The Blood Debt: Books of the Cataclysm Two

by Sean Williams

  Shilly followed the direction of his finger. On the wide, cracked plain below, she saw nothing that looked like a road leading to Laure, and not the slightest trace of Sal and Skender.

  She could read the latter evidence, or lack of it, two ways: that they were lying low as they tracked the Homunculus, or that the storm Sal whipped up had propelled them well out of sight. Either option left room for hope. She had no reason or inclination to consider other possibilities.

  “I think you're wrong,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Not about this. I think you're wrong about the Homunculus.”

  Kail placed one leather-booted foot on a boulder and put both hands on the raised knee. “In what sense?”

  “Let me ask you a question, first.” She dug the tip of her cane firmly into the dirt. “Were you really going to stand by and let Marmion kill the thing you've travelled a thousand kilometres to catch?”

  “It's not my place to wonder what he wants with it,” Kail drawled. “I'm just the tracker.”

  “But you intervened when he went to hit me. Why did you do that?”

  “Because if I hadn't, that would've been wrong.”

  “Can you understand why I'm a little confused?” she asked him. “Obviously I'm grateful to you for stopping things from getting out of hand, but I'd be happier if you could extend that charity to other creatures as well.”

  He regarded her for a long moment. “If that was the sort of stuff Lodo taught you, no wonder they kicked him out of the Haunted City.”

  “Was that why you did it,” she persisted, “because he's Lodo's nephew? Are you afraid that Marmion might do something he'll feel bad about later? Well, I've got news for you. After this, he and I are never going to be friends, no matter who we have in common. Not if the Divide swallows the world and we're the last people left alive.”

  Kail smiled crookedly. “I can assure you, completely, that when I acted it was not for Marmion's benefit. And if I were you, I'd never suggest to him that it was. I guarantee you it won't go down well.”

  She imagined it wouldn't. The odds of her mentioning Marmion's connection to Lodo were growing remoter by the hour. She would be happiest to forget the whole thing entirely.

  “I want an assurance from you,” she said, “that the Homunculus won't come to any unnecessary harm the next time it's in Marmion's custody.”

  “Why should I agree to that?”

  “Because we still don't know why Highson made it. Until he explains his motives, I'm prepared to give both of them the benefit of the doubt. Don't forget that he'd be dead now if the Homunculus hadn't carried him here.”

  “He might wish he was dead when he wakes up and Marmion starts questioning him.”

  “Either way, the truth will come out. Wait until then before judging. Okay?”

  He nodded wearily. “All right. I'll do that. Any other requests?”

  “Yes. I want you to help me convince Marmion to give up on going to Laure.”

  Prior to that moment, Kail had listened to her with a faintly amused air, as though nothing she said could surprise him. Now he straightened, and his long features creased into a frown.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because that's not where the Homunculus is going. And I think I can convince you.”

  “Go on then.” His tone spoke more clearly than his words. It said: This should be interesting.

  “Have you heard of the Aad?”

  He shook his head.

  “It's not on your map. It turns out that there are two half-cities here, not one. The half on the north,” she said, pointing into the hazy distance, “is Laure. The other is the Aad, a Ruin. Chu, the girl in the flyer, says no one goes there.”

  “If no one goes there, doesn't that invalidate your argument?”

  “Hardly. For starters, the Aad lies in the Homunculus's path, too, making it just as likely a destination as Laure. And I'd hardly call the Homunculus anyone, would you? There may be something in the Aad that you or I wouldn't recognise as important. The Homunculus may be looking for somewhere to hide.”

  “So it's shy. Do you really think that?”

  She shook her head. “I think that our new friends, the ones who buzzed us before, are from the Aad, and that they were coming to meet the Homunculus. Unfortunately for them, we got in the way. Now it's on the run, and they've gone back to where they came from. I don't have any doubt that they'll try again.”

