The Blood Debt: Books of the Cataclysm Two

by Sean Williams

  “Where's the Aad?” he asked, worried they might be heading to Laure's ill-favoured, haunted half.

  “To our left, a kilometre or two away.”

  “You're sure?”

  “Absolutely. The only thing out there,” she said, pointing directly ahead of them, “is dirt and scrub.”

  “Not any more.” The light was faint but not an illusion; more yellow than a star and too fine to be a fire. As they flew closer, it resolved into two lights, not just one. They were spaced evenly apart and seemed to be moving, rocking from side to side.

  “What is that?” she asked. “Some sort of vehicle?”

  “That's what it looks like.” Skender pictured a buggy or truck bouncing across uneven ground with headlights on.

  “Could it be your mother?”

  He shook his head. “She travelled by camel. And even if she hadn't, how would she get up here?”

  “There's an old road cut into the side of the Divide not far from here. It's steep but not impassable.”

  He watched the lights moving nearer, curious about their origin. They probably belonged to an isolated traveller whose presence had nothing to do with him and his mission, but they still piqued his interest. Why would someone be driving so close to the Divide in the middle of the night? Where man'kin, dust devils, and ghostlights walked, worse creatures no doubt followed.

  They flew directly over the vehicle, too high up to make out any details but close enough to see that it was a buggy large enough for four people. An additional two sets of lights glimmered to the south: more vehicles out on a midnight journey.

  Then the wing caught a rising gust from the edge of the Divide and they banked sharply around, losing forward momentum. Skender mentally kicked himself for neglecting his duties as wind-watcher. He reminded himself that staying aloft was much more important than the identity of the people in the vehicle below.

  “Take us left and down,” he said. “We can pick up speed and head back, if you want.”

  “Getting tired?” she asked.

  He didn't bother lying. “You better believe it. It's been a long day.”

  “And we've got a longer one tomorrow.” She reached over her shoulder to pat his face. “All right. I'll take pity on you. Back we go for a nightcap, then some shut-eye.”

  “A quick nightcap,” he said.

  “Sure. That seems to be all you can handle.”

  She chortled to herself as they glided silently over the buggy, far below.

  “Humanity is a fearful species. For every fear we know, it is said, there are a dozen monsters who prey on it—and all of them, at some point or other, have called the Divide home.”

  THE BOOK OF TOWERS, EXEGESIS 17:7

  Shilly stirred in her sleep, dimly aware of the buggy bouncing over rough ground, its engine growling and rhythmic through the seat's thin cushioning. The dream had her in its grip and wouldn't let her go.

  She was standing in a wide expanse of yellow sand, a vast basin that seemed perfectly flat at first, but was in fact rising up around her. She felt like a grain of wheat in a vast, empty silo. The sand began moving, shifting and tumbling as though blown by a breeze. The breeze grew steadily stronger, sweeping in circles like the currents of a willy-willy. Sand danced higher and higher, then rose in a funnel, getting in her eyes and nose. She felt the ground being sucked out from under her feet, giving her the impression that she was sinking. Blinking and coughing, she crouched down and put her arms over her head.

  Then a clear space opened around her. Thinking the maelstrom of sand had eased, she opened her eyes and peered out between her fingers. She huddled in the calm centre of the whirlwind, surrounded by rushing sand. The funnel extended upwards in a sinuous cylinder, flexing and writhing as it vanished into darkness far above her head. She stood slowly, incrementally, ready to bunch up again if the vortex collapsed.

  It didn't. The sand-laden wind hissed at her like a thousand snakes and kept its distance.

  When she reached her full height, she realised that she wasn't standing on sand any more. Under her feet was stone as black as the summit of the storm. It felt rough and warm against her soles, fresh from the heart of a volcano. There were three lines carved on it, deep gouges she could have stuck her thumb into, had she a mind to. The lines formed a triangle as wide across as her outstretched arms. She stood in the exact centre.

