The Blood Debt: Books of the Cataclysm Two

by Sean Williams

  “That rules the tower out,” said the flyer, pointing.

  Shilly craned her neck to see. Smoky brown haze hid the details, but a small group of people appeared to be waving at them from the summit of the ruined city's watchtower.

  “Are they—?”

  “I hope not,” said Chu. “Look at the base of the tower.”

  She squinted to make out the details. The figures she saw were the same colour as the background stone, making their nature immediately obvious: they were man'kin. But what they were doing was less clear. They appeared to be circling the tower's ground level, stopping occasionally to strike the stone walls as though it was a giant drum.

  Not strike, Shilly corrected herself after a longer look. They were taking stones from the wall and flinging them away. Dismantle.

  “Can we get down there to help them?” she asked Chu, filled with horror at the thought of what it must be like on top of the tower while monsters did their best to collapse it.

  “I don't know.” Power surged through the propellers with a deep thrum. The dirigible's angle of descent steepened. Instead of travelling in a straight line, Chu guided them around a sweeping curve, with Marmion calling directions along the way. The gondola tipped and swayed like a ride in a fair. Tom's face turned greener than ever.

  Behind her, the wardens tied ropes to eyelets along the gondola's edges. Banner walked from knot to knot, testing them for strength.

  “I don't think it's them,” said Marmion as the tower came closer.

  “That doesn't matter,” said Shilly. “We can't just watch them die!”

  “Too late,” said Chu as part of the tower's wall collapsed. The structure tipped like a drunken sailor. The people on the top ran hopelessly back and forth. One fell off.

  Shilly couldn't watch any longer. Marmion was right. None of them looked like Sal, Skender, or Kail, but that was irrelevant. They were still people, and no one deserved to die in terror and agony.

  When she steeled herself to turn back, the tower was gone. Only a rising cloud of stone and mortar dust remained.

  “Now we know why Sal sent for us,” said Marmion. “The man'kin have gone on the rampage.”

  “Is there anything we can do to stop them?” Shilly asked, hoping it wasn't too late already. The thought of Sal on top of a tower like that, screaming, made her feel sick.

  “They are creatures of the Change,” Marmion said. “To kill them, you have to kill the Change itself, and that is obviously impossible.”

  “Not for the Homunculus.” A tiny candle of hope still burned in her chest for Sal; her sense of him remained undimmed. “Where it is, they'll be safe.”

  “And unable to call us,” said Tom, his face a mask of concern.

  “Yes, there's that.” Shilly craned as far as she dared over the edge of the gondola. The heavy lifter hovered directly over the city. She could see several man'kin wreaking desolation through the already ruined streets. Rubble lay everywhere she looked. It was hard in places to tell what damage was new and what the result of time and the weather.

  Twice more she saw people, none of them the ones she sought. Three ran out of a structure attached to the Divide wall and made a beeline for the edge of the city. A giant, lion-shaped man'kin chased them for a block, snapping at their heels. Its heavy tread brought down the remains of a nearby building. It stopped to perform an odd dance among the shattered stonemasonry while its victims took the opportunity to flee. Shilly shuddered to think what the man'kin might have done had it caught them.

  “Do you see anything?” asked Marmion.

  She shook her head. A half-dozen flyers had kept pace with them from Laure. They circled warily around the heavy lifter, distracting Chu. The one with an attitude problem had drifted away, possibly as struck as she was by the devastation below.

  “If we've come all this way for nothing—” Marmion started to say.

  “Wait.” Shilly took his arm. “Look!”

  One of the flyers on the edge of the ruin had suddenly dipped. It began to tumble, then just as suddenly recovered—as though it had left a bubble in which its charms had stopped working.

  Shilly knew only one thing that could have that effect.

  “The Homunculus! It's over there!”

  Chu looked to see where Shilly was pointing, then wrenched the controls of the heavy lifter. Ponderously it began to turn.

  “Be careful,” Marmion warned her. “Don't get too close. The wake extends further through air than it does across the ground.”

