And they were elsewhere.
-thirty-six-
Two little girls lay on a giant bronze gear, side by side. They were bound to both the wheel and each other, by their arms and legs. An angel crouched over them, wings of golden light spreading over him and cupping the ground. The angel held a dagger in his hand—the Ragged Blade—and it was sweeping down to their joined arms.
The girls were paralyzed, staring at the blade with terrified eyes, unable to even cry out. But Marley could hear them all the same, hear them screaming inside for her, for Zachariah. For the mother they had never known.
They wanted to be protected. That was part of what made them children.
The Ragged Blade sliced down, and missed, skidding on the burnished surface of the giant gear. The great wings prevented the angel from overbalancing, but was there surprise on that handsome face? If so, it was only for an instant, and replaced quickly by disgust. He stood up, the iron chain uncoiling from his wrist. “Tarn, rectify your failure.”
Marley realized she was lying on the ground, amidst scorched vegetation just inside the fire-free bubble, exactly where the kaiju’s transportation had dropped her. Maybe ten seconds had passed since the kaiju had spoken in that voice like acid. But now she was protecting the children again. Now, everything was different.
Now she’d put herself squarely in Ettoriel’s way again, and now he had no time to spare. Instinctively, she rolled to one side, feeling for her spear. She'd had it when they transitioned. She scrambled to her feet, looking around wildly.
“Move fast,” said the kaiju. But everybody except him seemed to be moving already. Tarn flowed toward her, and if he didn’t want to obey the angel, she could hardly tell. A rapier had appeared in his hand and he thrust it at her even as he twisted around to snatch at her as she dodged away. His reach was enormous. She tripped over something and the light changed from golden to fiery. She could feel the heat on the back of her neck, hear the snap of the fire.
Out of the frying pan... She felt around for what she tripped over. Was it a weapon? Her spear? A pointy stick? A rock. A rock embedded deep in the earth. It was so hot it burned her fingers as she scrabbled at it, and she rolled back toward the golden radiance of Ettoriel’s wings. The angel was still standing over the girls, ready to strike as soon as Tarn removed the obstacle.
Tarn’s fingers caught the back of her shirt. She wriggled, kicking, and it tore away. Then Branwyn said, “Stop.” Marley realized her shirt had been cut, and scrambled away.
“Put away the sword,” continued Branwyn. She was standing to the left of Tarn, pointing Lullaby at his throat.
“Kill her,” said Ettoriel, his golden voice harsh.
Tarn grimaced and moved, turning his sword from Marley to Branwyn. Branwyn didn’t even try to dodge, turning a thrust with Lullaby into a stroke that followed Tarn’s twisting dodge.
The Machine spearhead stroked the faerie duke’s shoulder as lightly as a feather before sliding down across his chest. Where it touched, white fire gushed.
Tarn stumbled, his weapon vanishing. He raised his head, his teeth bared, and his eyes were white fire as well. His uninjured hand came up and the fires around the dome flared, then shrank back as crimson light gathered around his hand.
Neath the bobcat leapt toward his back, all four sets of claws out like she was going to ride him. But instead she passed right through him, as though she—or he—was a ghost. He stiffened, the white fire vanishing from his eyes.
Neath landed, her tail twitching, and in between her claws she held the pixie form of Tarn. Tarn stared at her. “I hate your cat,” he muttered, and twitched as the cat placed one paw on the chest of the pixie, her claws pressing into the tiny figure’s torso. She gave the man form of Tarn a meaningful look.
Then Branwyn kicked him in the side of the leg, and he fell over. She kicked him again, then knelt on his chest. The crimson light in his hand ran up his arm and started crawling inside his body at the white rents left in his flesh by Lullaby.
“Marley,” shouted Corbin, and she jumped as there was a thump behind her, moving just as the Ragged Blade whistled past her. Her scalp felt bare where the long dagger had brushed it. Her fingers closed around Lullaby’s haft as Branwyn pushed it into her hand, and she brought it up in time for Ettoriel’s second strike. A third strike at her legs, she barely stopped with the Lullaby’s Machine point, the clash of the Ragged Blade against the spear making her hands ache awfully.
The ringing from the strike grew louder instead of fading. As Marley retreated, trying to get enough space between herself and Ettoriel that she could think about what she was doing, Lullaby began to sing. Its voice was similar to a glass harmonica, each note sweet and shimmering. Marley could feel them through the haft.
Ettoriel leapt back, his wings assisting his retreat. He stared warily at Marley’s weapon, and Marley tried to hold it like she knew what she was doing. Then his eyes flickered to the side, where Branwyn still sat on Tarn.
“You can try killing me, but I might end up killing you instead,” Marley called.
“It’s only fair,” he murmured, and shook out his wings. He stood perfectly still as he looked at her. “I always thought the nephilim were a tragedy, but I never thought they were actually evil. Until now.”
Marley blinked and shouted, “Which one of us is trying to murder children?”
Something heavy and bright knocked into her, throwing her off her feet. In her blink, Ettoriel had leapt over to her, his ethereal-looking wings slamming into her.