  The eye of the storm widened and the sand retreated with it. More lines appeared, forming interlocking symbols of fiendish complexity. The wind picked up in volume and lightning flashed overhead. Thunder boomed so loudly it hurt. She swung her head from side to side, trying to memorise the pattern hidden under the sand. To her left was a series of spirals that interwove and overlapped to form an eye-bending illusion full of sharp angles and multiple intersections; to her right an infinite variety of rectangles somehow combined to form circles and sweeping curves. She despaired, knowing she couldn't possibly hold all of that in her mind at once. She wasn't Skender. She needed more time!

  Time is running out, said a woman's voice. Her own voice, but withered and dry as if from the throat of an ancient crone. Do it now, or not at all.

  It's too much.

  You have to!

  But I can't!

  Shilly fully woke with a jerk. The sound of the storm became the sound of the buggy's engine. For a long moment she was disoriented. Rough ground sent her rocking from side to side. The stars were brilliant, barely dimmed by the moon. She stared up at them as she tried to gather herself, the cool air in her eyes evaporating the last shreds of sleep.

  Something black and crescent-shaped slid in front of the moon.

  She gasped and sat upright, pointing. “What the Goddess is that?”

  Sal, behind the wheel of the buggy, slammed on the brakes. “What? Where?”

  Shilly stabbed at the sky, following the black shape with difficulty across the starscape. “Up there! Something flying!”

  “Where?” Warden Banner climbed onto her knees on the front passenger seat. Her eyes swept the sky. “I can't see it.”

  “There!”

  Tom, slumped over on the buggy's rear seat, made a clumsy attempt to sit up. “What?”

  The blackness of the sky confounded her. For a moment, she saw it again, silhouetted perfectly against the starscape. Then it disappeared and she couldn't find it.

  “A bird?” asked Sal. “An owl, perhaps, or a bat?”

  “No,” she said, “its shape was all wrong. Bigger.”

  “Are you certain of that?” Banner was looking at her. “Where is it now?”

  “I—I don't know,” she said, turning her head in increasing arcs. “It really was there. I swear it.”

  But even as she said the words, she realised how they sounded. She slumped back into her seat.

  “You were asleep,” the warden said, touching her arm reassuringly. “You were dreaming.”

  “I was dreaming, yes, but that was about sand and a voice, or something. But then I woke up and I saw—that.” She gesticulated helplessly. If they hadn't seen it themselves, she would never be able to convince them. In their shoes, she would have thought the same. “Hell, maybe I did dream it.”

  “No,” said Sal. “There is something there.” His eyes were closed; she could feel him searching the sky with senses other than sight. The engine chugged patiently in neutral. “Something…” He opened his eyes and looked at Shilly, then Banner. “It's going away. I don't know what it was, but I think we should wait here for the others to catch up. Just in case.”

  Banner didn't argue. “Whatever you say. How close are we to the Divide now?”

  “Very,” said Sal. “We would have had to stop soon anyway.”

  “Is it the Homunculus?” Shilly asked, feeling nervous in the empty, cold night.

  “I don't know.” He reached diagonally across the buggy to grip her arm. “But I think we're safe. Are you sure you're feeling all right?”

  His warm hand and the concern in his voice soot
hed her somewhat. “I'll be better when this is over and done with. Can you feel Highson nearby?”

  Sal shook his head. “Not even faintly.”

  “That's either a good sign,” she said, standing up to stretch her legs, “or it's not.” She stuck out her tongue to take the sting off the sarcasm. “If we're stopping, I'm going to find a bush.”

  “Don't wander too far,” warned Banner.

  “I won't,” she said, thinking with a frisson of fear how awful it would be to take one step in the wrong direction and topple into the Divide. Sal returned her stick with a worried look. Parched pebbles crunched crisply underfoot as she stepped out of the buggy and hurried into the darkness, keeping one eye on the sky as she went.