  Kail nodded slowly. “Interesting,” he said, “but you're forgetting one thing. Just because these people have come from the Aad doesn't mean that that's where they'll end up. It could just be a staging area. Their real destination could be somewhere further afield. Like Laure.”

  That was true. “Even so,” she said, “if the staging area is there, at the Aad, and we're quick, we might catch them.”

  “We've got wounded to think of. We'll need to get them to Laure.”

  “But not all of us would have to go. In fact, the fewer of us there are, the more likely we are to go undetected. Say we took the buggy. Me, Tom, you, if you wanted—”

  Kail laughed at her, full-throated and long. There was no maliciousness to it, just broad amusement. A flush crept up her throat nonetheless; her mouth shut into a determined line.

  He clapped one large hand on her shoulder, sending a shockwave down her weak thighbone.

  “Shilly, you're amazing. You've seen what this thing is and what it can do; you don't know how many of its friends could be waiting for you in the Aad; yet still you want to charge on in with barely an ally beside you. Don't you think you're being a bit rash?”

  “I think this is an opportunity we'd be rash to dismiss,” she said, shoving his hand aside. “With Sal coming one way and us coming the other—”

  “We might find ourselves holding nothing but air.”

  “So we do nothing?” Frustration flared into anger. She felt that he was dismissing her suggestion without properly considering it. “We expect Sal and Skender to do it all on their own while we twiddle our thumbs in Laure?”

  “That's not what I'm suggesting in the slightest. Yes, we go to Laure, but don't think I intend to leave it at that. Remember: get there and we'll have the resources of a small city behind us. Doesn't that sound a little more appealing, my friend?”

  She stared at him, trying to tell if he was fobbing her off with empty words. His deeply etched features seemed sincere enough.

  “I am duty bound to do the Alcaide's will, as channelled through his loyal representative.” Kail's nostrils flared. “But I can promise you this: I'll also do my level best to ensure that Sal and Skender—and the Homunculus, if it matters to you so much—aren't left in the lurch out here. Do you believe me?”

  She did, although she didn't want to admit it. It unnerved her that he could so easily turn her around when she had been so sure of herself. There was something about him that made her believe him.

  Maybe, she told herself, it's just because what he says makes sense. If only Marmion had half his brains…

  “Very well,” she said. “I'll take your word on this. But if you let me down, you'll regret it.”

  Without a trace of irony, he said, “I'm sure I would.” His gaze left her and took in the distant smudge that was their destination.

  Shilly reconciled herself to the change of plans and did her best to swallow the worry she felt for Sal. She was still angry at him for leaving so precipitously. Why couldn't they have gone to rescue Skender's mother together? What was the big rush? The temptation to turn her frustration back on herself or those around her was very strong.

  We'll be back for you soon, she called to him, although she knew her mental voice went no further than the inside of her skull. Be safe until then, my love.

  “Of all the new creatures contending with Humanity for dominion of the Earth, the man'kin are the worst. Fashioned after us, yet owning none of our civilisation, they deserve only the hammer and the chisel. Talk to one at you
r peril, for lies spill from their lips instead of breath.”

  THE BOOK OF TOWERS, FRAGMENT 177

  Just don't fall.

  Simple words; an even simpler instruction; but surprisingly hard to obey when strapped to a wing that seemed to have a mind of its own. Sal opened his eyes a crack and instantly squeezed them shut again. The ground was spinning around him. He didn't think it was supposed to be doing that—and he was certain he didn't want to be so close to it while it happened.

  “Can I help?” He yelled the words over the sound of the wind flapping and snapping past the wing.

  “I don't know,” Skender yelled in his ear, flinging his weight from side to side. “This is harder than it looked.” Sal heard his old friend's desperation as clearly as he heard the wind. Each movement seemed to overcorrect a previous mistake. It was impossible to find an even keel.

  Sal hung on to the straps for all he was worth. The Change thrummed through the charms on the wing, sending a strong vibration up his spine. He sought a way to shore up the charms, since he couldn't do anything for Skender at the control end. If it had been a case of brute force alone, he might not feel so useless.

