City of Light & Shadow

by Ian Whates

  Despite the death grip around his torso both arms were free, which offered a faint glimmer of hope. Frantically, he reached for his knife, drew it, and stabbed at the tentacle, feeling the blade bite home and the grip loosen slightly. Encouraged, he stabbed again and again, frustrated at how feeble the blows seemed, slowed as they were by the water. The tentacle loosened a little more under his assault, but as he raised his arm to strike again another tentacle, or perhaps the tip of the same one, snagged his wrist and knocked the knife from his hand. He clutched at it in despair, his hand closing only on water.

  His body cried out for oxygen, his lungs demanded that he breathe. He fought hard not to, knowing that there was no oxygen to be had, but he felt increasingly light-headed and it was becoming hard to concentrate. The grip around his body tightened still further. He needed to breathe, to gasp for air became unbearable. He wanted to scream. He tried to prise the tentacle off with his hands. He kicked and wriggled, dimly realising that this would use up his precious oxygen all the quicker, but knowing that if he didn't somehow escape now he never would.

  After a mere handful of frantic twists the effort became too much, the energy drained from his limbs and his kicks became little more than feeble twitches. His head lolled as if his neck no longer had the strength to support it, and everything started to fade. Except the pain. This is it, he realised, with more curiosity than fear or even regret. This is death. And then he stopped thinking at all.

  They emerged into a surreal world, made all the more so by the unexpectedly uneven ground, which caused Tom to overbalance and nearly fall over. Silver light emanated from a miniature sun, its radiance totally unlike the light from the sun globes or anything else Tom had experienced. Long shadows and eerie rocks surrounded them.

  "About time you got back," said a man's voice; M'gruth, Tom realised, and the comment wasn't addressed at him.

  "Having fun in my absence?" Kat responded, having to shout above the roar of the nearby falls.

  "Not exactly."

  A short distance away a fight was taking place, the combat conducted at incredible speed. A group of Blade were locked in battle with… a thing. It seemed to be all writhing body and jointed legs, with metal predominant.

  "Is that Insint?" Tom asked.

  "Yes," a woman replied – an arkademic, who was in the process of fashioning another mini-sun between her hands. She released it just before the first sputtered and died.

  A Kite Guard flew in loops above, doing little else as far as Tom could see. As he watched, things took an unexpected turn. A thick tentacle shot from the water to wrap itself around the circling figure.

  "Tylus!" the arkademic cried out.

  "That's Tylus?" Kat said.

  "Yes."

  "Breck!" Kat started to run towards the pool.

  "What are you doing?" Tom called.

  "What do you think I'm doing? He saved my life," she shouted back, as if that explained everything. With that, she dived into the water.

  Tom stared after her, stunned, while M'gruth and the Tattooed Men rushed past him.

  There had to be something he could do. Not jump into the water perhaps, but… he still felt invigorated by his encounter with the core, its energy sang through his veins. He felt more powerful, more in command of his talent than he ever had before. Tom reached out, not knowing if this would work, but he couldn't think what else to do. His thoughts connected instantly with an ancient mind lurking somewhere beneath the water. Not intelligence as he knew it, this was something so focused on the need to feed, to satisfy its hunger, that few other considerations got a look in. Tom wasn't sure he could have done this at any other time, without the core energy burning so freshly, but the important thing was that he could do it now. The simplicity of the creature's motivations helped. He saw at once where to apply pressure, where to suggest that this morsel wasn't nourishing or tasty but that one was.

  His tampering had two results. The most obvious being that two further tentacles shot out of the water, one wrapping itself around Insint and plucking him up high into the air, scattering the two Blade as it went. The two tentacles then literally pulled the creature – this last retreat of Thaiss's brother – apart. An agonised scream tore through the thrum of the waterfall – uncomfortable proof that whatever Insint had been, he wasn't all machine – before his bloodied remnants were dragged down into the depths.

  The second consequence was a spluttering, bedraggled Kat, who surfaced at the side of the pool dragging an inert Kite Guard with her. "Give me a hand, will you?"

  Tattooed arms reached down to pull both figures free of the water, where one spluttered and coughed and spat, while the other lay still.

  By the time Tom got there, Kat had recovered enough to start pressing rhythmically on the Kite Guard's chest with the heel of her hand.

  "Do you know what you're doing?" he wondered.

  "Vaguely. Wasting my time, though, aren't I?" She paused. "He's gone."

  "No." Tom could sense a spark, a flickering remnant of life's energy on the very cusp of expiring. Desperately he tried to fan that spark, drawing on his own energy to feed the fragile ember, and was rewarded by feeling it stabilise and strengthen a little, though not nearly enough and it threatened to fade again almost at once. "He's still with us, just."

  "You can save him then, like you did me?"

  "I'm trying…" But no matter how hard he tried, the spark grew no stronger. The man was dying as quickly as Tom was reviving him. Tom grew increasingly frustrated. Why wasn't the man recovering? "We need a proper healer," he said at last. "Someone who knows what they're doing."

  "Shayna!" Kat said at once.

