by Tim Akers
"She can't hear you, Jacob. The connection's not that good." The Elder folded his arms and cocked his head at me. "But we really can't let you kill this man. He's proving very useful."
"As useful as he wants to be," I said. "Useful until he's figured his way into your angel's head. Then we'll see how useful he is to you."
"Listen, I know you're the hero type and all, but we really do have things properly in hand, here. You're nothing but a distraction, Jacob. That must be terribly disappointing, hmm? Not being anything more than in the way?"
"Listen to me. Crane knew Camilla was here. He didn't fly into a trap, no matter what Camilla thinks. He came here to get close to the angel, to figure her out. Right now, in that cage, he's worming his way into her. Through you, most likely."
"Jacob, you offend me. As if we know nothing of our opponent." He raised a hand dramatically to the cage, sweeping to take in the whole room. "You're right, the Church is a dangerous place for him. His power seems to derive from cogwork, and we have more than a little of that here. But not in this room. Nothing but plants and glass. We even have fires to light our vigil, rather than frictionlamps. So, as you can see, everything is under control." He turned back to me. "Now. Get out of the Church, or we're going to have to kill you."
"It'll take more than an Elder and a dozen dead Wrights to stop me, sir."
"We know. That's why we've been talking, you and I." His face became serious, all of the genial glee washed out. "Chatting away while my friends showed up."
Light from below. Torches. The room was filled with Wrights, each holding a torch, creeping along the paths between the trees, under the crosswalks. Dozens of them. Maybe a hundred. Maybe more.
"Yeah," I whispered, looking down and flexing my free hand. "That's probably enough."
"Right. Crane has played with you, Jacob. He got you to deliver the virus to the Fehn, he got you to disrupt the Council enough that they turned their attention inward, instead of looking for the threat from outside. They spent so much energy wondering if you were working for the other Families, trying to start a civil war in their midst, that they never saw Crane. Right under their eyes. And now he's arranged events to convince you that you need to kill his body. I don't know why, or what purpose it could serve. But Camilla has seen enough of this game to know that whatever you're doing, no matter how clever you think you're being, it's just Crane pulling your strings. So if you'll just surrender your weapon and come with us, we can get past this bit of unpleasantness and proceed with Camilla's plans for you."
"I said 'probably,' Elder." And snapped the pistol up, put one in his forehead, bulled him off the edge of the platform and made a break for Crane.
They rushed me, but the platform was only so big. The dozen that were up here already were the only ones that had a chance to stop me. I only had so many bullets and the quarters were tight, so I wrapped my fist around the cylinder of the revolver and used it like iron knuckles, battering my way forward.
They had hammers, but the Wrights were clumsy. Clumsy and strong. The first one I punched twice in the face, each blow shattering bone, but it wasn't until the third strike that he stumbled backwards. Didn't fall. Just stumbled. And then his companion was on me, hammers swinging. I dodged to the side, then jumped forward to get under the arc of the backswing. Caught his elbow with my shoulder, ducked under and lay the barrel of the revolver against his armpit. The shot came out the top of his skull and he slumped. One less bullet, and still ten guys up here, and dozens more at my feet, clambering up the support girders to the crosswalk.
I snatched up the fallen Wright's hammer in my other hand, flipped the revolver around so I could use it as a sap, and turned back to the guy whose face I had dented. He was swaying, arms outstretched, waving about. I came at him from the side, switching blows with the hammer and the grip, drumming his head until he keeled over. Two down. I turned back to Crane.
The rest of the Wrights had gotten organized. They stood in a loose half-circle between me and the cage. I was hurt, my rational mind could feel the bruises where hammers had skidded off my shoulder and arm, but the Mother burning through my veins was still grinning. Still going. I supposed I should be glad for that. Rational Jacob would be down on his knees, howling. Then again, Rational Jacob probably wouldn't get me killed. I had no idea what the Mother burning through me was planning, but it felt kind of terminal.
