“You’re the girl.”
I kept still. “Who are you?”
“Wallet. Look.”
After a moment, I pulled the leather wallet from inside his jacket. Inside was an id card. He was from the Starch. “You work for Weaver,” I said softly. “You sick, sick bastard. You did this. All of this. Did he send you to watch me die? To keep an eye on the hell he threw us into?”
He was an obscure person, someone whose name I didn’t recognize. “They will d-destroy—everything.” Blood glinted on his lips.
“Who?”
“The c-creatures.” He drew in a labored breath, throat rattling. “Find—find Rackham. Find him.”
With those words, he died. I held his wallet in my hands, shivering in the sudden cold.
“Paige?”
Nick had come back for me. “He was from Scion.” I shook my head, exhausted. “I don’t understand anything anymore.”
“Nor do I. We’re being played, sötnos. We just don’t know what we’re playing yet.” He squeezed my hand. “Come on.”
I let him pull me to my feet. As soon as I was upright, I heard the distant gunshot. My back tensed rigid. The emissaries. They must have reached the sally port. At the same time, the æther gave off an odd signal. Four yellow-eyed figures were heading toward us. “Rephs,” I said. My feet were already moving. “Run. Nick, run!”
He didn’t argue. Our boots pounded on the cold earth, but the Rephs were hot on our heels, faster than us. I pulled a knife from my backpack and turned, intending to put it through an eye, but my hand was stopped by Terebell Sheratan. “Terebell,” I said, my chest heaving. “What do you want?”
Terebell looked me in the eye. With her were Pleione, Alsafi, and a younger female I didn’t recognize. And behind them, her shirt torn and bloodied, was Dani. The sight of her took a weight off my shoulders.
“We brought your friend,” Terebell said. Her eyes held little light. “She will not last long here.”
Ignoring them all, Dani limped past me, heading for the group of stragglers. She looked like death. “What do you want in return?” I said, wary. “You don’t want to come on the train.”
“If we did wish to come, you would not stand in our way. We have all saved human lives. We have brought your friend to you, and delayed the Night Vigilance Division. You are beholden to us.” Alsafi stared me out. “Fortunately for you, dreamwalker, we are not bound for the citadel. We have come for Arcturus.”
“He’ll come when he’s ready.” I still needed Warden.
“Then relay him a message. He is to meet us in the clearing as soon as you are gone. We will be waiting.”
Just as quickly as they’d arrived, they were gone, heading for the fences. They disappeared into the darkness, like dust into shadow, fleeing the inevitable retribution of the Sargas. I turned and made my way toward a training platform, where two lanterns burned in stained glass panes.
Getting here had been the easy part. Now I had to get these people into the tunnel and onto the train.
The stragglers had gathered on the edges of a concrete platform—but not the right one. This was rectangular. Nick was checking Dani’s face. There was a deep gash above her eye, but she shrugged it off. At the back of the rectangle, Jaxon gave the city a cold stare. No sign of Julian. Swallowed by the fire, just like Finn. I hoped it had at least been quick.
“We have to leave,” I said. “No more waiting.”
“There’s no point.” An amaurotic boy gripped his hair with white-knuckled hands. “The NVD are coming.”
“We got here first.”
A few sets of eyes grew brighter. I pulled a torch out of my backpack and switched it on. “Follow me,” I said. “Move as fast as you can. Carry the injured if possible. We have to reach another marker—an oval. We don’t have long.”
“You’re with the Rephs,” said an embittered voice. “I’m not going anywhere with a leech.”
I turned to the man that had spoken and I pointed to the city. “You want to go back there instead?”
He was silent. I brushed past him, ignoring the twinge in my side, and broke into another painful run.
Once we were past the scrying pool, it was easy to remember the right place. Warden stood where we’d trained all those months ago. “The entrance is here,” he said when I was close, indicating the concrete oval. “Nashira rather liked the idea of having the train beneath the training ground.”
“Do you think she’s dead?”
