Book of Fire

by Michelle Kenney

  ‘How do we get back out?’ I asked, eyeing the sealed door with suspicion.

  ‘You don’t,’ Aelia muttered. ‘At least, not that way.’

  She frowned at August’s semi-conscious body slouched at our feet, and putting two fingers up to her lips, let out a shrill whistle. The noise was enough to prompt several strange clawing noises further down the dark dank tunnel, none of which filled me with confidence.

  I crouched down and put my palm against August’s brow. He was burning up.

  ‘Is it far to your doctor?’ I asked Aelia, unable to keep the anxiety from my voice.

  ‘Distance is the least of your worries. Just keep your fingers crossed Unus reaches us before the strix,’ she scathed, withdrawing a large serrated knife from her tunic top.

  ‘That might have been helpful in the lab!’ I nodded towards the ugly-looking blade.

  She drew up one side of her mouth in a swift sardonic smile, and my dislike for her intensified. She had no care for anything except her own skin, and I resolved to lose her as soon as I could.

  August groaned, and I leaned forward to pat him awkwardly. In a brief moment of inspiration I felt for his Diasord, but his slim bodysuit pocket was empty, he must have lost it in the lab while fighting. I kept my eyes trained on the dark gloom in front of us, taking care to stay in the small pool of light spilling through the grille.

  High-pitched raking and cawing noises echoed down the corridor, sending shudders down my spine. Suddenly, a huge bulky shape materialized out of the gloom, dragging something heavy. In a heartbeat I’d caught up a loose stone from the floor and loaded my catapult. It was a paltry defence but all I had left.

  ‘Unus!’ Aelia exclaimed. ‘I’ve a casualty for Tullius. Can you help?’

  The heavy shuffling shape stepped forward into our soft pool of light and I gasped. Shrinking back, I slowly digested this odd new creature staring solemnly back at me. It was huge, about three metres tall and a metre wide at its chest. Its basic physiology was also human: it had four limbs, a bulky powerful body and a head, but there the similarities ended; for the solemn face looking back at me had a unique difference: it had only one enormous, unblinking eye.

  ‘Cyclops?’ I uttered in a strangled voice.

  ‘Ha!’ Aelia scoffed. ‘Well, that was the aim but Specimen 136A didn’t quite fit its specification, did you, Unus? And so you were downgraded, like the rest of us.’

  Suddenly I had a clear insight into August’s aversion to the Prolet world; if Octavia dumped all her failed experiments there, an unblinking Cyclops might be the least of my problems.

  Unus grunted a response, and shuffled heavily towards August. I watched as the creature lifted him as though he weighed no more than a feather, and turned to place him on a long rusty trailer he was dragging.

  Then ponderously, he turned and started ambling away, pulling the trailer behind him. As it straightened out, Aelia leapt lightly onto the back and sat down, her elfin face twisted up into a smug expression. I cursed and scrambled to my feet, ran and leapt onto the protesting trailer beside her and August. I wasn’t stunned enough to turn down a ride through this freaky place.

  As the dank green-brown walls rolled by, my anxiety grew. First Grandpa and Eli; now Max and August. They were all in abject danger, and the most I could do was sit with only Aelia’s scornful face for company.

  My mind wandered to the moment when Max had kissed me in the laboratory, and I bit my lip. Had it been just the relief talking, or something more? I recalled his warmth, his reluctance to let me go, and felt a pink flush steal across my cheeks. I’d never even suspected he even liked me – not like that – although I had a sneaking suspicion Eli might have been more perceptive.

  The trailer was old and rusty, making the journey a jolting, noisy one, but I was glad of the rest all the same. Unus carried a weak light, which afforded some view of the walls around us, but very little beyond. August’s head rested heavily in my lap and he seemed to be slipping in and out of some sort of fevered delirium.

  I tried to soothe him, but the growing blue tinge around his lips sent fear darting through my exhausted limbs. The makeshift bandage was soaked through with blood, and tiny rivulets were escaping down his tunic. Silently, Aelia produced a piece of torn cloth and I padded out the bandage again, tightening it as much as I could.