Beneath me, the crosswalk shuddered. The dozens of Wright who were climbing up it clenched their fists and hugged the metal, but a couple fell screaming to the dirt below. I almost lost my feet. The clumsy Wrights squatted and looked around, bewildered.
Not sure what caused that. Not sure I cared. It was all the opening I was going to get. I threw myself at the center of their little arc, shouldered into the lead guy and spun around once. I put each of my tools, the hammer and the gun, into the side of his knee. As he buckled I grabbed the hem of his robe and pulled him over me like a cape, putting him between me and the fastest-reacting of his companions. His pal swung with abandon, doing him a lot of harm, even after I rolled clear. Took them a second to refocus on me, and by then I was circling behind the cage. They closed on me like a pincer.
The one to my left looked a little weaker, in the sense that he actually had a neck and fairly average shoulders, as opposed the rest of the brutes. Camilla had picked her biggest Wrights for this little duty, and they were all built like pack-mules. But this guy was the least pack-mulish of the bunch, so I jumped at him.
He was clearly chosen for his speed. While the others were strong and slow, he was strong and fast. Worst choice I could have made, attacking this guy. Just add it to the list. He dodged my attack and put the flat of his hammer between my shoulder blades. Only thing that saved me was the fact that I tripped, so the blow skipped off my back like a stone on water. Hurt like hell, though.
Down on my hands and knees, I decided that maybe this guy warranted a bullet. I rolled onto my hip and brought the revolver up, flipping it around so that the barrel was pointing in the right direction. He had a similar idea, or at least recognized the possibility. Hadn't even gotten my finger properly inside the trigger guard before his boot came up, slapping the revolver off target. I didn't drop it, but it was a close thing. He followed through, stomping on my gun hand, crushing it between the revolver and the iron crosswalk. I screamed, in pain and frustration, the animal rage of the Mother in my veins. The Wright smiled.
"Enough out of you, Jacob Burn," he growled. Wrapped both meaty hands around his hammer and raised it up. The others crowded eagerly in. "Enough trouble out of you."
I leaned back, then brought my forehead into his crotch. Good news, that works on the cog-dead, too. Wasn't sure if it would. He winced and stumbled, enough that I could work the revolver out from under his foot. I drove the elbow of that arm into his inner thigh, then, standing and putting the full force of my legs and back into it, I smashed the grip of the revolver under his chin. He crumpled.
His friends looked briefly disappointed, then murderous. This wasn't going to last much longer. Had to find a linchpin, or they were just going to butcher me here and let my blood feed the trees.
I shot the first one, then the second. That was enough of a gap for me to push through, even before their bodies hit the grating. Still had the hammer in my other hand, and I brought it down on the lock that held Crane in. It shattered with a satisfying flower of sparks, and Crane fell out of the cage. His arms were still bound, so he hung awkwardly by his shoulders, face down, like a man waiting for the ax. I provided the ax. A quick blow on the lock freed him from the iron box holding his head, and then I put the barrel behind his ear and held my other hand up.
"Crane is your conduit," I yelled as loud as I could. "Stop, or you're all dead."
They stopped, more from uncertainty than any kind of fear. All I could ask for.
"The Elder said that Crane was serving as Camilla's conduit," I said as loudly as I could. My breath was coming in ragged gasps, and
my arms were shaking. The Mother was burning out of me. "Stands to reason that if he dies, the tap dies with him. And whatever power he's using to keep you alive goes with it. Camilla loses her loyal little army. So, back off."
"You're out of bullets," the nearest Wright sneered.
"I can count, buddy. Four shots. Two left. I could miss and still end him. But really," I shoved the barrel against Crane's skull. "Do you think I'm going to miss?"
They didn't move. Thinking it out. This was working. It was going to work. All I needed to do was get Crane out of here and then kill him at my leisure. It was working.
A cold hand closed around my wrist. I looked down. Crane had slipped his bonds and was straightening up. Shocked, I pulled the trigger. The gun crumbled into rust in my hand, the flakes gritty between my fingers. Crane patted me on the shoulder.
