by Jo Zebedee
“Just the security team beyond the door,” said Hickson to the squad.
Team A stepped up to the door and silently carried out a weapons check. At Hickson’s nod, they burst through, a flash grenade thrown by the first disorientating anyone in the room.
A yell came and then the sound of return fire. Kare moved up to the door, crouching, his blaster out and ready, a grenade tight in his left hand, his thumb on the trigger.
One of the Empress’ soldiers snatched up the comms unit, ignoring the gunfire around him, his only focus on his job. Kare brought his blaster up, moving on instinct, but a shot aimed at him made him duck back, and his own shot went wild. Hell, they were screwed if a comms got out.
Kym straightened, fluid, paying no heed to the gunfire around her. She took the soldier with a casual grace, barely seeming to aim. He reeled back, hit the wall, and slumped to the ground.
“Nice,” said Kare. He ducked his head around the door, but Hickson’s men had the last of the guards in hand.
“I told you. I don’t miss.”
He nodded and stepped into the room with its three closed doors. He pointed Team A to the boardroom, Hickson to the sleeping quarters, and Kym to the living area. He could feel his mother’s presence, close, awakening; this was how she felt to others, a persuasive hum of awareness, always working her influence on those in the palace. If she had time, she’d work through the squad until all she had to do was open the door and ask for their weapons.
Not this time. He closed his eyes, feeling for the mesh, and reached, drawing into himself, the technique already automatic after only such a short time.
The mesh repelled him. He opened his eyes and blinked. Farran had said it might take a bit of effort to open the centre he’d closed so tightly two days ago, but he hadn’t said anything about being forced back.
“What is it?” asked Kym.
He shook his head. “Nothing. I just need a minute.” He concentrated on the sense of his grandmother’s chamber, its Seer’s prism defining the heritage he needed today, and found the mesh again.
Relieved, he tried to snatch it, but was forced back.
“What the hell?” Fighting panic, he took a deep breath, and reorientated himself. Once more, he dove into the mesh, the Roamers’ King, the living centre they needed to maintain their unity, and demanded it yield to him. Again, it repelled him. He felt around it, sensing the shape of it; the mesh was definitely keeping him out and away from what – who – was in its centre. He tried again, gentler, feeling for the centre instead of demanding to be it.
The shape of the person’s mind came to him, and he gasped – he’d know her anywhere. He pushed again, calling Kerra, telling her to let go, but she didn’t respond.
“What’s wrong?” asked Woods, her voice sharp. “We need to finish this job.”
“I know.” He met her eyes. “The mesh – my powers. I can’t get to them.”
“Can’t get to them? Why not?”
He shook his head, not able to answer. He was the Roamers’ King; the mesh should bend to him. A tickle of uncertainty came. On his last day on Syllte, he’d stood in the chamber the Roamers wanted him to take for his own as the final gesture he was one of them. He’d turned away, not ready to give up Kare Varnon, with his own heritage and background. Not ready to give up Ealyn and Karia, the outcasts, or forgive what had happened.
He thought of Kerra, piloting the Roamer ship. Her pleading eyes as Sonly had explained the pilot had offered to teach her Control, how she’d told Kerra she carried Ealyn’s blood and skills. He thought of his own sister, more like Ealyn than their mother, with the same skills as Kerra – the healing, the Control.
And he thought of Baelan, the cuckoo Kare didn’t fully understand, the lost boy with power seeping out of him. Baelan was his son, born of the mixed powers, and had more than his share of the Empress running through him. As did Kare; it was no coincidence he was the one facing his mother and seeking to end it. Of his family, only he had enough of her blood in him to do it.
Kerra was a Roamer, more than either he or Baelan ever would be. She could hold the mesh in a way Kare could never do, embracing it as he’d refused to. The mesh, it seemed, wanted that.
Coldness washed through him. It would use her as it had used the Queen, his grandmother. She’d abandoned her child for the mesh – what would it demand of Kerra?