  ‘How long?’ I asked abruptly, hating the need to ask her anything. She shrugged her shoulders, before throwing a narrow glance at August, making my blood boil with frustration.

  ‘Likely be the first time an Equite has ever needed a Prolet med,’ she muttered before returning to her sporadic exchange with Unus.

  I stared at the broad back of his shuffling form, and wondered what thoughts and feelings he possessed – a creature not of nature’s design, and yet sharing the same meagre pool of light as us.

  Seconds later my ears pricked up, there was new scuffling in the darkness ahead. Unus leaned forward and let out the deepest belly rumble I’d ever heard. It had the instant effect of making whatever was ahead of us shriek before running away, its numerous feet making odd, heavy, pattering noises. Afterwards, I realized it was the sound of claws raking a dirt floor.

  August moaned again, and I pressed his sweaty hand as the narrow tunnel finally opened out into a room with several exits. I cast my eyes around rapidly. The room was lit with burning torches, and covered in tiny scratches and indentations, which I suspected were made by the clawed creatures lurking in the darkness.

  The air was still putrid and I coughed to try to clear my throat. At this rate we would die from suffocation anyway. Unus pulled us across the dirt floor without slowing, and chose the narrowest of passages to follow. Uneasily, I let the flickering lights recede into the darkness again, feeling August’s uneven pulse grow more erratic.

  Our progress was punctuated by sporadic shrieks and squeals both in front and behind us now. At least whatever was living in these passageways was keen to stay out of Unus’s way, a sentiment I’d probably share if I wasn’t being dragged along behind like some forest kill instead.

  The path trailed downwards at a constant gradient, and the temperature had dropped dramatically. I pulled my bodysuit zip to the top before doing the same to August. He seemed to have sunk into a calmer sleep, but his breathing was shallow and rattling.

  ‘Aelia … I think he’s worsening,’ I whispered, fighting the panic climbing my throat. ‘Do you have any water?’

  But just as soon as the words left my mouth, the passageway opened out and a stream of fresh, filtered air and bright light hit me full in the face. I gasped in shocked relief, gulping back mouthfuls to rid my lungs of the suffocating tunnel air. For a few seconds I was too dazzled by the sudden bright lights in the cavernous ceiling to see anything, but when my eyesight finally adjusted, I stared in astonishment at the rusty-brown, jumbled hive Aelia called home.

  Random paths led off in every direction, into a maze of overhanging mud and stone buildings. There were none of the clean white lines of Pantheon and, if the noise was anything to judge by, none of its oppressive control.

  In the centre of the rambling sprawl, there was one huge construction that reached up like a gigantic insect. It was made up of large body sections, each a tree high, and supported by thick brown stone columns. A narrower tower protruded from the central section, culminating in a circular balcony. It had to be some sort of watchtower. About halfway down, connecting the thick tower with the rest of the metal structures, were a multitude of interconnecting walkways that regularly converged in treehouse-sized, brown boxes.

  The noise was near deafening: there was a whir of machinery, and a constant hum of voices and animals, punctuated by a regular booming noise from the opposite side of the city. I knew enough from the excavation work in the Ring to know it was the sound of mining, which explained their raw building materials. Occasionally, a flash of blue sparked upwards in the distance – clearly the Prolets were engineers as well as miners. But the most rem
arkable thing of all was the array of life, everywhere.

  There were people like me, mingling with creatures I recognized and more I didn’t. Two large elk clattered by, led by an old woman in a red knitted shawl. The animals had large upper lips, which hung oddly over their teeth, and when I stared at their clumsy walk I recalled a mythical creature with unjointed back legs – something called an achlis.

  A small boy with short goat-legs played hopscotch with two human children, while three squat dogs with no necks fought over scraps from a market stall nearby. A bright fluorescent cat glowered on an upturned basket on a window ledge above them, as a tiny monkey in miniature clothing doffed his hat to me. I gazed as his companion, pulling a small trailer, delivered his goods to a fat market trader with a greasy smile. It seemed even the Prolet world had its hierarchy.

  It was one giant, underground ants’ nest: dirty, noisy, and overpopulated – but alive, unlike Isca Pantheon.