  “I know,” she said. “I haven't forgotten what happened the last time I flew over it.”

  The edge of the ruins came nearer. Shilly made out a long wall carved from the side of the Divide. It had cracked in several places, like a gap-toothed lower jaw. At first she couldn't see anyone, but then a huddle of people came into view, tucked inside the remains of a series of small buildings.

  She instantly recognised Sal by the colour and cut of his hair.

  “There they are!”

  “What do I do now?” asked Chu. “I can't get too close or we'll lose the rudder charms and the props.”

  Shilly scanned the area around the group. One solitary person crouched off to one side, perfectly still, but she couldn't tell who it was. A large man'kin was heading towards them, crashing through ruined walls like she would through stalks of wheat.

  “Let me think,” she said. “There has to be a way.”

  “You've ruined everything!” Pirelius snarled. The knife bit deeper into Kemp's neck, and the albino squirmed. “I should kill you all right now for what you've done!”

  “Calm down.” Sal held out his hands in a gesture of conciliation. “We didn't come here to ruin you. We just wanted our friends back.”

  “Liar!” Pirelius spat in the dirt between them. One eye was bruised and swelling. “She sent you. No one else knew I was here. No one else knew about the sink. No one else had a fucking motive. So don't feed me that crap, or I'll kill the freak!”

  “Got it.” Sal clenched his fists in frustration. The desperate fury in the bandit's eyes convinced him that the threat wasn't empty. Kemp's tunic was already dark with blood. A millimetre deeper and his life would be spilling onto the dirt. “What do you want?”

  “I want to make her pay.” Pirelius's crooked teeth flashed malignantly through the rankness of his beard. “You're going to help me.”

  “I don't even know who she—” He bit off the rest as the knife shifted again. “How are we going to help you?”

  “The man'kin are everywhere. They're bringing the whole place down.” The whiteness of Pirelius's eyes betrayed a hint of fear. “I don't know how she called them, but there's no way to fight them. I'm not going to die here. That thing is going to get me out of here.”

  Sal turned to the Homunculus, which was still effortlessly holding Shom Behenna in its arms. Its features shivered under the bright sun.

  “I may have lost the sink,” Pirelius went on, “but I'll have the next best thing. Your ugly friend here stops the man'kin cold in their tracks. With it I can get clean away, and she can't do a thing about it.”

  “We don't want to help you,” said the Homunculus.

  “You will if you don't want to see your friend here dead.”

  “He's not our friend. We don't know him.”

  “That's your answer, then?” Pirelius's nostrils flared. “If I kill him, it's on your conscience.”

  The Homunculus put Behenna down on the ground. “We have our own destination. You can travel with us, if you wish.”

  “Not good enough. I want revenge, and I know how to get it.” Pirelius dug the point of the blade into the muscle under Kemp's jaw. “I'm losing patience!”

  Heavy stone footprints thudded towards them from the other side of the wall. Sal backed away as a mighty stone man appeared, trailing a cloud of dust. For a moment he was sure that it would step right through them, but it hit the boundary of the Homunculus's influence and instantly stopped.


  Beyond its noble brow, he saw something even stranger: a blimp descending over the Aad with light flashing from its prow. Someone was holding a mirror up to the morning sun and using it to catch their eye.

  Pirelius hadn't spotted it. His attention was firmly fixed on the Homunculus.

  “All right,” it said, “we'll go with you. Set him free and we'll leave this place together.”

  “Oh, no,” said Pirelius. “It's not that simple. I saw what you did to Izzi in the cell. It's not going to happen to me. You.” He nodded at Skender. “Tie all its hands together and its feet in pairs. When that's done, and not before, I'll let the big freak go.”

  “I can't,” said Skender. “They helped us!”

  “You'll do it or I'll take you instead,” Pirelius snarled.

  Sal leaned in close to Skender and hissed in his ear, covering his words by rummaging in Kail's pack. He produced several lengths of slender, soft twine. Skender nodded, tight-lipped, and didn't argue.

