She found a rock and beat on the lock. The rock shattered in her hands after a few tries. Another rock fell apart to no effect as well.
She switched tactics. She beat on the wood. The rock crumpled the fire-weakened timber.
And Wind brought out what she sought.
It had been her mother's. The women of the village were the warriors, the men the peacemakers. It was the division that had always been – and the way she had thought it always would be. Not that they had to fight off many people in recent memory. The Empire brooked no armies but its own – and she now saw why.
But there were the occasional bandits. The few bands that still managed to cause trouble for the villages in this area.
And her mother had worn this armor. This silver breastplate, these silver greaves and gauntlets. The mask that showed no emotion.
Wind brought them out, and hauled them to the Small Cathedral.
She and Cloud left soon after that. They said goodbye to the priest whose name they never knew. They traveled, and grew.
And one day another priest came. He said his name was Brother Scieran, and he had heard of them. And would they come with him?
They came. They followed.
They fought.
She wore the armor, and she fought the Empire that had killed her family, her people.
And still she heard the screams.
The screams lessened when she was working on a job, carrying out an assassination or stopping some noble from working his mischief, and even then they still sounded in her mind. They still tugged at her soul.
Only the children brought her peace. The few who lived in this place under the mountain, below Faith – a place at once hopeful and dreadful. Hopeful for its majesty, for the proof it gave that beauty could be found even in this world of blood and silent screams. Dreadful because it was so clearly a place that people were not meant to be. A land below, a halfway house on the way to the Netherworlds.
She had stayed away from the children at first. Had avoided them for fear that seeing their faces would bring to mind the worst of the screams – the terror of the children led away to she knew not what. Instead, when one of them finally came and demanded – in the way that only a child of five Turns can demand – that she either put away her mask or give out a candy as was proper for masked wanderers at Tricksters' Holiday, the screams fled.
She didn't have a candy. She gave him a button off her skirt. He seemed mollified, if not happy.
She brought candy back next time she returned from a mission.
Killing and giving – the two things that brought her peace.
But the children were leaving now. Scampering off to play elsewhere since she had no more candy left to give. One waved as he left. Wind waved back.
Cloud touched her shoulder. Everyone else in the camp talked to her with their mouths, relying on her to understand their lips. Some of them didn't even know she was deaf. But Cloud often spoke Signs to her. He did so now.
We'll get more candy, you know.
She Signed back to him. I know.
I know you know. I'm just trying to stop your moping before it starts.
She shrugged. It happens when it happens.
Have you seen Smoke today?
He's running around by the waterfall. Telling everyone he's going to ask Sword for a walk. So old-fashioned for a convict.
Cloud smiled an odd smile. Do you think he'll actually do it?
She shrugged again. He said he was going to ask me for a walk once. Nothing came of it.
You clearly Signed cutting his head off.
She cocked an eyebrow. If he'd wanted it badly enough, he wouldn't have given up so easily.
Suddenly, Cloud looked to the side. A subtle change fell over him. Something in the way he stood.
What? she Signed.
Then she felt it. The screams in her mind moved away for a moment, shoved to the side by a tremor that ran through her feet and legs. It was small, and gone as fast as it came.
But it was wrong.
She looked at Cloud.
They ran for the tunnel. The passage through which the air-cars entered to drop off the Cursed Ones, or the rare batches of refugees.
They had only run a few more paces when another tremor came. This one was stronger.
Closer.
She looked at her brother. He gritted his teeth and pushed harder with each footstep, pounding the dirt like it was an enemy.
People were coming out of the tents. Looking at each other. Looking at the great bowl of a ceiling high overhead as though afraid it might tumble down atop them.
Earthquake? Slide? Signed Cloud.
She shook her head. I don't know. No.
The next shockwave knocked them both sideways. Cloud would have spun into a tent and fallen, but Wind cast her Gift, grabbing him with a cushion of air that pushed him back up. Then she crooked a finger, and now they were airborn, soaring over the tops of the tents, held aloft by the air itself.
She saw Smoke, wending his way between a pair of tents that had tilted madly under the power of the next rumble.
She waved, and Smoke was borne aloft as well. He windmilled his arms and looked unpleased. I hate when you do this! he screamed.
She snorted.
And pulled her mask down.
The mask cut off some of her vision, but she actually liked it that way. It brought her focus. The screams receded because she only had room for one thing: the enemy she faced.
As they approached the makeshift air-docks at the mouth of the tunnel, she did something she had never done before in time of danger: she pushed the mask back. She needed to see more.
The people they passed over now – few of them, since most were behind at the camp – were incapable of standing. The ground was bouncing so hard the rock they stood on was rupturing, cracking in huge lines and separating in foot-long gaps that dropped in places to dangerous depths.
And the things that Wind pulled her mask away to see: they were the reason why.
Brother Scieran had contacted them by Ear some time ago. Had warned that the Army was moving, that they had some kind of new weapon. But he said he would fully brief them after the Council of Faith met and discussed matters.