He stared at the door, helpless to regain his powers. If he called off the assault, he’d never get another chance, but if he went ahead he’d be going in powerless, stripped of the reason he’d come himself to do this. The irony wasn’t lost on him – fate had known it had to be him, however he did it.
Kym hefted her rifle. “Well,” she said, “we’ll have to do it the hard way.”
He blinked; that was what Silom had said when he’d led the palace raid without the wounded Kare. He’d managed without his powers for ten years. He touched his blaster – he wasn’t helpless.
Taking a deep breath, he faced the door to the living quarters. He could feel hatred in the air and had no doubt his mother had found him. It gave a perverse pleasure to know he matched that hatred and more.
“Now!” he snarled. To hell with it, he’d still take the bitch down. The hard way, if he had to.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Phelps ran, feet pounding over hard sand. The Varnon girl’s eyes had shone with an intention he knew well from years of working for a psycher. She’d turn on him if he stayed, and no blaster would make a difference. His only hope was to get back to the tribes and track the children down with their strength of numbers.
He ran along the top of a ridge, looking back once, but there was no pursuit. He slowed to catch his breath. When this piece of work was finished, he’d have to find a way to free himself. Being the Empress’ henchman was destroying him, piece by piece.
Surely he was strong enough to leave. He could go back to Hiactol, take residence near the wooded vales of the northern territory, and stay there until he forgot the Empress’ hold and became something of the man he’d once been.
A gentle drumming sounded beneath him. He straightened, mouth dry. There were pockets in the sand below. He tapped the ground with his toe-capped boot, trying to find a solid way forwards. A soft cracking came from beneath him and he jumped back, looking wildly around for softer sand, a dune, anything he could jump to. The cracking sounds grew louder, more deadly than any bullet. Around his feet, the cracks widened. A clutterback nest.
The ground gave way with a sickening hiss. The sand sucked him into the cavern below.
He fell, landing hard on his shoulder, but rolled to his feet. The dark was quiet, waiting. He strained his eyes. It could be an abandoned nest, one already farmed for its pearls. After a few moments of silence he drew a deep breath; it was empty. He looked up at the hole he’d fallen through. It was at least four feet above his head; he’d have to find another way out. He walked forwards, hands out.
A scuffling sound stopped him. An echo, it had to be an echo. He went to move again, but the unmistakable click of a clutterback’s legs stopped him. He couldn’t tell if it was ahead or to the side. It grew louder, more than one spider, coming from the sides of the nest, the roof, all around.
The spiders came into view, each as high as his knee, legs bowed into great arches. One climbed across the hole in the roof, and the dim light dropped to a single crack in the darkness. He backed away, fumbling for his pistol, and pulled it loose. Stopped by the wall, he stood, breathing heavily. Scrapes and whispers came from the darkness.
The wall moved. He jumped forwards, but a leg draped over his shoulder, almost embracing him. A sharp sting impaled his spine, and he yelled at the pain. Wetness spread from his crotch. His hands went numb, making his weapon drop with a clatter. His legs gave way, the warmth of his piss vanishing into cold emptiness. Another sting, this one in his neck, and he arched. Another pierce, below his ear. He tried to scream, but cold was spreading across his face. He knew he was being pull
ed into the nest only because the crack of light in the ceiling faded. They descended on him. His paralysed eyes watched as they began to feast.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Baelan kept his head down and concentrated on the control panel. He’d told Kerra he could drive scoots, but he’d never driven one this size, and it was straining his arms to hold the steering column steady. His eyes flicked between the speed information, the nav-com data and the fast-approaching city.
“How are we going to get into Abendau?” he shouted. “I can’t take this through the tunnels.”
Kerra didn’t respond. He slowed the scoot and glanced over at her – she was staring ahead, eyes sharp and unreadable. He tapped her leg. “Hey! Belaudii to Kerra!” The scoot skidded and he had to grab the steering column to keep it on target. “How are we going to get into the city?”
“Through the main gate,” she said, as if he was stupid.