  "Mildra," Tom said at the same instant.

  Tom put his hands on the motionless Kite Guard, feeling Kat take his arm.

  "Not again," he heard someone – M'gruth, most likely – mutter as the familiar rush of the jump swept through him.

  Even after so short a time in the depths of the rear cavern, the full glare of the sun globes took a little getting used to – the light so much stronger than that produced by the arkademic's silver suns. Only belatedly did Tom wonder if Mildra might be asleep. She wasn't. They found her instead chatting to Councillor Thomas.

  "Help us," Kat said. Tom was still busy holding death at bay.

  Mildra was there in an instant, squatting down beside Tom. She assessed the situation at a glance.

  "He was submerged in water, yes?" At his nod, she started rolling the supine figure onto its side. "We've got to clear his lungs of water," she explained. "No matter how much you strengthen him and bring him back, he's constantly drowning all over again."

  Of course, why hadn't he thought of that?

  Within seconds of her expert ministrations, the Kite Guard's chest heaved and he was coughing up water. Tom felt the spark finally take hold and flare to life. Soon Tylus was able to prop himself up a little; enough to be sick on the ground rather than over himself.

  Tom reckoned this a good time to step back. He saw the relief on Kat's face and felt a pang of jealousy.

  "What?" she asked, looking up to catch his expression.

  "Nothing…" But he couldn't stop himself. "You really do care about him, don't you?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Of course I brecking do. If you mean by that 'do I want to have his babies?' Thaiss no! But yeah, I have feelings for him. He saved my life. Why, you jealous or something?"

  "No," he said, far too quickly. "Of course not."

  Kat's fleeting smile was enough to tell him that she wasn't fooled for a minute. Breck!

  It felt odd, simply sitting and talking, sipping on a chilled drink without the pressing need to hurry anywhere or save anything. All very civilised. The rest of the party had made it back from the Stain unscathed. Mildra had gone to report to her order on all that had happened; Kat had gone off with the surviving Tattooed Men to see what the rest of their tribe had been up to in their absence, and even Tylus recovered enough to lead his Kite Guards away. Onl
y once the man was on his feet again had Tom recognised Tylus as the same Kite Guard who had so nearly caught him on the walls as he fled the scene of Thomas' apparent murder. Funny how these things came around.

  Tom was left in the company of Thomas and Isar – the arkademic with a knack for making silver suns – which made him feel a bit like a privileged child who'd been allowed to stay up with the grownups. Deciding that they were all thirsty, the three of them relocated to a nearby café and were now enjoying a refreshing drink – or drinks in Tom's case; he was already on his second.

  Stopping and simply relaxing was more enjoyable than Tom would ever have thought, even though much of the ensuing conversation bored him rigid. He let the others' words wash over him, and reflected on all that he had been through.

  Touching the mind of that river monster, manipulating it, had been merely the latest in a string of new experiences, but it was one of the oddest yet. He imagined the creature had been washed over the waterfall when much smaller, and had been living there ever since, feeding on everything else that came over the falls, whether alive or dead, growing bigger and more formidable all the while. How long it had been there was anyone's guess, but Tom sensed it was a long, long time.

  Another aspect of the incident gave him ongoing satisfaction, since it provided proof that Kat was a fraud. She might act tough and pretend that she was only ever interested in number one, but in the Stain's darkest corner she had shown her true colours. She stood to gain nothing whatsoever by leaping into the pool to rescue Tylus. It was an act of complete selflessness, putting her own life at risk for the sake of someone else. Proof positive that Tom wasn't the only one who could do that sort of thing after all.

  He clung to that crumb of satisfaction during the days that followed, as Thaiburley gradually recovered and learnt to deal with the aftermath of all that had befallen her.

  SEVENTEEN

  Tylus still couldn't understand how he was alive. It appeared he owed the fact to the actions of Kat, Mildra… and Tom. The irony didn't escape him. The same boy he'd let fall off the city's walls and nearly die during his fumbled attempt at arrest, was responsible for saving his life. He'd found it hard to meet Tom's eyes when he came round.

  His uniform was soaked through and soon turned cold and clinging. Mildra came to his rescue, producing a set of plain, worn clothes. He later learned that she'd simply knocked on a nearby house and bought them from the inhabitants. They'd wanted to give them to her despite their evident poverty – what with her being a Thaistess – but she had insisted on paying generously. The clothes were a little too small for him, but at least they were dry. He didn't want to think about how clean or otherwise they might be.

  At least they gave him the opportunity to look reasonably presentable by the time the survivors emerged from the Stain.

  Issie made a valiant effort not to laugh when she saw him, though there was a twinkle in her eye as she asked, "Is this what passes for casual fashion here in the City Below?"

  "It's what passes for dry," he told her.

  Her smile melted into a look of concern. "Thank goodness you're all right."

  He felt awkward and changed the subject. "I suppose you'll be heading back up-City now."

  "For a while, at least."

  "Oh?" She wasn't seriously considering coming back here, was she?