Her shoulder hit the ground hard. She used the momentum to roll, scrambling back to her feet and thrusting wildly with Lullaby. The crooning of the Machine rose to a scream and she realized she had some space again.
If only I had functional precognition instead of the stupid catastrophe vision. It’s ridiculous, she thought dizzily.
But Corbin was beside the girls at the giant gear. The rope that bound their arms and feet fell away at his touch. He scowled down at the paralysis still gripping the children.
“Jeremy!” cried Ettoriel. Jeremy stepped beside Corbin and yanked him off balance.
Marley dragged her gaze back to Ettoriel, resisting the desire to turn her head and check on Branwyn. She couldn’t take care of everybody, and to take care of anybody right now, she had to concentrate on herself. On her enemy. On the angel trying to kill her. She had to take care of herself.
She narrowed her eyes and dodged randomly to one side. He raised the hand with the chain, and something white-hot sizzled the air where she’d been standing. Was that just lightning?
Ettoriel’s face twisted and he closed with her again, slashing with his blade. She bent sideways to avoid it and poked Lullaby at him as she recovered her balance.
This time, to her surprise, the spear caught his arm, leaving behind a burning white line that faded, bright red blood welling from the wound.
Unlike Tarn, Ettoriel didn’t seem to be crippled by the touch of the weapon. He didn’t even seem to notice. Furious at this failure of her expectations, Marley stabbed at him again, this time sinking the Machine spearhead into his chest. She didn’t get it very far in before his hand closed over the haft of the weapon. He yanked it out of her hands and out of him, tossing it to one side. Then he grabbed her hair and pulled her off her feet, bringing his dagger back for a final cut.
A child screamed. The fires, damped down by whatever Tarn had done, roared skyward, and the ground underfoot trembled. Despite the golden glow of the shield around the ritual area, the air sizzled with heat.
The shaking of the ground increased. Marley threw herself to one side, wrenching herself out of Ettoriel’s grip and leaving behind a hunk of her hair. She scrambled along the heaving ground toward Lullaby, as Ettoriel cried, “No!”
And a child’s voice echoed him. “No!”
Marley looked up as her fingers closed over the spear. Lissa and Kari were both on their feet, beside the bronze gear. A creature made of fire loomed ov
er them, and as Lissa stared angrily at Ettoriel, Kari started tearing the fire creature to cinders.
Marley could feel power beating against the shields she had around the children. The conflict between their desire to lash out and their desire to hide and wait for it to be all over was growing.
“No, Liss,” wept Kari. “We’re bad. No.” Each word rang against Marley’s skin.
For a split second, Marley met Lissa’s eyes, and she felt the girl’s words as much as heard them. “Yes. We are.”
“No!” Marley screamed, almost before Lissa had finished speaking, and flung herself back at Ettoriel. “Don’t you see what you’re doing to them? They were just little girls!”
She slashed at him again and again, and he stumbled backward. Each shallow cut glowed silver before trickling red. Something was wrong. Had stabbing Tarn actually changed the weapon as he’d implied it might? Or was Ettoriel resistant? She paused, panting, and noticed the red smeared all over her own arms. She’d been injured herself, and yet she barely felt it. Branwyn's reservoir of strength sustained her through the connection Corbin had forged.
She remembered that Ettoriel had also forged a connection with one of her friends. Her gaze found Penny. The other young woman was kneeling down, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her head bowed. She was glowing softly. Marley could see each of her chakra nodes, dim and empty. There was a bright shape nestled within her, like Penny’s form was projected onto a backlit screen. White rents tore across her form, as if the film projecting her was damaged. White rents that corresponded to the bloody wounds on Ettoriel’s body.
“You bastard,” she whispered, her spear dipping.
If he’d smiled at her then, calm and superior, it might have reawakened her rage. But he only sighed, like she was a misbehaving child. “You see. If you defend yourself, you destroy your friend. And she is weak. If you hesitate or resist too long, what little remains of her soul will burn just like these mountains. Let me save the world.”
“I can’t stand by and let you murder them,” she whispered. Grief like she’d never imagined swelled within her.
He stepped closer and considered her. “I respect that. I will end you, and then them, and I will keep your friends safe.” Almost apologetically, he said, “It’s the best way. The only way.”
Behind Ettoriel, Corbin kicked Jeremy and crawled over to Penny. He put his hand to his eyes and then pushed his hand against her forehead, just as he had once done to Marley. Penny’s top node filled with light. Her head lifted, her eyes widening. She looked at her hands and screamed, high and shrill. Scrambling to her feet, she looked around wildly, dodging randomly. She saw the fire. Ettoriel. The little girls.
Corbin grabbed her arm and said something to her roughly. He shook her, pulled her to one side and turned her so she could see Marley. Ettoriel looked over his shoulder, frowning.
Corbin pulled back his hand as if to hit Penny. And Penny gasped, “Marley, Marley. I don’t know what’s going on. Please help me.”
Marley’s soul, stretched as tight as a violin string, sang. Without consciously thinking, she wrapped Penny in safety. She was safe, safe from Corbin’s hand, safe from Jeremy rising up behind her, safe from Ettoriel’s light
dreadfully injured reported the shield but safe for now safe.
