keep a child. But there was a cot in the corner where something wrapped in blankets moved and cooed, and glowed like a beacon.

  It was easy, so easy to walk across the room. Had it always been that easy? Had she really spent hours staring at the door between her and her child?

  She went and picked up the bundle, looked into the child’s eyes. They were the color of joy, and the darkness fled away. She was in a house, an ordinary house, with walls scrubbed white and a window that let in the early spring sunshine, and she was holding her daughter.

  Other Reasons

  Corbin could feel Ice’s heartbeat alongside his own through the lifebinding he’d done. It was the only reassurance he had that the man over his shoulders was still alive. The wounds on Ice’s chest and legs had been roughly bandaged, but it didn’t matter. As long as Corbin’s strength held out, so would Ice’s flickering life. And as soon as the connection was broken, unless they were in a really well-equipped ER, the leader of the kaiju-hunters would die.

  He’d tied Mack’s life to Simon’s. Grendel was still on his feet, but only barely. Every time he stumbled, Simon sneered and prodded him with a sparking finger. The big man would roar and spin around, strength and alertness flooding his frame as he glared at the smaller kaiju hunter. “I can still take you apart, Simon.”

  “Try it, asshole. You’re barely on your feet,” Simon said.

  Grendel made a fist, then squeezed his eyes shut. “How did we get so trashed?”

  “The angel’s bastard agent had some tricky friends. Made things a little complicated.”

  “But we won, right?”

  “Hey, we’re still alive. We must have.” Simon rolled his eyes in Corbin’s direction.

  Grendel’s fading gaze swept his companions: Ice over Corbin’s shoulders, Mack over Simon’s. “Yeah.” He turned and trudged forward, in the direction they’d been going before he almost fell.

  Corbin caught his arm and readjusted his path, then exchanged glances with Simon. “Anyone you can walk away from, eh?”

  “Hey, I’m a pragmatic fellow. I don’t think they wanted to leave us alive. We are; therefore we won.”

  They continued on the ruined road winding through the mist-shrouded Castdown Way. It hadn’t been mist-shrouded when they traveled the Way before, but simply one of the many, vast streets of the long-empty Far City of the Backworld. It didn’t seem empty now. There were whispers from nowhere and the buildings looming in the mist seemed closer, as if the city had come to life and was trying to swallow them. That was only one of many things that had gone horribly wrong on the mission.

  Ten endless minutes later Grendel’s energy faded, and the whole scene repeated itself.

  “This feels a lot like torturing a dying dog, mate,” said Simon, once Grendel, his gaze fixed on some inner vision, was moving again.

  “You think you can carry both of them? I can’t.”

  Simon shook his head. “Not enough leverage. But you could skip on ahead and bring back some extra hands.”

  A raven flapped through the mist to land at Corbin’s feet. Two more joined it, pecking at the cobbles. They were nervous. Corbin didn’t blame them. He shook his head. “I don’t think there’d be anything to come back for. Absolven’s associates haven’t wandered off. They’re playing with us.”

  “And you think sticking with us is going to stop that?” Simon’s inquiry was friendly, but pointed. Corbin was the tagalong kid, the junior auxiliary member of the LA branch of Senyaza’s Special Investigations. But the truth was, he’d convinced them to go on this miserable adventure and he was damn well going to get them out alive or die in the attempt. He shook his head bitterly. But to do that he couldn’t even send Simon on ahead. Without Simon, without the ability to keep both Grendel and Mack moving, they’d be nothing but prey for whatever Absolven had left behind to finish them off.

  He held out a fist to one of the ravens and it flapped up to perch there. Caressing the feathered head with a knuckle, he let the information hovering at the top of the bird’s mind flow into his own. He swore. “There’s an intersection ahead. It’s not on the map.”

  “There’s a bloody surprise,” said Simon, and caught Grendel’s arm. “Take a breather, big guy.” Grendel growled but stilled, as if obedience was only possible under protest. That was usually the case.