He brought the scoot to a halt, fighting its weight. “No way.” Didn’t she know what it was like getting into Abendau? Maybe, as a VIP, she didn’t understand how secure it was. Or how fond of their weaponry the gate guards were. “They’ll take us.”
“They’ll try.” A little smile danced on her lips. “They won’t get past me.”
She sounded nothing like herself. She was so sure of herself. Confident. He took in her stance, hunched forwards, her focus on the city. She looked older. He reached for her. “Kerra…?”
Shadows danced across her face, but she didn’t answer. He squeezed her hand, very gently. Perhaps she was in the mesh again. Perhaps he’d reach her more easily through it. He gritted his teeth and looked for the mesh inside him, and he could see it, zoned away where it was easy for him to ignore. Half-wincing, he took hold of it. He’d never liked the idea of all those minds, so close to his. It was the Empath in him, maybe – it was too much, to be so close. Still, needs must.
The mesh pushed him away. He nearly tipped off the seat. It had never done that before. He tried again and the rebuff came even quicker.
“Kerra,” he said. He raised his voice, and her eyes met his. “What’s going on?”
She was like a stranger, not the sister he’d spent the last couple of weeks with. “It doesn’t want you,” she said. She gave a little shrug. “It wants me.” She leaned forwards, her hair swinging over her face, and stared at Abendau. “It wants me to go to the city. It wants rid of the Empress. It will give me the power to do it.”
That was nuts. He had to stop her. She might think she was strong enough to take on the Empress; so had he, once.
“Kerra,” he said, picking his words. He was scared of her, he realised, and it wasn’t just because his own powers hadn’t come back yet. Even facing her with everything he had, he’d be frightened of her. “I’ve had the sort of power you have.”
He needed to get through to her, scared or not; there was no one else to do it. Somehow, reaching out to her made him more sure of what he wanted, less mixed-up and confused. Kerra was good fun; it was nice to have someone his own age to talk to, especially one who didn’t treat him like an outcast for being different. He wanted to find a way to be like she had been – relaxed and accepted, not twisted and confused. He’d thought, since hearing his mother and Phelps talking on the ship and realising more about where he stood and who he meant what to, that he might be getting closer to that place. To come close and then lose Kerra to her own mixed-up thoughts wasn’t something he wanted. He laid a hand on her arm. “If you give me a couple of hours, I’ll have my power again. It’s not enough. Not to take on the Empress.”
She laughed: high, almost mocking. Fear crept up his spine. Phelps had run from her, and he’d never seen Phelps frightened of anything. He’d stood up to the Empress and he’d never backed away from Baelan.
“You have never had power like this,” said Kerra. She picked out every word. “I can do anything. Don’t you understand?” She stretched her arms wide, as if taking in the expanse of stars above her. “The mesh, all of it, is the centre of me. It’s so much more than it ever was in our father.”
“But he’s the centre,” Baelan said. Realisation started to come, and it wasn’t good. “Kerra, where is our father? Is he in the mesh?”
“He can’t be. Like you, he doesn’t fit.”
Oh, shit. If he’d guessed his father’s plans correctly, he was relying on the mesh when he met the Empress – that was the only thing that made sense of the questions he’d asked Baelan.
“He didn’t want it.” She smiled, and it wasn’t a nice smile. “But I do, and I’m right for it.”
“But he needs it. To face the Empress.” And Baelan needed him to face her, if he had any hope of being free. He felt a tug of guilt at his selfish thought and blinked, surprised. Guilt wasn’t something he normally did.
“Not the way he used it.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “I’m going to him. I’m going to bring the power of the mesh to him.”
He let his hand drop from her arm. What should he do? He could refuse to drive, but what if she decided to go into the city on her own? He couldn’t face her down, not with the medicine still in him, and he wasn’t going to help anyone if he was fried in the desert.
“Why force the gate?” Maybe he could talk some sense into her, the way his mother used to when he lost control. “If we get into the city quietly, you could keep your power under wraps until we reach the palace.” She cocked her head, as if thinking about it. “Although I really don’t think you should go anywhere near the palace.”