  ‘Roots, roots!’ The thin man’s cracked voice focused my gaze on the narrow entrance of a small market square in front of us. I stared at the shrivelled, wizened vegetables just visible over the edge of his sack, and the interest his announcement created. Clearly, any sort of vegetables were a rarity here. A small crowd quickly gathered and I couldn’t help but picture Arafel’s market – open, green, and filled with sweet, plump fruit and vegetables.

  The collection of life around me was no result of the Great War; I knew that in a heartbeat. Instead, I was looking at the rubbish tip of Isca Pantheon, the creatures they’d created with their obsessive experiments, and then, for whatever reason, deemed of no value.

  It was almost crazier than Pantheon, but at least there was fresh air chasing away the sour, putrid smell of the tunnels. If I closed my eyes I could almost imagine myself outside. The thought set off a dull throb in my chest, before a quiet moan from August yanked me back to the present. Guilt flooded my veins. How could I have wasted a second staring at this chaotic underworld?

  ‘The doctor, Aelia?’ I ground the words through my teeth. She might have grown up in this colourful, upside down world filled with every oddity known to science, but she was still hard and selfish.

  ‘Tullius’s rooms are in T3, second floor. Follow the smell of disinfectant,’ she threw back as she began walking away. ‘Don’t dawdle, the Equite needs attention before daylight. Oh, and you’ll need to sweeten a satyr to move him!’ she added before putting her fingers to her lips and issuing another high-pitched whistle. There were several guttural grunts of reply, and about half a dozen goat-human creatures suddenly materialized, pulling trailers behind them.

  I gasped involuntarily. These creatures were like the small goat-boy playing hopscotch only so much bigger than the average Prolet or Arafel man. The first to reach me was a pure snow-white, with sharp turned-up horns growing out from his forehead.

  What was the reason for its ejection from Pantheon’s genetic elite? How many other failed experiments had been dumped here? The questions raced through my mind as it held its hand out, towering over me by at least two feet. I frowned at Aelia. She scoffed and threw me a small piece of circular brown metal from her own pocket.

  ‘I expect repayment … and I charge interest!’ she dismissed, before disappearing among the throngs of crowds in the market square.

  I placed the odd-looking piece of metal in the creature’s outstretched hand, which was as large as a water lily with dirty, blackened nails. I suppressed a shudder as it grunted and placed the coin in a coarse bag around its neck, its abdominal muscles rippling. This creature was the definition of brute strength, and probably no stranger to hard work either. My ears pricked up at the sound of a soft moan and I glanced back at August’s limp form. All this was taking too long.

  Biting my lip, I ran back around Unus’s trailer and slid my arms under August’s shoulders. He was a dead weight, and although I was wiry strong, my legs buckled when I tried to stand. Unus and the satyr swapped a grimace at my efforts. Then they reached forward, without so much as a grunt, and swung him weightlessly onto the new trailer.

  I leapt onto the back, and tried to cushion August’s head as the satyr pulled us swiftly into the busy streets. Thankfully the array of life was so diverse here that no one took any notice of a slight girl, with a satyr and trailer.

  Our journey was short, and within minutes the satyr was pulling us into a narrow walkway between large brown stone columns at the base of the main structure.

  Looking up, I was taken aback by how large and skilfully built the structures were. The Prolets had utilized every resource available to them, and the columns supported a succession of strong metal beams that were topped by sheets of the same metallic material. It gave everything a reddish hue. An image of my own woodland home flickered briefly though my head. The Prolet world couldn’t be more different.

  Suddenly, the trailer tilted backwards and I made a grab to steady myself as the satyr pulled up a wide stone walkway into an open dark arch. I gasped. Every inch of the inner walls were covered in vibrant art and pictures, and most of it was incredibly detailed scenery of the outside world before the Great War.

  There were green trees, open parkland, and huge tower blocks that had been our world before it had all happened. It wasn’t Arafel, but the cornflower sky looked real enough to touch. A shudder of claustrophobia waved through me and I forced myself to concentrate on August instead.