  The Homunculus, whether it had heard or not, cooperated as they lashed its limbs together. Its flesh was cool and waxy to the touch, with no visible markings like tattoos or scars. Sal's hands moved quickly, conscious of the dirigible growing nearer over Pirelius's shoulder.

  He and Skender stepped back when the job was done. The Homunculus was as human as it had ever looked, although it still seemed to have too many eyes and mouths.

  “Right,” said Pirelius. “Come here.”

  The Homunculus obeyed. When it was within arm's reach, Pirelius put his foot in the small of Kemp's back and pushed him face-forward into the dirt at Sal's feet. The knife jabbed into the Homunculus's side as Pirelius tested the knots. Sal didn't know how much damage an ordinary blade could do to the artificial body, but it was clear the Homunculus wasn't prepared to take a chance. It was frozen—with fear or hopelessness, Sal couldn't tell. Perhaps both.

  He wanted to say that he was sorry, but there wasn't time.

  “Get ready to run,” he whispered to Skender as he helped Kemp to his feet. “We have to get out of the wake so the dirigible can come in closer, and I don't think our friend there is as dead as he looks.” The frozen man'kin swayed on the very edge of the Homunculus's sphere of influence, its eyes watching them unblinkingly.

  “How are we going to carry everyone?” Skender whispered back. Rope ladders dangled over the side of the gondola as it grew nearer.

  “We'll have to leave Mawson behind for the time being.”

  “It's been a pleasure doing business,” sneered Pirelius, shoving the Homunculus ahead of him. “Don't try to follow or I'll stick you like pigs.”

  Sal ignored Pirelius as he hurried away towards the Divide. The drone of propellers rose up out of the sound of stone smashing. He couldn't see the edge of the Homunculus's wake as Skender had in the Divide, but he could take a rough guess as to where it was. Kemp wordlessly wiped the blood from his throat and picked up Behenna. Skender put an arm around his mother and helped her stand straighter.

  “I'll go first.” Sal waved both arms over his head, away from the man'kin, hoping the pilot of the dirigible would understand. Seconds later, it did shift course, coming in lower over the ruins in the direction he had indicated. He tensed to run.

  Then, with a subtle grinding noise, the man'kin turned and took a step. Sal backed away automatically, even though he knew he was safe in the wake. He expected it to come between him and the dirigible, but instead it walked around the wake and followed Pirelius down the slope towards the Divide. Its step became thunderous. The bandit looked over his shoulder in alarm, and picked up the pace.

  “Maybe we're not tasty enough,” said Skender.

  “I don't care what it's doing. I'm just glad I'm not about to be squashed.”

  Sal helped Skender and his mother to the first of the ladders. Abi Van Haasteren was too weak to climb on her own, but allowed herself to be hauled up by the blue-robed wardens into the dirigible. Sal could see Shilly now, leaning out of the front of the gondola. He waved as Kemp and Behenna went up in the care of the Wardens, then he went back with the albino for Mawson.

  Later, he had told Skender. We'll come back for the Homunculus later.

  He was the last to leave the ground.

  We don't want to help you.

  You will if you don't want to see your friend here dead.

  He's not our friend. We don't know him.

  That's your answer, then? If I kill him, it's on your conscience.

  And the knife had dug into an innocent throat, drawing blood in a steady trickle.

  The Homunculus—

  —the Oldest One—

  —the Mirror Twins—

  —watched in despair as, yet again, they were entangled in another petty plot. One life was nothing when compared to the fate of a world. But who were they to claim the high moral ground if they failed to intervene when an innocent was threatened? They had seen in their own lives what one life might mean in the balance of things.

  We have our own destination. You can travel with us, if you wish.

  Not good enough. I want revenge, and I know how to get it. I'm losing patience!

  Death and torture. The new world was no different to the old one. They were part of it now, and innocence was purely relative.

  All right. We'll go with you. Set him free and we'll leave this place together.

  The decision was made. Only the details remained. They went passively along with what they were told to do, holding out their hands to be tied as though offering themselves for sacrifice. So long as the innocents went free, the rest could be worked out later.