  But that route proved futile. The charms were elegantly fashioned, intricate things, relying on balance and delicate synergies to keep gravity at bay. His blunt intervention might unravel them all and send him and Skender to their deaths. If Shilly had been there, maybe…

  He dared another glimpse. The Divide cliffs were horrifically near. Skender avoided colliding with an upthrust stone spar by bare centimetres, and then only to plunge even closer to the ground. They lurched upwards like a drunken bee, almost tipping over in the process.

  Sal had to think of something, fast. He could assist neither Skender nor the wing itself, but there had to be another way. The Change was in everything; surely there was something else it could act on to help them out of this predicament.

  Of course. He took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts.

  It was hard to ignore the chaotic tumbling—or the fear that they might be dashed to the ground at any moment—but he did his best. He needed to focus on the world in a less emotional way. He needed to become part of it, to insinuate himself into it as he had insinuated himself into the mind of the seagull over the beach in Fundelry, days ago. He felt the sun's warmth beaming down on him, the bluff solidity of the Divide's southern wall nearby, the erratic snatching of the wind at his hair…

  The wind.

  He imagined being back on the vivid beach, down in the core of himself where ocean and bedrock met, and took what he needed. It was more than he had taken for many years, and he bent it to his will in ways he hadn't attempted since leaving the Haunted City: the Change came with seductive ease, fuelled by a desperation as strong now as it had been then. Power crackled through him like a bushfire through scrub.

  The world responded instantly. The wind stiffened around them, filling the wing and lifting it higher.

  Skender took advantage of the sudden development. The wing stabilised and its movements became more confident. Sal dared to open his eyes and found himself almost level with the top of the Divide, wobbling over the pitted, scarred ground below. He was far too high to feel comfortable, but at least they weren't about to crash headlong into solid rock. Giving Skender breathing space in which to recover his wits was the important thing.

  Sal's old friend gasped in his ear. “Did you—?”

  He got no further. The air temperature suddenly dropped. The sun vanished behind a cloud that blossomed out of nowhere directly overhead, as deep and black as night. Lightning flashed, blinding Sal and deafening him with its thunder. The wind that had so welcomingly filled the wing now blew at gale force, threatening to smash them from the sky.

  Yadeh-tash, the tiny stone pendant around Sal's neck, quivered violently, telling him that a storm was coming.

  Too late, thought Sal, cursing the unpredictability of the elements. It's already here!

  Skender sent them sharply downwards, out of the roiling vapour. Lightning flashed a second time. Freezing droplets of water materialised out of thin air, instantly soaking them. The boom of thunder pursued them as they dived for the relative safety of the ground. Sal felt the fury of the storm at his heels, and remembered then why he only attempted such things when driven by the direst of need.

  The weather became less choppy away from where the black clouds pressed like billowing sails at the edge of the Divide. Skender didn't keep them aloft any longer than they had to be. Once they were level and a suitable place to land appeared, he dipped them lower by increments until they were barely skimming the sand. A sharp tug brought the wing up, catching the air and delivering Sal and Skender to a stumbling, awkward landfall.

  One last rumble, as though from a giant's belly, saw the unnatural storm unravel. Yadeh-tash became quiet as the threat of rain passed. By the time Skender pulled Sal free of the harness, the sun had come out again.

  Sal collapsed gratefully onto the sand and wiped the water from his eyes. He was glad that their impetuousness hadn't resulted in injury or death, but he was bone-weary from the effort. The core of him was drained.

  “Sayed, was that you?”

  The voice came from Shilly, through Tom again. A sheet of imaginary “I” and “H” shapes rained down behind his eyes as the charm took effect. The touch of her mind brought home the fact that they were far apart, and that without her things always seemed to go wrong.

  Sal clutched at the last dregs of his wild talent to reply.

  “I didn't want to give you a fright. Sorry about that. A bit of a rough landing, but we're okay now.”