That was fine by her. She thought she could wait. But now she wished they had demanded more information.
The things that floated down the tunnel came slowly, but seemed all the more dangerous for the ponderous nature of their approach.
They looked a bit like auto-cars, only much larger and without the windows most auto-cars boasted. These things were boxy masses of metal with only a few holes on the sides and a slit in front where she guessed the driver could look out. Below, they had small metal wheels connected by a large track of steel plates.
And in front, there was a huge tube. It looked familiar, but it wasn't until the first one spat flame that she realized what it was.
Guns. Those things have guns on them.
The area of the tunnel the thing had shot at dissolved. Once rock that had stood for millennia, now it was a rain of dust that fell and disappeared into the darkness below.
And Wind understood the smaller explosions she had felt earlier; the sounds that Cloud must have heard a few moments before that. The vehicles were too big to maneuver into the tight space of the tunnel that allowed entrance here. So they had to carve their way in.
Some of them had black and red stripes: the crest of the Imperial Army.
The first war-car shot one more explosive bullet, and the last ridge preventing its entrance dissolved.
She looked at Cloud. He nodded. Turned to Smoke, who still hung over them, and gestured back at the tents. The instruction was clear: Go help them.
Smoke looked like he was going to argue, but Wind gestured and the air tossed him to the side and behind. He fell with what she supposed were many cursings – but hoped was an understanding that he could not help. Not here.
The mask came down again.
; Death was in the air.
The first war-car hove into view, and the long gun turned until it was pointed at the air-dock. There was only one air-car there, sitting beside the dock.
The gun spat its bullet. Both air-car and dock went up in flame.
Wind felt sick inside.
Stupid. We were stupid to wait here.
The screams began in her mind.
Then Cloud raised his hands. Blue light danced in his eyes, along his fingers.
He pointed at the first war-car. Lightning speared from his hands. It wasn't as strong as he could conjure when he was outside – when he could draw a cloud to him, he could use its own lightning, rather than having to create his own. But it was still enough to match the power of the attackers' bullets.
The lightning sheared the air. Wind's hair stood on end the instant before the electricity hit the first war-car, and then… nothing.
The vehicle continued forward as before. There was a slight purpling around the war-car, as though it held a lightning of its own. Only this lightning served not to spear through the air at enemies but rather simply to repel their attacks.
She shook her head. How was this possible? She had never heard of a Gift – neither a Blessed nor a Cursed One – who had this power. So what had just happened?
The lightning strike had provoked one response: it caught the war-car's attention. The gun swung toward them. And though the vehicles seemed huge and slow, the movement of the gun at its front now appeared hideously fast in her eyes.
She felt Cloud tensing beside her. But knew there was little he would be able to do. He had to recharge for a moment. Again, away from the sky that was the source of his energy, he was slower than he now needed to be.
The gun fired.
Wind barely had time to push her hands in front of her. A blast of wind, sharper and harder than any spear but as big as an air-car, blasted across the span between her and Cloud and the first war-car.
Her wind intercepted the bullet, which exploded – seemingly against nothing – and then spread the explosion across the surface of the airshield. Still, the impact alone caused a shockwave that knocked her and Cloud backward.
He was ready to fire again. Lightning on his fingers. But he waited. She didn't know why he did so – perhaps he was gathering strength for a greater strike, to try to break through whatever energy shield these things possessed.
Several war-cars pushed their way into the mouth of the tunnel. Guns began to focus on her and Cloud.
The first war-car fired.
At the same moment, Cloud fired his bolt.
Wind put up a shield.
The bolt streaked out and caught the bullet as it left the war-car. And it must have done so as it was half in and half out of the energy shield, because there was an explosion shaped like a butterfly's wings, then Wind and Cloud were rocked by the impact of another shockwave.
The war-car, though, fared far worse. The half of the explosion that had traveled along the bullet to the interior of the force shield exploded directly in front of the war-car. That half of the butterfly wing washed over the monstrosity, and the thing canted suddenly, lost control and slammed into the vehicle directly behind it before plummeting to the ground and bursting into flame – but a flame that was strangely contained in a rough sphere around it, with that purple glow marking the limits of its power.
She Signed to Cloud. Did you mean to do that? Can you do it again?
His Sign back was emphatic, and he screamed the words at the same time. Gods, no! I didn't mean to do that.
No more time for further conversation: three more war-cars had drawn abreast, taking the place of the one that had plummeted to earth. Wind shot another spear of air at the one closest to them, but it did even less damage than Cloud's lightning had.
Cloud tugged her lightly. A gesture she knew well, one that had been born of survival: Move us this way.
But she couldn't do it. Because to do that would mean letting the war-cars – more and more of which were crowding into the cave – fire on the tents.
She shot a quick backwards glance. The refugees were fleeing their makeshift town in terror. But where to go when buried under a million tons of earth? Most of them huddled at the side of the great lake, some even edging back into the water as though it might help them.
Then something new happened.