“And leave Dad to face the Empress alone?” That, at least, sounded like Kerra. “She’d destroy him.”
“Then you should give him the power. The way it’s supposed to be.” He frowned and leaned closer. “How do you know he’s in the palace?”
“He tried to take the mesh back,” she said. A light danced in her eyes. “But it was wrong. That’s why I need to keep the shape the way it is, so the power lasts; he’d drain it, forcing it to his will.”
She was cracked in the head – right up there with the Empress, as far as he could tell.
“Our father needs the power, and you’ve blocked him?” He took a deep breath. Hopefully if she fried him, she’d do it quickly. “Are you crazy?”
She didn’t look angry. She didn’t look anything other than smugly right. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” Her eyes narrowed. “And if you’d done as you’d been told, we’d already be at the gate.”
Do as he’d been told. He was surrounded by megalomaniacs, between his grandmother and father, and now his sister. Let alone Sonly-the-supposedly-magnificent. It was beyond annoying. He crossed his arms. “Give Father the mesh. Now.”
“Drive.”
“Give it back to him. Think about it, Kerra. You’ll still have power, you’ll be in the mesh, it’s not like you’re losing anything.”
“And give up this?” Her eyes shone in the moonlight. “Would you give up your power?”
That stopped him. “I wouldn’t leave him in danger.” Was that the truth? If his father was in front of him, now, needing help, would he give him the power? Or would his oath come rushing back and force him to obey it? He hoped not. He met her eyes; he’d work out the truth later. What mattered is the Kerra he knew wouldn’t. “Yeah, I’d give him it.”
“You lie.” There was no doubt in her voice. “Now, drive.”
An impulse hit him, so strong that he took hold of the steering column, not able to stop himself. He wanted to wrench the scoot to the side, to refuse, but she was holding him, giving him no will of his own. This wasn’t Kerra, this was something else, something—
“Oh, it’s me, all right,” she said, laughing. “It was what I was born for.”
He drove, fighting her all the way, twisting to escape, but it made no difference. She might well be mad; he had no way to stop her.
They reached the gate. The scoot surged forwards. The guards yelled, shooting. Something exploded to his left, rocking the scoot, but he kep
t going, driven, as if a toy, by Kerra.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Sonly left the port by the main exit, head up and unbowed. Kare had been right. He’d said, the night in the cells, that the people of Abendau would not forget her. No matter that the Empress was back, spreading back through the city – ten years had changed things. Sonly had left her mark.
The security team from the port, faced with the media and a growing crowd, had been forced to let her pass and hand the problem to city security. By the time they’d arrived, she’d been deep in a crowd intent on safeguarding her. Short of inciting a riot – and the city’s security was thin during the changeover after the coup – there was no way to stop her. And certainly, given the number of news-drones now surrounding her, no way to do it quietly.
She made her way along Grand Boulevard towards the palace. Soldiers waited at the gate, but they showed no signs of being prepared to open fire. Emboldened, she put her shoulders back and marched to the head of the crowd, no longer bothering to hide in their mass. Ahead, a larger crowd had gathered in the centre of the boulevard, pennants waving, so vigourously that their tails snapped, snarling in the air.
The protestors’ faces were lit by small fires in braziers along each pavement; a traditional Abendauii protest march, then, with fire and voice and wind. To see it in the city the Empress held gave Sonly hope. When Kare had first taken the empire, such a protest would never have been dared. It seemed the Empress hadn’t yet dampened the people’s voice.
“That’s the main crowd. The best I could do on such short notice,” said Christophe.
“You did well.” He had, too; she counted several hundred protestors to join the hundreds, perhaps close to a thousand, already gathered around her. The people of Abendau didn’t want to go back to the old ways, it seemed. She remembered that Lichio had mentioned a protest planned, too – if it was another like this, the city’s authorities would definitely be kept busy.