  The headlights of the search party glowed over the southern hills. While they waited for the others to catch up, Tom checked the engine and chassis to make sure the buggy had weathered the rough journey intact. Sal, feeling restless, unfastened the second headlight and swept its beam across the barren landscape. The light was firm and steady, sending back tiny, gleaming reflections. Chips of quartz, Sal assumed, or the eyes of desert-dwelling wolf spiders. He walked a short distance away from the buggy, and stopped to take his bearings.

  The road they had been following had kinked northeast two kilometres earlier. Rather than head in that direction, they had aimed west for the Divide across country, in accordance with Marmion's instructions. How far they were from reaching the edge of the Divide, Sal didn't know, and he was curious to find out.

  No one protested at his leaving the buggy, so he turned and kept walking. Whatever it was Shilly had seen, the last vestiges of it were long gone. He felt completely safe in the darkness with the light to guide him. He kept the beam moving, covering every direction ahead of him. The landscape was blasted and flat. If the Homunculus had somehow gotten in front of them and was lying in wait for him, it was either invisible or coloured exactly like dirt.

  He walked in a straight line until the ground ahead of him fell away sharply. He slowed and checked his footing more thoroughly. How steep the drop-off was, he couldn't tell. There was no point taking unnecessary risks. Still, he approached as close as he dared to the edge of the Divide and played the beam of light out into the darkness, imagining that he could see the distant oval it cast on the ground far below. It probably wasn't a good idea, advertising their presence like that, but he was keen to see their destination. As it was, the only thing visible was the faint glowing smudge of Laure, far away, like dawn on a dead land, almost directly north. He thought of blood and the yadachi. Banner's statement that they weren't vampires held little currency in the blackness of night.

  “It doesn't seem to worry you,” said the warden from behind him.

  He jumped at the sound of her voice, then laughed at the fright she had given him. He had been conscious of what lay ahead and to either side but he hadn't been paying attention to what was behind him.

  “Goddess, you startled me.”

  “I guess that sets me straight,” she said with a small laugh. “It worries me, too. When I was a girl, my mother used to tell me that the desert mice near the Divide never died. They'd live on and on, jealously guarding their territory, until they were so withered they looked like tumbleweeds. They haunted their territory for eternity, scratching and biting anyone who trespassed. She said that people couldn't live near the Divide for the sound of the mice clicking their teeth at night and scratching at the door to get in.” She looked around her and shuddered. “I know it's probably nonsense but part of me will always be the little girl she told that story to. It kept me awake in bed every time a branch tapped at the window.”

  “And now here we are.”

  “Yes. Here I am.”

  Sal turned back to the apparently endless gulf before them. The night was silent and still, but somehow he could hear the emptiness of the Divide. There was no echo at all.

  “I travelled a lot with my father,” he said, “when we were on the run from the Syndic. We spent most of our time in the borderlands, going from town to town, although we never came this far east. The Divide was always close. Dad told me that it's like a brown snake: if you leave it alone, it won't harm you.”

  Banner looked puzzled. “You did this with Highson? I had no idea.”

  “Not Highson. The man who raised me as a father.” The man who loved me and taught me, he thought, and who died for me in Fundelry. Remember him?

  “Ah, yes, of course.” She nodded. “Dafis Hrvati. I never knew him.”

  Sal forced down his acrimony. She didn't deserve it.

  “Let's go back,” she said as a horn honked behind them.

  Sal looked over his shoulder and saw the two Sky Warden buses pull up to the buggy. Their headlights cast long, insectile beams through the dusty air. Sal raised the glowstone in his hand and flashed it at them. He could just make out Shilly in the buggy, waving back.

  Marmion was pacing between the two buses when they returned, issuing orders and overseeing the unloading of their matériel from the covered rear trays. Kail stood to one side with his arms folded and eyes closed, as immobile as a statue. Tasting the night, Sal thought.

  Shilly's expression was vexed. “See if you can find out what's going on,” she said. “Marmion won't talk to me.”

  Sal strode up to the Warden and confronted him. “What can we do to help?”

  “Nothing,” Marmion replied. “You're not trained for this. Just keep your heads down and let us do our job.”