  A giant stone form loomed over them as the knife blade transferred to their back. Its point brought back memories of winter in another world, of roaring metal engines and blood pouring in a stream to the ground. Images of death overwhelmed them.

  Paralysed by the past and trapped in the present, they let themselves be pushed into an uncertain future.

  This world-line is diverging even as we speak, so we have to hurry. We have to get out of here. Now!

  The words they had spoken to the shadow called Galeus remained as true as ever. Nothing was going remotely as planned. They had thought their troubles over when they escaped death on the top of the giant ravine, but the fallacy of that assumption had soon revealed itself. The bottom of the ravine was rugged and desolate. Strange creatures traversed it, creatures whose substance ranged from the nebulosity of air to the concreteness of stone. They felt themselves being watched from all angles. The ravine's inhabitants were drawn to and repelled by them at the same time. When the twins tried to approach, they shied away and vanished.

  Whispers taunted them from the edge of the lighted area surrounding them. The darkness ahead remained absolute. They felt more exposed than ever, and lonely. The latter surprised them. Was that all it took, one brief contact with the shadows, to make the twins miss something they had not experienced for eons?

  Friendship, companions, support…?

  We have each other, they reminded themselves.

  It wasn't the same.

  Then—disaster. Strangers leapt out of the jumbled ravine floor and surrounded them. A net swept over them, too strong to break, and tangled them in its cords. Voices snarled and blows fell. They were taken captive and locked in a cell.

  Brutality and ignorance. The politics of fear. The twins didn't know who was fighting whom, but they recognised victimisation when they saw it. The language of abuse was universal. They tried hard not to care. A higher purpose drove them. They couldn't afford to become mired in power plays. But they were human, despite everything. Deep down, they didn't want to stand apart from the world they were trying to save.

  Hey, you! You said you've met me before. Come out and talk to me, since we're such good buddies.

  Who is wrong here, Galeus?

  The question came from the twins almost unwillingly. And even as they asked it, they knew they were committed. But with commitment came confusion. Their thoughts
fragmented. If one person, undecided, could be said to be in two minds, did that mean that they were in four?

  Their new body strained to contain them.

  The world convulsed. For a moment, it seemed that all would come undone.

  When they returned, the world had indeed changed. They had allies, now. They weren't alone.

  The knife in their back prodded the twins forward. They stumbled, finding it hard to balance with their legs tied in pairs and all their wrists bound. What would their allies do now? Would they stage a daring rescue attempt? Would they trade someone else's life for theirs? Would the ones with knowledge of the Change exert their will over the world to save them?

  The twins tried not to feel resentment as Galeus and the others fled in a small blimp and sailed off over the ruined city, out of their sight. The twins had volunteered for this duty, after all. And they had lived longer than all of the others put together, even if most of that time had been spent outside the world. It was better than idly watching as blood spilled at the hands of a psychopath.

  The twins didn't know if their new body had blood, but they weren't prepared to find out the hard way. The distant past held memories of knife wounds for both of them. Blood and horror. Death and despair. Back when they had had names.

  You don't know what you're doing, they told the man at their back.

  Shut up or I'll put a hole in you.

  But we have somewhere to be. Somewhere important.

  So do I, and you're going to take me there. Get moving!

  The shadow pushed the twins forward, and they let momentum carry them, stumbling, along the streets of the city. They could hear the sounds of the ravine's inhabitants as they reclaimed the ruins. The shadows had called them by an unusual name. Mannequins, perhaps. They looked like nothing so much as statues come to life. The shadow with the knife seemed afraid of the ones in the city, although Galeus and his friends treated the one called Mawson with respect. It was difficult to understand the allegiances of those around him. The rules had changed.

  Names… Galeus's mother was among those the twins had helped to rescue. She was safe now, flying away in a blimp to somewhere called Laure. Laure was the city on the other side of the ravine. And Galeus's friends called him Skender for some reason. Names were slowly sinking in. The twins needed names if they were to get a handle on the new world, and on the doom that threatened it.