  “Save your strength,” she replied. “I just wanted to check.”

  Then she was gone and he was able to relax—in a manner of speaking. He was stuck on the bottom of the Divide with no easy way out, no clear destination, no supplies apart from the water bottle slung around Skender's neck, and with no clear idea of exactly what he was chasing. But it wasn't all bad news. The ground beneath him looked perfectly ordinary; the dirt was dry and fine-grained, a greyish yellow in colour. He sniffed, and noted that the air smelled oddly of ancient ashes. A constant tingle of the Change surrounded him, but none of the legendary creatures for which the Divide was famous were in evidence, and nothing inanimate seemed likely to devour them in the next moment or two. He figured he could pause to catch his breath.

  “Are you okay?” asked Skender. Somehow the wing had collapsed down to a roughly person-sized bundle. It lay on its side while Skender leaned over him, looking concerned. The black lines that had covered Skender's face and hands had vanished. His eyes had returned to normal.

  “I'll be fine,” Sal said, knowing it to be true. The blood on his tunic belonged to Chu. “Just give me a sec to recover.”

  Skender did that, although he was obviously restless to get moving. Sal watched him as he took his bearings and climbed a nearby mound to seek the Homunculus. Skender tested moving his shoulder and winced.

  In his youth, Skender had been round-faced and crazy-haired. Some of that baby fat had burned off in his teens, but his features remained broad and homely and his dark locks rioted with the same lack of discipline as ever. His skin was even paler than Sal's, marking his Interior origins. He didn't seem to be much taller than he had been when Sal last met him.

  Skender performed a minor charm to test which direction he was facing. Sal wondered about the tattoos he had seen on Skender's skin. Skender was well trained and educated but lacked the depth of talent Sal possessed. Where had he found the capacity for such powerful Change-working as flying the wing? However, these questions could wait. There were more important mysteries pressing for Sal's attention.

  “Tell me about your mother,” he called.

  “She went missing around here somewhere,” came the reply.

  “Surveying, I suppose.”

  “Yes. I don't know what for. I came to find her, but haven't had much luck yet. I presume you haven't seen her.”
>
  Sal remembered Abi Van Haasteren from his journeys in the Interior. A tall, proud woman in ochre robes, she had been with Sal and Shilly before the Cold Moon Synod in the city of the Nine Stars.

  “If I had seen her,” he said, “I wouldn't be looking for her now.”

  “Right.” Skender descended from the mound and came over to join him. The sudden wash of moisture in the air had made the dust on his face and robes streak. He looked like he had been roughhoused by mud monsters. “Thanks for that,” he said. “I don't think I would've got even this far on my own.”

  “You never know. You were always pretty resourceful.” Sal held out a hand, and Skender took it with both of his. “It's good to see you again.”

  They gripped each other for a moment, and Sal wondered where the two kids they'd been had got to. When had they grown up and started rescuing their parents, not the other way around? The years between then and now didn't seem numerous enough to account for the transformation.

  Yet it was still Skender standing before him, and he was in just as much of a hurry as he had ever been, although for different reasons. He was bruised and his clothes were ragged. The dazed edginess Sal had seen in his eyes on the lip of the Divide was quite gone.

  Sal allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. “Okay,” he said, brushing himself off and trying to get his breath back. “Where to?”

  “There are tracks heading towards the Aad,” Skender said, pointing northeast along the Divide. “That's the other half of Laure, where I think Mum was headed when she disappeared. It's a Ruin of some kind.”

  In the distance, he saw that the mighty cliff wall on his right had subsided down to the level of the valley floor before abruptly turning southwest. There, where the shattered slope met the plain, Sal saw a field of tumbled masonry. That, presumably, was the outskirts of the ruined city.

  “Off we go, then,” he said. “Easy.”

  “They're not human tracks.”

  Sal followed Skender to the marks and saw instantly that he was right. The imprints were perfectly triangular and deep. Whatever had made them was very heavy. Three lines did indeed lead towards the Aad.