  Corbin crouched down and laid Ice in the clean gutter of the cobbled street. Then he spread his fingers wide and the three ravens awaiting his instructions scattered into the air. “They’ll scout the forks. One of the roads will be the one we arrived on. Has to be.” A brief break was far preferable to getting truly lost in the Far City. The books Corbin had read were full of anecdotes of explorers who had vanished in the Far City, as completely as if they’d been eaten.

  “Unless we’ve gotten totally turned around in the mist. Are you so sure we haven’t?”

  Corbin hesitated. “Pretty sure.” The memory charm he’d equipped before setting out helped with things like that. “But the birds are absolutely certain. They always know where I am.”

  Simon shrugged. “If you say so. Look, if we’re going to camp and wait for the intel, maybe, just maybe, we should head into one of the buildings?”

  “See, I may have an idea about how to get out of here, but I have no idea if there’s such things as carnivorous buildings and that worries me. You’re old. Do you know?” He already knew the answer; Simon didn’t make a habit of retaining any memories weak enough to be washed away by Scotch and that included obscure knowledge about the depths of the Backworld.

  Simon squinted at the mist. “Good point. Maybe we can make a little barricade of the others.” He leaned Mack against Ice, then surveyed them. “Itty, bitty barricade.”

  Corbin checked the lifebinding charms on himself and Simon. Then he checked the injuries on Mack and Ice and then he checked the charms again. Grendel sat down suddenly, so heavily the pavement seemed to tremble, and Corbin wondered if he ought to add another lifebind between the big kaiju-hunter and himself, just in case.

  “What do you reckon is doing the whispering?” asked Simon, sitting on the curb beside Grendel and pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

  “I’ve been trying not to listen.” Grendel’s injuries were doing better than the other two’s. Every time Simon provoked Grendel into threatening him or swinging at him, the wounds inflicted by Absolven and his terrible blade healed a tiny increment faster than before. But it had to be done carefully, without over-stretching Grendel’s resources so much that he passed out. Unconscious, he was just a big slab of flesh.

  “I mean, do you think it’s the man-eating buildings? Saying, ‘Come to us, tasty morsels?’” He cocked his head. “I think they’re giggling, myself. Mocking us. Annoying little prats.”

  Now Corbin couldn’t help but listen.

  Look at them poor boys get them get them let them run closer to the edge they’re so sweet so earnest is this what is left this what we’re afraid of? Only two left the two weakest don’t break all the toys…. As Corbin listened, the whispers grew louder, clearer. He stared into the mist, trying to understand who was talking.

  Then Simon leaned over and flicked his forehead with a sparking finger. The man had moved right in front of him, and he hadn’t even noticed. “Stay alert. Maybe leave the listening to ghost voices to me. I’ve got experience ignoring stuff like that.”

  The whispers became giggles. Corbin shook his head. “Right. I wonder where Absolven dug up these little bastards.” He turned his attention to the scouting ravens. He couldn’t pull knowledge from them unless they were very close, but he could sense how far they were. One of them was already on the way back. He stood up, and as he did, he realized the mist was moving rather more than the still air suggested. A shape loomed out of the corner of his eye, and he ducked sideways, almost stumbling as he avoided….

  Mist. Mist and laughter.

  He growled
in annoyance. Simon swiveled his head to follow Corbin even as his gaze darted around. He put a hand on the triangular knife at his belt. “Something’s about. Get down.”

  “They’re playing with—” Corbin half-said, before something exploded out of the mist. A troop of silhouettes, each foggy shape edged with silver sharpness, swarming in low and close to the ground. Corbin crouched down, pulling his own stealth charm around him like a coat. Simon’s knife was already drawn and sparking; an arc of incandescent light sprang from the blade to two of the moving figures before a third one caught him low and left crimson behind.

  Corbin moved closer to Simon and unrolled a broad, silver ribbon from within his sleeve and set it to dancing around them. It sparkled and twisted, attracting the attention of the attackers. Their silvered edges sliced at it, mostly catching only its sparkles. He wasn’t a warrior like the kaiju-hunters. His weapons were information and distraction. In a straight-up fight, it was all he could do to keep himself out of trouble. But that attitude wasn’t going to help at all right now.