  Issie grinned. "You didn't think you were getting rid of me that easily, did you? Not now we're back in touch after all these years. The assembly intends to appoint a liaison to keep them informed on how this Kite Guard training school of yours is doing. I was thinking I might volunteer, so you're likely to be seeing a great deal more of me from now on."

  "Really? That's… wonderful."

  "Glad you approve."

  He grinned. "I told you this place gets under your skin."

  "Well, something certainly has, though I'm not sure it's the place, but I'm willing to give it a chance to."

  "I'll have to introduce you to its charms, then."

  "I was rather counting on that."

  This seemed a good note on which to leave. Issie aside, Tylus was anxious to be off – and not only because he wanted to know how the building work was progressing. The sooner he could get into a change of uniform the happier he would be; not to mention the need to get his cape dried out. In its absence, he was reduced to being carried back to his makeshift headquarters in the new sling arrangement by two of the other officers, which proved as uncomfortable as it was embarrassing. Despite the skill demonstrated by the two carriers, the sling inevitably swayed disconcertingly and occasionally jerked as the tension between sling and officers proved impossible to keep entirely uniform throughout. Each sudden tip had Tylus clinging to the sides. The flight was brief but not brief enough as far as he was concerned.

  Having arrived safely back at the Pits and shed the tooclosely fitting clothes in favour of a fresh uniform, it was time to say farewell to Sergeant Whitmore and his surviving men, who were set to return up-City. Prior to doing so, however, the Kite Guard sergeant approached Tylus with a request that both astounded and delighted him. He wanted permission to apply for a post on the staff at the proposed training school.

  "This one mission has been more rewarding than seven years' worth of service in the Heights," the sergeant had explained. "The City Below just seems so much more… alive, sir." Exciting was what he undoubtedly meant.

  "Despite the smell?" Tylus couldn't resist asking.

  "Yes, sir, despite the smell. Daresay I'll get used to it."

  The exchange heartened Tylus more than anything else that had happened since he set out to establish the Kite Guard School. So, despite nearly getting himself killed, he was in good spirits when somebody else appeared: Richardson. Tylus's heart sank. The last thing he felt like doing was feigning joy at the officer's planned nuptials. So deflated was he at the prospect that it took him a moment to realise that Richardson looked anything but joyful himself.

  Oh, he smiled and said, "Welcome back," readily enough, but there was a brittleness to his good humour. It didn't reach his eyes. The two of them were alone in Tylus's office; the Kite Guard at his desk, the guardsman before it, managing to look wretched despite standing to attention.

  "Is everything all right?" Tylus asked, wondering as he did so whether someone shouldn't perhaps be asking him that, given where he'd just returned from and all that he'd been through.

  "Yes, sir."

  Sir again. Now Tylus knew something was up. "Really?"

  His subordinate drew a ragged breath. "No… not really. It's Jezmina, sir. The wedding's off."

  "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," the Kite Guard lied. "What happened?"

  Richardson's entire body slumped, any semblance of standing to attention forgotten. "It looks as if she was leading me on the whole time."

  Now there was a surprise. Tylus gestured towards a chair, sensing this might take a little while. Richardson reached backwards and pulled the chair closer to the desk before dropping into it, his face a study in dejection. The Kite Guard waited patiently for him to continue.

  "Remember I told you that my sister, Bren, makes dresses for a few of the high-end boutiques up-City?"

  Tylus nodded, vaguely recalling something of the sort.

  "Well, she landed a big new client a couple of months back – a slimy little toad of a man by the name of Birch. Middle-aged, always impeccably dressed, full of his own importance; you know the sort. Apparently he's got a nice little business set up supplying a load of the more exclusive stores in the Shopping Row. He's put a lot of work Bren's way. Anyway, she mentioned that he'd been calling around a lot lately, more than seemed necessary. She didn't mind, of course, how could she while he kept sending new orders her way? Turns out that the orders weren't the real reason he kept dropping by, though. He was finding excuses to sniff around my Jezmina. Bren told me he'd been flirting with her and she told me I should keep my eyes open, but Jezmina laughed the whole thing off, claiming it was nothin', and I
believed her. But turns out it wasn't nothin' after all.

  "He seduced her, turned her head with all his up-City airs and promises of a better life. Even if I'd known, how could I compete with that? Seems they've been seeing each other on the sly. Here we was, making plans for our wedding, and all the while she's been slipping away into some other man's arms." He shook his head slowly from side to side, and tears threatened the corners of his eyes. "I've never even touched her, you know… not really…"

  "She's actually gone?" Tylus asked quickly, to forestall any further candidness.

  Richardson nodded dolefully. "This morning. Birch, the skinny little spill dragon, turned up early and whisked her away to live in this flash house of his in the Tailors Row. She's run off with him. Can you believe that?"

  Only too well. Predict it, no, but believe it? Most certainly. Tylus doubted the girl's ambitions would end there, either. This Birch character was most likely no more than the next in a long line of stepping stones, of which Richardson had been the first. A true opportunist, Jezmina would doubtless work her way through the city's Rows, maybe all the way up to the Heights before she was done, leaving a trail of broken hearts and misty-eyed lovers in her wake.