Nettle must have realized the same thing. She called out, clapping her hands sharply, and the animals began to run. The guards on the gate shouted as the ossors charged.
Cordelia ran with the pack, slapping the big insects on the rumps, trying to rile them up. While the guards were distracted, she ran inside the gate, Nettle sprinting beside her. She didn’t even register sights and sounds, too busy looking for somewhere to hide in the dying light. They ducked into the first alley and took several winding, narrow passages, staying out of the press of people that lingered near the open gate.
Unlike the hard packed dirt of Gale’s streets, these were mostly mud with boards or bricks pushed in at random. She thought she’d seen paving stones on the main street, but it was clear the local residents took care of the alleys themselves, or no one did. Windows stood high above, none within the reach of any thieves that might prowl the alleys, but lines of washing waved above their heads, most of it being taken in for the night.
Finally, they turned into another narrow street and found a wooden gate crossing their path. Cordelia smelled some sort of livestock beyond, as if the people kept animals on individual properties instead of housing them all in one district. Hopefully, it was something smaller than a hoshpi or ossor.
She tested the gate. Locked or barred. Nettle looked back the way they’d come. “Voices.”
Cordelia put her weight on one of the wooden slats, and it groaned, probably meant to do so by an owner tired of having his livestock stolen. She froze, but when no one came from the darkened yard, Cordelia listened to see if the voices were getting closer.
She thought they might have to fight again, but Nettle put her back to the fence and bent backward, slipping between slats too narrow for Cordelia. Once through, she put her hands on the ground and sank slowly forward, slipping her lower half through until she could draw her feet after her, all of it without a sound. She leapt to her feet in one smooth movement and unbarred the gate from the inside.
“Show off,” Cordelia whispered as she passed. “Impressive, though.”
Nettle wrinkled her nose and led the way through the small yard, careful not to approach any of the darker shapes that lined the brick walls around them. They unbarred another gate and slipped down the next street, moving farther into the city. Soon, though, they had to admit they didn’t know where they were going. Cordelia had been hoping to break into another major street after dark, but once they had, she didn’t know which way to turn. Gale was laid out as a grid, and it was easy to see all the options, but all the large streets here had a gentle curve, as if Celeste was laid out in circles, and they built high, much higher than Gale, so she couldn’t see the largest buildings from street level. It didn’t help that she and Nettle had to shy away from everyone, turning down another street or alley whenever they approached a noisier building. Even in dim light, Nettle’s features were too much of a risk.
“I feel we have seen this street before,” Nettle said.
Cordelia nodded. She was beginning to feel the same. “I need to search for Horace again.” Nettle sucked her teeth, but Cordelia didn’t let her get any argument out. “We need a direction.”
They took shelter in another alley, in the dark behind a cart. Cordelia slipped loose of her body easily and drifted high, searching for Horace’s light. As she’d guessed, Celeste was a succession of rings, and she spotted his light, along with two brighter ones, inside the city’s largest building, dead in the center. If she were a god, that’s where she’d live, too. It was practically a palace.
As she floated back to her body, she spied several people roaming the streets near her hiding place, casting their heads to and fro as if searching. She fell back into her body with a gasp and drew her weapon as she stood.
“We’ve got friends.”
*
As soon as she’d given the healer to the Lords and secured the Engali vermin in the basement of the palace, Fajir had gone swiftly to the walls. She’d known someone would come after the healer or the vermin or both. The healer was too valuable, and she supposed even a vermin could have allies.
She’d watched the crowds wander in and out the gates. A few times, she was tempted to succumb to boredom and let her attention wander, but each time she thought of Halaan and what he’d want her to do. So she kept watching, disappointed when night began to fall and no one showed themselves. She supposed any rescuers might be waiting for darkness, but with the gates closed, they would find it hard to sneak inside.
When the ossor stampede started, she’d clucked her tongue as the guards scattered. She’d have to speak to their seren about discipline, then she peered into the dying light as two of the drovers sprinted through the unattended gates.
Heart pounding, she followed them with her eyes until she got an idea of their route, then she ran down the stairs to where Nico and her squad waited. They spread out through the alleys, searching, picking up a glimpse of the intruders from time to time, but they seemed determined to become lost. She recognized the woman from their earlier fight, and the outsider stuck out despite the sun-embroidered robe upon its slender frame.
Now one of her people signaled that the two had gone to ground in an alley. Perhaps they were resting; perhaps they’d stopped to find their bearings. It didn’t matter. She crossed the street at a sprint and poked her head around the corner, bone sword drawn. The alley was empty. She turned and signaled, but no one had seen them leave. A torch flared at the end of the alley, held by one of her soldiers; no one waited in the shadows.
Fajir snarled. Impossible that she should lose them completely! She waved the torchbearer away, sheathed her sword, and lit her own light, bending to study the muddy ground.
A slight creak sounded above her, and she rolled forward. The female intruder landed where she’d been, sword out to strike. Fajir threw down her torch and drew her sword. Before she could call for help, the woman lunged, leading with a blade made of wood, and Fajir grinned. It would be easy enough to slice through.