  He flicked the ribbon into a different pattern. One of the attackers laughed and jumped toward Grendel, who was still sitting slumped next to the pile of Mack and Ice. The attacker landed behind him, fully visible for a brief moment. He was slim, smaller than Corbin, dressed in rags with wild hair, a mad grin, and blades on the edge of his hands and his sleek black boots. He grabbed Grendel’s head and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Or at least, that seemed to be his intention. As soon as his fingers slid into Grendel’s blood-stiffened hair, the big man’s head came up, his eyes half-opening.

  Then with a roar, he surged to his feet, reaching over his shoulder to pull the attacker off him, flinging him into the air. He turned a half-aware gaze on the crew of similar figures veiled in mist playing tag with Simon’s lightning and Corbin’s ribbon, and his eyes widened. Then a feral grin curved his mouth and he strode forward, tugging the scratched and pitted sword out of the scabbard on his back.

  The giggling that still emerged from the mist quieted for a moment, and the attackers seemed to pause at the menace that radiated off Grendel. But it didn’t last. Corbin smiled grimly as he moved behind the melee to haul Ice over his shoulder again. “We need to go,” he shouted at Simon. The ravens hadn’t made it back yet, but he thought heading in the direction of the one already returning couldn’t be too terrible an idea.

  Better than staying here, anyhow.

  Simon sent an arc of electricity through the figure in front of him then backed up, joining Corbin. He picked up Mack like a sack of potatoes. “Grendel, come on!”

  But Grendel was busy. There were six of the clouded figures, although both the mist and the flickering arcs of light left behind by Simon made it hard to be sure. When one fell, it faded into yet more mist, and then there were six again. Corbin wondered how many there actually were. But Grendel clearly didn’t care. The battle was waking him up, healing his injuries, bringing him back to life. Running away was the last thing on his mind. Which was unfortunate, because he could still be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. And if Absolven showed up again, wielding the Ragged Blade, Grendel could even be killed while the blade shut down his native response to strife.

  “Do you think he can take them out?” Corbin asked Simon.

  Simon shook his head, blood from a slice along his hairline dripping into his eye. “If it was really only six little guys, maybe. But what are we facing? How many are there? Bloody hell, I hate the Backworld. Full of tricks and lies.” He dropped Mack again and waded back into the fight.

  Something plucked at Corbin’s hair. Corbin looked up sharply, hoping to see one of his ravens. Instead, Ice stood behind him, his skin corpse-pale, his eyes utterly white. Blood leaked from his mouth and fingers tipped with red plucked blindly at Corbin’s face. And over Corbin’s shoulder was a leaking burlap bag, moving and struggling like bones come to life.

  Shocked, Corbin let the bag of bones slide from his shoulder and stumbled backward from the zombie’s hands. “What—?” Then the whispers from the mist became laughter, and the zombie shaped like his friend faded away. Ice lay in a heap where Corbin had dropped him. Looking around wildly, Corbin realized that the mist had separated him from the others. He’d only been a few yards away, but he couldn’t remember the direction or hear the sounds of their battle.

  He knelt down and checked Ice, then Mack. Then, after only a moment’s thought, he severed Mack’s connection to Simon and instead tied the flickering life force to his own. He took a deep breath, feeling the drag against his skin and heart. Then his intrinsic magic, inherited from his celestial forebear, picked up, sustaining his body against the demands he was making of it. He was used to the little ways it helped: making him stronger and faster than pure humans. This was different. It pulled on him, as if trying to reshape him into something else.

  Normally he far preferred mortal magic, and he’d never, ever advise somebody to tie mortal magic that was actually sustaining a life to a part-celestial nature. But in this case—

  He looked up and let his intrinsic magic reshape him.

  A pool of darkness swirled deep inside. Memories from beyond Corbin’s own experience flashed within him, experiences he couldn’t put words, or even images to, pulled from a pit of raw sensation. One of them crawled up into his mind. Half his vision went black, and agony swept over him. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. The mist was gone, replaced by long shadows streaked with crimson. Grendel and Simon were a few yards away; Simon knelt at Grendel’s feet with his head down, supporting himself on a fist, his other hand still gripping his knife. Grendel stood protectively above him, swinging at—

  Arcs of light and mist, curved into the shape of men. Each one was connected by a thread to a trio of tall and shining figures standing in the distant shadow of one of the empty buildings. Each time Grendel struck one down, the arc of light split open, bleeding mist, and the entity on the other end of the thread pulled it in and reshaped it.