One of the war-cars dropped a bit. A hatch on its top opened, and a woman popped her head out. She wore a ridiculous amount of makeup, visible even at this distance.
Not a soldier, Wind had time to think.
And then, the woman opened her mouth.
Wind felt a sudden desire – almost a need – to go to her. To embrace her as an old friend, a mother. To hold her and give her whatever lay in her power.
The effect on Cloud, though, was much worse. Her brother twisted in air, his feet pounding as though he were trying to run to the woman. When he didn't make any headway, he turned to Wind and she was surprised to see an expression she had never seen on his face before.
Rage.
Usually he was as impassive as her mask. His words to her might be joking, light, but he rarely allowed expressions to fall over his face. As though the day their village died, so had his ability to reach out to others, to confide in them with his smile or his frown.
But there was no mistaking the naked hatred he wore now. He struck at her, and the hit was a massive one. She felt it not just on the spot he hit her – the shoulder – but through her chest. Her heart stuttered.
He used his Gift. On me.
The realization was terrible. Beyond understanding.
She felt something slam into her and realized she was looking at a world turned sideways.
What's happening? Did I get shot? Did Cloud kill me?
No. Not dead. But not floating, either. She was laying on the ground, blood pouring down her chin and neck, her mask askew.
Cloud had tried to kill her. And probably would have if he hadn't just thrown a strike and been at less than full strength.
Why? Why would he…?
She pushed her mask back into place.
And saw her brother running directly at the war-car with the woman in it. It had settled toward the area that had once been the air-dock, and the gun was swiveling, almost lazily, to bear on Cloud.
And he didn't care. He simply ran. His arms outstretched to embrace his own death.
The woman in the war-car still had her mouth open.
A Blessed One, Wind realized. She's the one doing this. But why not me? Why isn't it happening to me?
And she knew. There was only one thing it could be. One thing that fit. One way to make it right.
She didn't bother getting up. Just stabbed two fingers into the air. Then jerked them toward the war-car. The woman.
Cloud.
He didn't see it. No one did. No one could even sense them but her, with that strange connection she had to the air. But she knew they were there. Two small darts. Not enough to so much as scratch the war-car with its huge gun – even if it hadn't been protected by that invisible field. Not even enough to kill a person.
But enough that when they flew at Cloud, guided perfectly by her Gift, they entered his ears. Pierced them. Blood flowed.
He tumbled to the ground. Writhing. Screaming screams that Wind knew he could not hear, because she had just deafened her own brother.
She swept her hand, and a gust of air drew him toward her only an instant before a bullet exploded where he had been, creating a huge crater.
The woman in the war-car looked at her with rage. She was gesturing frantically. The great gun of the lead war-car – as well as three more beside it – turned toward her.
She saw Cloud raise his hand. It was a weak motion, but the lightning flashed from it.
Not at the war-cars, though. This time he aimed at the ceiling above them.
Rocks tumbled down, great boulders drawn into gravity's clutches by the loosening power of Cloud's Gift.
Wind reached up. Sent her own Gift toward the rocks, guiding them down, adding speed.
There were a dozen war-cars in the cave now. The rocks buried the first three – including the one with the woman inside – and sent several more rocking to the side. The fields protected the integrity of the war-cars themselves, but Wind permitted herself a tight grin behind her mask as she pictured the war-cars' occupants being rattled around like dice in a cup.
It distracted her from the reality of what was happening. From the reality of what she herself had just done.
Cloud, oh my brother. Forgive me.
There was a rumble, and one of the other war-cars sent a crushing blast toward the small mountain of rubble Cloud had just loosed. Again, the rocks and dirt exploded to dust.
The woman in the lead war-car was still there, unharmed below the rubble. She wasn't even dirty. And she looked very angry.
The woman's war-car was still half-buried, not moving yet, and the others seemed to be waiting. Perhaps they were under orders to wait for the woman's lead. Perhaps they were simply worried about what Cloud and Wind might do – though they couldn't have been that worried, after seeing how little the two of them had managed together.
Another attack vehicle – this one hovering a few feet above the rubble – opened at the top. A man clambered out. He was almost comically tall and thin, a rail of a man. And incredibly, he had what looked like a piece of meat in his mouth, as though he had been eating during the attack.
Now, though, he spat out the remains of his food, and leaped off the vehicle. He landed in a puff of dust on the floor of the cave, then pounded toward where Cloud still lay, writhing in pain.
Wind was exhausted. Her head thrummed with the exertions she had just undertaken, with the repeated impact of the bullets' shockwaves, with what she had had to do to spare her brother's life.
But she had enough strength to hurl several rocks at the man. His arms flashed out and sawlike ridges exploded from his skin, catching the rocks between them and pulverizing them no less completely than the bullets had done to the larger boulders.
One rock seemed to make it through his defense. She almost smiled, expecting it to snap his head back, to break his neck. Expecting to see him fall.
The Sword Chronicles: Child of the Empire Page 32