“That would be too much to hope.”
I pushed the thought aside. I couldn’t think about Nashira now. “They’re waiting for you,” I said. “In the clearing.”
“I do not intend to go with them yet.”
The words were a relief. I looked down at the oval. “There’s no guard,” I said. “They didn’t just leave it open.”
“They are not that foolish.” Warden pushed back a layer of moss, revealing a silver padlock. A thin bar of white light appeared down the middle, as if a bulb inside it had been activated. “This padlock contains an ethereal battery. There is a poltergeist inside it. They intended to send a Rephaite guard with the emissaries to unlock it before power is restored to the line—but if you can persuade it to leave, the charge will fail, and the lock will spring.”
The marks on my hand stung.
“It cannot hurt you in your dream-form, Paige.” He knew. “You are best equipped to deal with a breacher.”
“Jaxon is a binder.”
“That will not eliminate the problem. The poltergeist must be persuaded—or compelled—to leave the object, not bound. Until it has been freed from its physical restraints, your friend cannot bind it.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“You can travel through the æther. You can communicate with the poltergeist without touching the lock, unlike us.”
“There is no ‘us,’ Reph.” The voice came from an augur, a little older than me. “Get away from that lock.”
Warden stood with no argument, but he didn’t take his eyes off the augur. There was a heavy pipe in his hands, an improvised weapon from the city. “What are you doing?” I said.
“There’s no such thing as an ethereal battery.” His teeth were gritted. “I’ll deal with this. I’m getting out of here.”
He swung the pipe. It crashed down on the padlock.
A shock cut through the æther. The augur was blasted back twenty feet, screaming. “No, please, don’t. I don’t want to die. Please! I—I don’t want to be a slave! No!” He arched his back, shuddered, and was still.
I recognized those words.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I said. Warden flicked his gaze back to me. “I can deal with this poltergeist.”
Warden nodded. Perhaps he’d understood.
“Here they come!”
I looked up.
Beneath the moonlight, the NVD charged through the meadow. They were armed with riot shields and batons, escorting a cluster of emissaries. Birgitta Tjäder was among them, as was Cathal Bell. Tjäder spotted us first, and she gave a shout of anger. Nick raised his gun, aiming for her head. No point using spools on amaurotics.
I turned to face the prisoners. For the first time since they’d come here, they needed to be encouraged. They needed to hear a voice telling them that they could do this. That they were worth something.
That voice would be mine.
“Do you see those Gillies?” I pointed at them, raising my voice. “Those Gillies are going to try and stop us getting out. They’re going to kill us, because even now, they don’t want us in their capital. They don’t want us to share what we’ve seen. They want us to die—here, now.” My voice was sore, but I pressed on. I had to press on. “I will open this access hatch, and we will leave this city on time. I promise you that we will be in London by dawn. And there will be no day-bell to send us to our cells!” There were murmurs of assent, of anger. Michael clapped. “But I need you to defend the meadow. I need you to do this one la
st thing before we can leave this place forever. Give me two minutes, and I will give you freedom.”
They didn’t say anything. No war cries, no shouts. But in unison, they picked up their improvised weapons, summoned every spirit they could muster, and surged toward the NVD. Nadine and Zeke went after them, straight into the fray. The spirits of the meadow rallied to their cause, flying at the NVD with twice the strength of bullets. Jaxon held still, assessing me.
“An excellent speech,” he said, “for an amateur.”
It was a compliment. Praise from a mime-lord to his mollisher. But I knew it wasn’t really admiration.
I had two minutes. That was my promise.
“Dani,” I said, “I need the mask.”
She reached into the pocket of her coat. Sweat coated her brow. “Here.” She threw it at me. “It’s running low on oxygen. Make it count.”
Positioning myself as close as possible to the padlock, I lay down on the grass. Nick looked at Warden. “I don’t know who you are, but I hope you know what you’re doing. She’s not a toy.”