  Corbin lifted his arm and the first of his ravens landed on it. It had found a dead end, not the way home. It didn’t matter, though. It was very hard, with the darkness streaking his vision, to understand what mattered. But the shining figures were a problem.

  He threw the raven into the air again. It knew his mind as he knew its, and it dived toward one of the flickering threads that was all that remained of one of Grendel’s assailants. Without hesitation, the bird captured the flickering thread and flapped into the air.

  The reaction from the trio of figures was near instantaneous: the one holding the thread shouted, while the other two recoiled, yanking their threads back like collaring an aggressive dog. The first figure’s shout rippled along the thread until it reached the end that the raven still held and exploded in light. But the raven wasn’t going to let a shiny bit of string escape that easily. Maintaining its grip, it climbed until it landed on the head of a gargoyle adorning a building a block down. Then it carefully began to investigate the twitching thread.

  The figure who yet held the other end turned, following the raven with its gaze. When the raven landed, the glow around the shining figure brightened and Corbin could feel the gathering of power like the world had taken a deep breath. At his silent command, the raven released the thread just before the end exploded with living sharpness. The bird flew into the air, cawing laughter as the thread flew back to its owner.

  The trio of figures turned to look at Corbin, and then all at once they faded away.

  Corbin returned his attention to his companions. Grendel was kneeling beside Simon, who had slumped over.

  “Aw, he’s fine, the weakling,” announced Grendel. “Bit of a bump, bit of blood loss. He won’t even have any decent scars.” He stood up, hefting Simon under one arm, then paused, staring at Corbin. “You okay, kid? You don’t look right. What did you do to them, anyhow?”

  “I saw them,” said Corbin. His voice sounded… odd.

  Grendel narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Th
is is that thing again, isn’t it? Used to happen to your dad sometimes too, I heard.”

  Corbin shuddered and raised his hands to his face, then his eyes. They felt… as odd as his voice had sounded. One felt hard, the other empty.

  He yanked his hands away. Memories rose up again from the dark pool, this time as images. A pair of glowing, rotating rings. A head tilted quizzically, warm eyes waiting for an answer. A wasteland. A field of ice and a bridge and lightning—

  He was on his knees, staring at Grendel’s boot. The dark pool had receded, back to the depths where it had come from. “Come on, get up. See, it’s gone away. You feel better.” Anxiety overshadowed the big man’s cajolery, and the toe of one of his boots nudged Corbin.

  “Yeah.” His voice was normal again. The mist had returned, or had never left, and he shuddered. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He stood up and frowned at Simon, under Grendel’s arm. “I guess I ought to thank the bastards for helping you feel better, but I’m not sure how we’re going to manage Mack now.”

  “Eh, I got it.” Grendel stomped over and scooped up Mack under his other arm. Corbin blinked. He never really thought about just how big Grendel was. Mack, taller than Simon, had his boots dragging on the pavement, but otherwise Grendel seemed perfectly at his ease carrying both of them. “You have to figure out where we’re going, though. Your friends came back while you were off communing with your ancestors or whatever.” He nodded at where all three ravens perched.

  Slowly, Corbin held out his fists to the birds. He felt stretched, as if something far too large to contain had been expelled from him. But as the birds settled on his arms, they brought normalcy with them. Normalcy and information. “I know which way to go.” He bent slowly and hauled Ice over his shoulders again. Then he turned and trudged after the three ravens.

  The shining figures bothered him. He’d seen them, interacted with them as they actually were, and that had caused them to flee. Even the whispers had faded away. It was like a game where he didn’t know the rules, but he’d accidentally made the right move anyhow. He’d convinced his friends to come on this outing because he’d been convinced that something important was going on. The Ragged Blade was certainly dangerous, and Absolven had claimed it for his celestial allies—but where did the shining figures fit in? As far as Corbin knew, angels didn’t play games, and they didn’t run away when their tricks were revealed. And yet, who else would be helping Absolven?