Their swords caught with a hard thwack, but the intruder’s sword didn’t crack as Fajir expected. She stepped back, reassessing, then pivoted so her back was to the wall. There were two intruders, after all.
The outsider let go of a washing line and landed, flanking Fajir, and she cried out as both intruders rushed her. She blocked the woman’s sword, but the outsider had two daggers that punched forward. Fajir used the flat of her free hand to knock one strike aside and then twisted her sword down to the left, sending the outsider’s arm toward the woman and forcing them to avoid each other’s blades.
“Nice move,” the woman said. “How long can you keep it up?”
Fajir pushed herself against the wall. “As long as you like.” Bluster, and she knew it. Both of the intruders took wary stances; neither seemed a novice. At any other time, she might have even admired them.
Nico rounded the corner, and the woman spun to face him. Fajir launched a strike at her back, staying ahead of the outsider, but the woman was craftier than expected. She turned in mid dash, caught Fajir’s arm and threw her at Nico. They crashed into one another, and Fajir carried him to the ground. As the woman leapt over them, Fajir tried to scramble to her feet, but the outsider kicked the support out from under the front of a cart at the alley mouth, and Fajir rolled away, calling for Nico to look out. Debris spilled all around them, and by the time they regained their feet, both intruders had fled.
*
Cordelia headed straight for the palace, and this time, she and Nettle didn’t try for stealth. They ran hard, trying to create confusion by starting fights with people that had spilled into the streets from bars or houses, leaving a clear trail, but Cordelia had no doubt their pursuers could follow them anyway. It was about how difficult they could make the journey.
And by the sounds behind them, their tattooed pursuers were giving a good chase. In spite of everything that had happened, Cordelia couldn’t help admiring them a bit. Maybe it had been too long since she’d
fought someone who came close to her level of skill in combat.
By the time Cordelia and Nettle neared the palace, the sky showed a hint of gray. To Cordelia’s surprise, the large structure had only a half wall, more of a suggestion of a wall than a real one, but maybe no one dared steal from the gods, especially not since they could turn brains into pudding. No one stirred inside the quiet first floor, the space large and open, dotted with columns and little gardens. They headed upward. When Cordelia’s nose told her they were near the kitchen or larder, she opened a door and peered inside, seeking somewhere to hide before anyone stirred.
Seeing only barrels and boxes by the light of a lantern in the hall, she crept inside, gesturing Nettle with her. “A storeroom. We can hide.”
Nettle lifted the lid from a barrel, and the smell of brine filled the room.
“Something that’s been pickled.” Cordelia reached past her, took a rubbery plant from the barrel and nibbled at it. “Sour but edible.”
She heard Nettle sniff and then a delicate crunch. “Ahya. Just.”
Cordelia felt for another barrel and shifted it in front of the door before they settled at the back of the room.
“How will we find shawness Horace in this great mess?” Nettle asked.
Cordelia leaned against her. “He’ll be wherever the Sun-Moon is. Higher up.”
“We wait for darkness again?”
“Might as well get some sleep if we can.”
Nettle’s fingers trailed up her thigh. “Sleep only?”
In the dark, Cordelia grinned. “You told me to keep my mind on the mission.”
“Ahya, but tonight we risk death. Why regret at the same time?”
Cordelia couldn’t argue with that.
Chapter Fourteen
Shaman Ap huddled in the dark basement with what remained of his sorry tribe. They’d lost many on the long journey from the Deliquois Islands to cramped, crowded Gale, most to illnesses, others to strange food or creatures. Two had been killed by the Storm Lord, just as the Contessa had been killed, and they’d be as honored as the rest, but first they had to finish their mission.
The youngsters among them worked for money, cleaning and carrying for the people of Gale. They were stronger, and they learned the language faster than their elders. Ap’s faith had carried him many times over the long journey, and now he depended on it to get him over the shame of depending on others for food and shelter. He’d learned some of Gale’s language but stayed in the basement most of the time. The unfamiliar sights and smells alarmed him; he’d often thought himself a coward. He should be out seeking to destroy the Storm Lord.
The Contessa had taught him about the human body’s weak spots, sharing the knowledge she’d shared with all shamans so he could better rule their people, but with no idea how to get around the Storm Lord’s lightning, it was best to remain hidden. He might be his people’s only hope for revenge, but he needed stealth to do it. Some doubted that it even could be done. A few had fled in the night, and he hoped the spirit of the Contessa followed them to their graves.
Et knelt beside him. As one of the elders, he helped keep the spirits of the others up, but Ap saw in his face that he was beginning to waver. “We need more food.”
Ap nodded, but the money had already run out. “We can weave more baskets to sell.”
“We have no more reeds.” He sighed. “This god is powerful.”
Ap took the knife from his belt and laid it in front of them to remind Et that he couldn’t question the Contessa. None of them could. Et eyed the knife and shut his mouth slowly.
“The Contessa must be avenged,” Ap said.