"Wasn't sure I had that in me. Off-the-cuff transmutations can be tricky, but you gave me just enough time with your tough talk. Good work, Jacob. Such a good lad."
Chapter Twenty
The Silent Chorus
I swung the hammer at his face. He caught my wrist in his other hand and, with a twist of his shoulders, threw me to the floor at the feet of the Wrights. They reached for me.
"Now, now. You can kill him when I'm done. Shouldn't be long, now." He waved a hand dismissively, and they fell back as if a wave of force had bowled them over. They lay lifeless on the ground. One was left hanging limply over the edge of the walkway; slowly, he slid over the edge and hit the dirt with a dull thud. I scrambled to my feet and switched the hammer to my right hand.
"You may put up a fight, Jacob. I admire that kind of energy. Speaks well for the Fehn, too, don't you think?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said through my tight grin. "This is me killing you, Crane. No one else."
"Oh, no. I know better. I can smell her in you. By the way, I like what you did with the masts, down there in the river. I wasn't sure how you were going to figure that out, but if there's one thing I've learned about you, Jacob, it's that you can be trusted to work your way out of difficult situations. You're almost as adept at that as you are at getting into those situations. Marvelous talent."
I like it when they talk. Keeps them from paying attention to me. While Crane was picking bits of rust off his palms, I slid forward and came at him with the hammer. The first two swings bounced off his forearms, quick blocks that overbalanced me, then he drove a fist into my gut, just below my bellybutton. My bladder voided and I sat down. Inglorious.
"For example, I wasn't sure if you'd take Valentine up on his offer. He can be persuasive, but you can be stubborn. See, I was running out of time. The Mother was never going to give me what I needed. Could see right through me, that one. Awfully clever for a memetic library." He picked up a hammer from one of the fallen Wrights and twirled it in his hands, curiously. "But I knew that if I could get you in there, convince her that you sincerely wanted me dead. Well. I was sure she'd give you what I needed, if only to help you kill me. Bitch never liked me."
I stood, still bent over in pain. Still had the hammer, though.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.
"No, you probably don't. Because if you knew, you wouldn't risk coming here. Wouldn't come within a thousand miles of me, or Camilla either, for that matter. You see, Jacob, the Mother is very old. Older than Veridon. Older than Camilla, or the Algorithm, or that curious city downfalls that your Council discovered. The one on the map, that the angels refer to as 'home.' And she knows a lot of things. More than even she realizes, I think."
I pulled myself upright and came at him. He casually knocked me aside, took the hammer, then laid it heavily across my face. I crumpled. He kicked me down and leaned over me.
"This is what she did, whether she realized it or not. She wanted you to kill me. Wanted to help you do that. Which was nice of her. And she knew enough about my plans up here to know that no mere mortal could face me. So she rebuilt you, at a very fundamental level. It helps that there was already some pattern there, traces left over from the heart Camilla gave you, and from your encounters with the Destroyer two years ago. Yes, you were an ideal vessel. She would have seen that, and the pattern she gave you would have been quite impressive."
I rolled onto my face and pushed up onto my hands and knees. Blood drooled from my busted lips. I coughed, and deep things moved wetly in my chest.
"Not impressive enough," I gasped. He laughed.
"No, not quite. But the Mother couldn't have had the full scope of it." He straightened and raised his arms. "What did the Elder say? My power seems to derive from cogwork. Well, yes and no. Mostly no."
I looked up at him, and things fell into place. This room, the trees. Living things.
"Yes, you see it. The Artificer is like the cogworker, except he realizes that what you refer to as foetal metal is actually the distillation of something that seems to flow through all living things. Maker beetles, my crows. Your flesh. And, most important to our current situation, trees." His smile was startlingly bright in the gloom. He seemed to grow larger. "I think it's a leftover from the time of the Celesteans. They were people, you know. Just people, with a very fundamentally different way of viewing the world. It's like they could see to the heart of a thing, and change it. Amazing people. I like to think that what I'm doing is just an extension of their empire. Interrupted by a period of barbarism, of course."