“I cannot allow you to lead these people through No Man’s Land.” Warden cast his eye toward the woods. “Unless you can think of an alternative, Dr. Nygård, this is the only way.”
I strapped PVS2 over my mouth and nose. It sealed and illuminated, indicating a steady flow of oxygen. “You haven’t got long,” Dani said. “I’ll give you a shake when you have to come back.”
I nodded.
“Warden,” I said, “what was Seb’s middle name?”
“Albert.”
I closed my eyes.
“Timing two minutes,” Nick said, and that was the last thing I heard, at least in meatspace.
I could see the tiny receptacle in the æther. It absorbed me as any dreamscape would, like one small droplet might absorb another. And then I turned to face a lost boy.
I didn’t move toward him. I just stood there. But there was: Sebastian Albert Pearce, the boy I had failed to save. He was hitting the walls, shaking the iron bars of the room. Outside the bars was the endless darkness of æther. His face was bloody, contorted with rage, and his hair was black with ash.
Last time I’d encountered a poltergeist I’d been in a physical form, but Seb could still do some injury to my spirit. I would have to stop him.
“Seb,” I said, as softly as I could.
It didn’t take long for him to see the invasion. He rounded on me, ran at me. I grabbed him by the wrists.
“Seb, it’s me!”
“You didn’t save me.” He was snarling, rabid. “You didn’t save me and now I’m dead. I’m dead, Paige! And I can’t”—he hit the wall—“get out”—again—“of this room!”
His narrow form shook in my arms. His ribs and bones jutted, like they had before. I forced down my fear and held his filthy face between my hands. The sight of his broken neck made me flinch.
I had to do this. I had to quell the wrath of the spirit he’d become, or he would live in this state forever. This wasn’t Seb. This was Seb’s bitterness and pain and hatred. “Seb, listen to me. I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve this.” His eyes were black. “I can help you. Do you want to see your mother again?”
“Mother hates me.”
“No. Listen, Seb, listen. I didn’t free you, and—and I’m sorry.” My voice was about to crack. “But we can free each other now. If you leave this room, I can leave the city.”
“Nobody leaves. She said ‘nobody leaves.’ ” He gripped my arm, and his head shook so fast it blurred. “Not even you. Not even me.”
“I can make you leave.”
“I don’t want to leave. Why should I leave? She killed me. I should have had longer!”
“You’re right. You should have had longer. But do you really want to live in this cage for the rest of forever?”
Seb began to tremble again.
“Forever?”
“Yes, forever. You don’t want that.”
His neck healed.
“Paige,” he whispered, “do I have to leave forever? I can’t come back?”
I was shaking now. Why couldn’t I have saved him? Why couldn’t I have stopped her?
“For now.” Slowly, carefully, I placed my hands on his shoulders. “I can’t send you all the way to the last light. You know, that white light people say they see at the end. I can’t send you there. But I can send you a long way away, to the outer darkness, so nobody can ever trap you again. And then, if you really want, then you can come back.”
“If I want.”
“Yes.”
We stood there for a while, Seb in my arms. He had no pulse, but I knew he must be afraid. My silver cord trembled.
“Don’t go after her,” Seb said, grasping at my dream-form. “Nashira. All they want to do is suck us dry. And there’s a secret.”
“What secret?”
“I can’t say. I’m sorry.” He took my hands. “It’s too late for me, but not for you. You can still stop this. We’ll help you. We all will.”
Seb threaded his arms around my neck. He felt as real as the living boy. That was how I remembered him. I whispered the threnody: “Sebastian Albert Pearce, be gone into the æther. All is settled. All debts are paid. You need not dwell among the living now.” I closed my eyes. “Good-bye.”
He smiled.
Then he was gone.
The pocket of æther inside the numen began to collapse. The silver cord jerked, more urgently this time. I took a running jump, and my dreamscape brought me back into its hold.
“Paige. Paige.”
My eyes ached in the sudden light. “She’s all right,” Nick said. “We’re out of here. Nadine, round them up.”
“Warden,” I murmured.