Et stared, probably wondering if Ap was speaking to himself as much as Et. Ap sometimes wondered the same, but that didn’t change the fact that the Contessa did have to be avenged, and it had to be the Deliquois that did it. Maybe he should go after this god himself, but he feared the resolve of the others would crumble if he died. His apprentice had already been killed, and he had yet to begin training another. They might all die before they finally killed the Storm Lord, but Ap couldn’t let them give up. If they all died, perhaps the Contessa would still—
In a flare of light, the Contessa appeared before them, scowling. Ap froze for half a second before he threw himself to the dirt floor in prostration, hearing the others do the same.
“You haven’t fucking killed him yet?” the Contessa said, her mouth still not moving with her words.
Fool, to think he could doubt! She always knew! “Please, your magnificence,” Ap said, “please, have mercy.”
“One simple job to do, and there’s so many of you. I’d think one of you had a brain in his head.”
“He is so well protected, Contessa.”
She slashed a hand through the air, and a high-pitched shriek echoed through Ap’s skull. He covered his head and groaned.
“Do I have to do everything myself?” she asked. “I can’t be everywhere at once, and if I’m too distracted…”
Ap risked a peek and saw her staring at nothing, her form wavering as if she couldn’t hold it together. He supposed it was harder, being dead. “Please, Goddess, do not tire yourself!”
She didn’t look at him. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much. Maybe…” She shook her head. “I need to think about this. I need to think about what else I can do.” Her spectral form walked above the ground, back and forth, and Ap and his people continued to press their heads against the floor as the goddess paced among them, muttering to herself.
“I know!” she shouted. “It’s time to lure him out of the city, bring him into the fray.”
Hope bloomed in Ap’s chest. It was exactly what they needed. Away from the city, it would be easier to strike at the powerful god. He’d have less people to defend him. Perhaps Ap or one of the others could blend with the Storm Lord’s shamans, his mind readers and the like. “Yes, Goddess! Your wisdom knows no bounds! Outside of the city, we will strike and avenge you!”
She beamed. “Or maybe there’s a use for him yet.”
Ap’s smile faltered. “Goddess?”
“Keep trying to kill him. It’ll keep him on his toes. In the meantime…” She grinned. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
Ap did not doubt it.
*
Patricia Dué stared up at the perfect blue sky, an endless bowl of turquoise with nothing to mark it but the giant cable that reached up through the atmosphere: the space elevator that ferried people and equipment from Earth up to the asteroid that served as Pross Co.’s space station. Just looking at it made her sigh contentedly.
Underneath her head, Jack’s stomach shook as he chuckled. She reached up and poked him in the side. “Be a good pillow.”
He raised his head and smiled. “What can I say? Seeing my baby content makes me happy.”
A harsh launch siren echoed through the park, and Patricia sat up, eyes locked on the cable. “There they go!”
Everyone turned to watch as a massive capsule slid up the cable, starting the slow, day’s journey to the asteroid above. Patricia shivered as she watched. Only a few more weeks of training, and that would be her going on her first long mission as a copilot, her first real taste of responsibility. She was so ready, had been ready for a long time; her life was finally kicking into high gear.
She couldn’t look at Jack, didn’t want her excitement dampened by what she’d be leaving behind. He could never truly hide his disappointment or his worry. She didn’t want to have to repeat that she’d be back, they’d get married, and go on as planned, especially since it might not be true. They’d both considered the possibility that she’d get a taste for long missions and not want to come back.
She tried to lay down again, to pretend her thoughts didn’t exist, but he moved, and her head knocked lightly against a hard floor.
“Jack! What the hell?”
Another siren sounded, and she looked for the elevator, but it had gone, replaced by the gunmetal gray of a ship’s hallway.
Her ship. Her mission.
“Jack?” But of course he wasn’t there, not on the Atlas. There was no one but her.
Unless… She leapt to her feet and ran for the lift. Maybe she wasn’t too late. Maybe they were still here, and she could stop whatever was about to happen. She could warn them about the crash. She wouldn’t be under that damn bulkhead this time!
Patricia punched the code for the bridge, and the lift doors hissed shut. When it slowed to a stop, she stepped out, mouth open to call a warning, but the same hallway as before greeted her, not one she recognized. She ran, looking for doors, seeing nothing but a gentle curve that seemed to go on and on.
She ran for the lift again, but after another short move, it stopped at the same goddamned hallway. She tried the botanical habitat, Chrysalis, the mess. Nothing, nothing, nothing. She slammed her hands against the controls and screamed.
The lift doors slid shut before opening immediately, accompanied by the ding of an elevator from an old vid. Patricia paused before stepping out on a marble floor, her sneakers squeaking lightly. She heard the tinkle of piano music, but she didn’t want this memory, didn’t want to dine with Jack again. She had shit to do, places to go, people to see, as the old saying went. She had—
Blinding pain ripped through her right eye, cutting off her vision. She bent double, pressing the heel of her hand to the spot, but she knew that wouldn’t stop the blackening of her vision, the pain rattling through her skull, a never ending view of the entire cosmos.
She screamed again as her fingertips sunk past where her eyelid should be, searching inside her skull for what was no longer there. Power reared inside her like a bright light, and she tried not to reach for it, tried not to lash out against this pain. She pushed the power away and staggered back to the lift, blinking tears from her one good eye.
Widows of the Sun-Moon Page 17