  T3 turned out to be Tower Three, accessible via a system of thick wire pulleys and lifts that took us to the second floor. I could see why Aelia had called a satyr now. There was no way I could have transported August through the busy maze of corridors that was Prolet headquarters. Unlike Octavia’s stark white, antiseptic world, these corridors were cosy, colourful, and full of noise. I couldn’t quite get used to the array of distorted creatures that kept hurrying past, but the hum of life was comforting. Prolet had a pulse that was missing in the domed world above.

  At last we reached the medical centre, located in a small block that looked out on the main watchtower. The entry point was a sparse, brightly decorated waiting area with a couple of doubtful chairs, and a suspiciously feline receptionist.

  ‘Dr Tullius … please? It’s an emergency!’ I rushed, indicating August’s limp form on the floor where the satyr had left him. My confidence hid my mounting panic. Could anyone in this chaotic place really help? Would they end up doing August more harm than good? Did I have a choice?

  The catlike woman cackled and swivelled in her squeaky chair to let out an ear-splitting whistle. I jumped sky-high. Did everyone have to whistle?

  ‘Tullius! Girl and a dead man to see ya!’ she yowled in a high-pitched voice, reminding me forcibly of Jas as a kitten.

  When a short individual with multiple appendages came rushing through a battered wooden door, I barely batted an eyelid.

  ‘Dead man? No dead man is carried out’ve Tullius’s office … ’less ’e comes in dead o’course.’

  He paused as soon as he saw me, and looked me up and down incredulously.

  ‘A Panno gell? What’s a Panno gell doin’ in Tullius’s office with a Panno … knight?’ he protested, waving his four arms dramatically.

  ‘I’ll not touch ’im if the ’thorities afta you – not worth Tullius’s neck. I’ve dunnit afore, out of kindness, but what did it get me? A one-way ticket to ’ctavia’s circus if I did it agen, that’s what!’

  I tried to interrupt but I could see words weren’t going to work, so I did what I’d been longing to do ever since I’d arrived: I yanked my bodysuit zipper down and pulled my arms free. It was such a relief and a glimpse of my bare brown arms surprised him long enough for me to speak.

  ‘I’m not a Panno girl. I’m not an anything girl – I’m from Arafel, the outside, and that Panno knight over there is bleeding to death this very second because he tried to help me. I don’t know what the authorities warned you, but surely you’ve sworn some version of the Hippocratic oath … though I suppose he was Greek … Look, pl
ease … Aelia said you would help us?’ I added, my voice rising in desperation.

  The change was instant.

  ‘You’re Lia’s people? The Equite an’ dumb Outsider? Well, I’ll be damned! I told ’er she was barking up the wrong mineshaft. There’s nothin’ out there but a wasteland I said! And yet, ’ere you are, with story enough to start a fight I’d warrant. Well, well why didn’t yer say so … ’stead of wasting precious time talkin’ about ol’ Greeks!?’

  I swallowed my indignation at Tullius’s reference to Aelia’s description of me. All that mattered was getting August help, and oddly, it did seem as though she’d warned Tullius we were coming. The creature turned swiftly and waddled over to August, revealing a short, stout, spiky tail beneath his white overcoat. I stifled a hysterical giggle. I was collecting a fistful of firsts, but seeking medical help from an overgrown insect threatened to top the list.

  He leant over August’s inert form and tutted, muttering under his breath. Then he lifted my makeshift bandage, and made more disapproving noises before turning his head and whistling shrilly. I jumped out of my skin for the third time, as two shorter multi-limbed creatures appeared and hoisted August onto a dilapidated stretcher, before disappearing into the next room.

  As the door closed, I was beset with new anxiety, I hadn’t come this far to abandon August to well-meaning giant insects. I jumped to my feet and ran to the door as the cat woman yowled disapprovingly. The door opened easily, and to my utter amazement, I stepped right into a shiny, immaculate operating theatre.

  I’d seen pictures of the old sterile operating theatres in Arafel’s rare medical books, and our own grass-roof first-aid hut was very basic by comparison. This room, on the other hand, was state of the art.

  ‘Right shoulder, severe puncture, suspected haemorrhage. Do you concur, Tullius?’ a familiar, unruffled voice perforated the air, and my gaze shot up to absorb the pristine white coat, the surgical gloves, and Aelia’s blue eyes frowning straight back at me.