  Sal spoke softly so his threat wouldn't be overheard, but loud enough that it couldn't be ignored. “You'll make us part of this or I'll yell so hard every Stone Mage and yadachi for five hundred kilometres will come running.”

  Marmion looked at him with cold and calculating eyes. “We're building hides,” he grated. “Camouflage shelters. Between us we can cover two kilometres of the edge. Kail thinks that will be enough. You and Shilly can take the northern end, if it'll make you feel better.”

  “It will. If we see the Homunculus, what do we do?”

  “You'll let us know and we'll handle it. The same if you see your father first. Understood?”

  It sounded a flimsy plan to Sal, but he didn't want to push any harder. He nodded. “If you show us how to erect the hides, we can help with that.”

  “I'd rather you stay here for now, to watch the buses. Tom says Shilly saw something. I don't want to take any chances on losing our only way home. Will you do that?”

  Sal nodded again. That made sense, despite his conviction that the thing Shilly had seen was long gone.

  “Good. Then let me get on with my work.” Marmion turned away and went back to yelling orders. Sky Wardens scurried around him, building piles of yellow tarpaulins and frames. Sal watched them for a moment, feeling impotent, then went back to sit with the buggy.

  The Wardens worked into the night. Shilly was glad that she hadn't been called on to help. Her leg wouldn't have lasted long under the burdens Marmion's lackeys hurried off with. No one was entirely sure how far ahead of the Homunculus they were, but the lights were dimmed to prevent giving away their location. It wasn't possible to dim them entirely—they needed the light to work by—but Kail hoped the creature would assume any faint glow belonged to Laure, if it caught sight of them.

  Shilly marvelled at the complete ignorance of the Wardens as they laid their strange trap. The thing inside the Homunculus could have been blind for all they knew. It might have smelled or heard them already, from kilometres away, and altered course to miss them completely. But she could appreciate the position they were in. They had been charged to catch a thing they knew nothing about—not even its shape—before it killed anyone else, and they would do that to the best of their abilities. What would happen if it evaded them again she didn't know. Would Marmion be as desperate as Shom Behenna had been, years ago? Would he cross the Divide and enter the Interior just to follow orders?

  She couldn't tell. Lodo's nephew kept himself carefully at a distanc
e from her and Sal, and she didn't push anything. It wasn't the dismissal of her that bothered her most. It was the dismissal of Lodo, the man who had been Marmion's mother's brother. Wasn't Marmion interested at all in his uncle's life since he had been exiled from the Haunted City? In his death? In the years in between? She couldn't imagine not wanting to know about the fate of a family member. She didn't know how Sal and Highson had stayed sane the last five years, knowing each other was out there, somewhere, and doing nothing about it.

  The only time Marmion spoke to her was when he came to assign them their hide. After a brief explanation of how the pieces went together, he told them that they had been allocated a position almost a kilometre away.

  “So, if you carry the canvas and struts to that location and—”

  “We'll take the buggy,” Sal interrupted him, “and Tom.”

  Marmion was obviously tempted to force the issue, but let it go.

  “We have a cover for the buggy. You'll need to take that, too. I want you out of sight before dawn. If you see or hear anything suspicious before then, use this.” He handed Tom a small glass sphere. “You'll find flares bundled up in the canvas as well. Either way, we'll come running.”

  They nodded their understanding. Tom gave Shilly the sphere for safekeeping and helped Sal load the collapsed hide into the back of the buggy. Kail looked up from his examination of a chart as the engine caught, and saluted farewell. With a slight spin of their wheels, they headed off into the night, heading northwards parallel to the Divide.

  “I don't suppose you've dreamed what's going to happen,” she said to Tom.

  The young Engineer shook his head. “Something about this place looks familiar, but I don't know why. I think I'm seeing it from the wrong angle.”

  “From Laure, perhaps?” asked Sal.

  “No. From above. I think I was flying in the dream.”

  “I'm usually flying in my dreams,” said Shilly. “Except when I'm falling. And just lately it's been nothing but sand, sand, sand.”