A gloved hand squeezed mine, and I knew he was there. I opened my eyes. I could hear gunfire. And his heartbeat.
Warden lifted the access hatch: a heavy door, covered by concrete, which concealed a narrow staircase. The empty padlock clattered away. Warden hitched me over his shoulder, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. The humans spilled down the steps, still firing at the NVD. Tjäder grabbed a dead Gilly’s gun. The bullet hit Cyril in the neck, killing him. I caught sight of the city—the light on the sky, the beacon in the dark—before Warden followed the survivors. His warm, solid frame was the only thing I could focus on. My perception returned in painful jolts.
The tunnel was cold. I could smell it: the dry, musty odor of a room that was rarely used. The shouts from above blurred into a senseless cacophony, like the barking of dogs. I clenched my fingers, gripping Warden’s shoulder. I needed adrenaline, amaranth, something.
The tunnel wasn’t large, barely the size of an Underground tunnel, but the platform was long and wide enough to accommodate at least a hundred people. Stretchers stood at the far end, piled up on top of one another. I smelled disinfectant. They must have been used to take fluxed voyants from here to the Detainment Facility, or at least to the street. But I was sure I could hear something in the darkness: the vibrant hum of electricity.
Warden shone his torch toward the train. A moment later, the lights came on. I narrowed my eyes.
Power.
The train was a light metro, not designed to carry many passengers. The words SCION AUTOMATED TRANSPORTATION SYSTEM were printed across the back of the train. The carriages were white, with Scion’s insignia on the doors. As I looked at them, they opened, and the lights turned on inside. “Welcome aboard,” Scarlett Burnish said. “This train will depart in three minutes. Destination: the Scion Citadel of London.”
With gasps of relief, the survivors went through into the carriages, leaving their makeshift weapons on the platform. Warden stood still.
“They’ll realize.” I sounded tired. “They’ll realize the wrong people are on the train. They’ll be waiting for us.”
“And you will face them. As you face all things.”
He let me down, but he didn’t release me. His hands cradled my hips. I looked up at him
. “Thank you,” I said.
“You do not need to thank me for your freedom. It is your right.”
“And yours.”
“You have given me my freedom, Paige. It has taken me twenty years to regain the strength to try and claim it back. I have you, and you alone, to thank for that.”
My reply caught in my throat. A few more people boarded the train, Nell and Charles among them. “We should get on,” I said.
Warden didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what had happened over the last six months—whether any of this was real—but my heart was full and my skin was warm, and I wasn’t afraid. Not now. Not of him.
There was a distant sound, like thunder. Another mine. Another pointless death. Zeke, Nadine, and Jax staggered into the tunnel, supporting a semiconscious Dani. “Paige, are you coming?” Zeke said.
“You get on. I’ll be there.”
They went into a carriage near the back. Jaxon looked out of the door at me.
“We’ll talk, my dreamer,” he said. “When we return, we will talk.”
He hit the button inside the carriage, and the doors slid shut. An amaurotic and a soothsayer stumbled into the next carriage, one with a bloody shirt. “One minute to departure. Please make yourselves comfortable.” Warden tightened his arms around me.
“How strange,” he said, “that this should be so difficult.”
I studied his face. His eyes were dim.
“You’re not coming,” I said. “Are you?”
“No.”
The realization came slowly, like dusk encroaching on a star. I realized I’d never expected him to come—only hoped for it, in the last few hours. When it was too late. And now he was leaving. Or staying. From this point on, I was alone. And in that solitude, I was free.
He touched his nose to mine. A slow, sweet ache rose inside me, and I didn’t know what to do. Warden didn’t take his eyes off my face, but I looked down. I looked down at our hands, his larger hands on mine: shielded by gloves, hiding the rough skin beneath—and my pale hands, with rivers of blue vein. My nails, still tinged with lilac.
“Come with us,” I said. My throat felt sore, my lips hot. “Come with—with me. To London.”
The Bone Season Page 42