"You're full of shit," I spat.
"Always with the snappy comeback. What I am full of, Jacob, is cogwork. Or its essential elements, at least. I think the Celesteans weaved this material, whatever it is, into the world. They could remake the world at a touch, turn one thing into another. Turn themselves into other things. Fill their lungs with machines, or their eyes with crystals. Who knows? The possibilities seem endless. And what do we do with it?" He raised a hand to the Church on the cliffs above us. "We don't understand it. So we worship it. Typical. But yes, Camilla thought that putting me in this room would separate me from the source of my power, when in fact she was wrapping me up in the purest form of it. All I needed was a sufficiently powerful pattern to fill it with. And you, Jacob, have provided that pattern. Straight from the Mother Fehn, and before her, the Celesteans themselves."
I sat down, bloody hands in my bloody lap. I had nothing left. Nothing but anger, and the feeling that I'd been played right from the beginning of this.
"Just… go to hell, Crane," I said tiredly. "Leave the city alone."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly do that. Not after all we've been through together. Now. As for that pattern." He raised his head and breathed in, deeply. The trees around us seemed to shrink, as if the essence was being sucked out of them. When he breathed out again, it was in a primal scream that rang off the glass above and cut through my skin like a knife. I fell back and the sound filled me, vibrating against my bones, filling my lungs and my blood with a dull hum. The trees rose up and covered me, roots tapping lightly against my skin, leaves sticking to me like leeches, and then the forest was dissolving into me, the veins of the leaves and the veins of my skin becoming one. I felt Crane's horrible presence now, and behind him something older, unthinkably older. The Celesteans echoing through him, their science and their religion wrapped up into this mystery of cogwork in my blood.
And then it was over. Crane was standing above me, his hands pressed to his skull. Smiling that manic grin that had been ripped from my face.
"Very good, very good. Very… old," he said. "Very pure." He looked down at me and saluted. "Well done, Mr. Burn. Veridon will thank you, when I'm done with it."
"I don't think that's true," I whispered.
"Perhaps not. Not this Veridon, at least. But the one I'm about to build, yes. That Veridon will have no choice but to thank you." He stretched his shoulders, grew larger, more feral. "I'll see to it."
To my surprise, the Wrights stirred. To Crane's surprise, too.
"Interesting. The girl still has some
control over them. Quick learner. But what would you expect from the last remnant of the Brilliant in the city of Veridon, hm? Yes, adding her to me is going to complete this cycle, and then I can get on with things." He raised his hands and the trees rose, grew, swelled, until their limbs hung over the crosswalk. The sound of their growth was loud, a creaking that reminded me of the sound of metal, torquing under stress. The trees took the barely conscious Wrights in their arms and, at Crane's command, burst them like grapes. I edged my way to the center of the platform. Crane saw and chuckled.
"No, Jacob. You've meant too much to me. I intend to preserve you, if only as an example. Call it nostalgia." He flipped a hand, and two limbs wrapped around me, gently squeezing the air out of me. I couldn't move. "You'll just need to stay here. I'll be back for you, once I've added Camilla's pattern to my own, and the Celesteans'. How about that, Jacob? Two gods in one person. Isn't that going to be grand?"
Smiling, he stepped into the swollen forest. Limbs bent to carry him, and he walked across the room like he was on a conveyor belt. The last I saw of him, he was whistling to himself, twirling the hammer like a gentleman's cane. Above, the canopy of trees pressed against the glass shell of the greenhouse. The building creaked, and then the panes splintered and burst.
A murder of crows swarmed in and followed Crane, loud and inky and black.
"We're going to make a deal, Jacob."
I had been daydreaming. Fever dreaming, maybe. There was a lot of my blood on the floor, and Crane's extraction had taken something very deep from me. I was hanging in the grip of his preternatural trees like a rag. When I looked up, it was all I could do to muster even faint surprise at seeing Veronica Bright standing on the platform, hands on hips.
"Veronica," I whispered. "Not sure I have a lot to offer."