Marley felt thin, just as she had when she’d failed to protect AT, but she didn’t care. Penny didn’t want what was happening to her, Penny had asked for her help, Penny could be saved. How could Ettoriel stop them? Her friends looked after her and she looked after them, and together they were unstoppable. Joy and defiance exploded out of her, and she screamed wordlessly at the angel.
He spared her only a look and then raised his hands, the Ragged Blade and the iron chain both glinting. He touched the two of them together and once again the air cooled rapidly, as if something was sucking up the energy of the fires. The audience of ghostly figures watching from the outskirts of the dome of golden light seemed to press in, a ripple going through them that ended with a shape spinning into the dome, made of straight lines and gentle curves, and enclosed by a pair of slowly moving rings. It was the Machine that she had seen once before, the one that Corbin had sought answers from. It hovered, flat side down, over Lissa and Kari, and began to exert a pressure.
Marley could feel it through the shield. It wasn’t a physical pressure. It was bringing power to bear, not something actively destructive, but something scattered and chaotic. It bombarded her already-weakened shield with noise, confusing her instinctive awareness of threats and safety. She concentrated, trying to maintain her conscious sense of what was a threat and what was not. The Machine was a distraction, not a threat. Ettoriel, blade out, was a threat. Another Machine wheel, identical to the first, settled over his head, and he stepped toward the children.
Her shield faltered.
She wasn’t sure if anybody noticed. Could Ettoriel detect the shield before he tried to actually hurt them?
The ground shook again, and a crack opened between Ettoriel and the twins. They’d stopped arguing and were holding hands again, both of them staring angrily at Ettoriel. “You go away,” said Lissa. “We’re bad. We’ll be even more bad.”
And Kari said, “I don’t like your hat.” She pointed at the Machine spinning over Ettoriel’s head, and the rings stopped. The ripple from the ghostly onlookers was an audible gasp of horror.
Ettoriel sighed, and closed his wings. The golden dome of light vanished with a whoosh. Red-orange light briefly took its place before white smoke replaced everything with a haze. It invaded Marley’s nose but seemed to get stuck at her throat, leaving her easily breathing tainted air. Penny was safe. Safe enough. Even flickering, the shield filtered out the worst toxins, the killing heat. But Branwyn started coughing immediately.
Marley looked around wildly as the coughing became choking, and then stopped entirely. She saw Tarn standing, holding Branwyn in his arms, his face bent toward hers.
“You are bad,” agreed Ettoriel quietly. He was still standing between Marley and the twins, the Ragged Blade at his side. “It’s not your fault, though. I can make it all better, if you let me.”
Kari muttered, “I don’t want to be bad.”
Marley advanced on him with her spear up. His back was to her. The Machine over his head was turning only fitfully, like a fan with a dying motor. She could just stab him in the back, and it would all be over.
No. Her shield would not hold, not as thin as she'd spread it, not as damaged as it was by the Machine. It could keep out smoke, but Lullaby destroying Ettoriel was still a threat to Penny. She could see it.
But Tarn had thought there was another way. He'd mentioned a weapon, back when he was Tinker Chime.
“Of course you don’t,” said Ettoriel to the children, and his voice was as cool and smooth as silk. “Somebody made a mistake, and you’ve had to suffer for it.”
Ah, yes. The faerie had provided her with a weapon long before Branwyn and Corbin had, a weapon far more personal and just as dangerous. The spear fell from her hand, Lullaby’s song trailing away. Somebody made a mistake. “Was it you?” she asked quietly. “Their mother loved you.”
Ettoriel froze. She walked around him, so she could look him in the eye. “Her name was Nina. She called you Cat. Did you forget already? Or is this whole thing really about you? About erasing your own mistakes? About forgetting that once you loved someone?”
“It was a trick,” he breathed.
“I don’t know about that, but I know she really loved you. She would have done anything for you.” Marley considered him clinically, then lowered her voice again as she stepped closer. “Did you kill her, too? Was that also to save the world?”
“No!” he said. His eyes, when they found hers, were anguished. “I don’t know where she is.”
“But you’ve looked,” she said gently. “Are they yours?”
“No!” he said quickly, looking down.
Marley didn’t smile, though sh
e wanted to bare her teeth. “You’re not sure. Losing your name confused you.” He gave her a worried look, his beautiful face twisted up. She continued, her voice just as calm and smooth as his had been. “You don’t know. And now you want to kill her children. Not because you want to save the world, but because you can’t bear the thought of their existence. And look at what you've brought to bear on such a personal crusade.”
“This is bigger than me,” he said, and waved vaguely with his dagger, indicating nothing in particular.
“No, it isn’t,” she said sharply. “It is only about you, and the children who could have been yours. The shame and love that is yours.”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He half-turned toward the twins again.
“Doesn’t it? Let’s test that,” said Marley, lightly, idly. How long did a valence event last? “Look at those tiny children. Perhaps they’re yours, the result of a world-shaking crime. Maybe it was your crime, your love that brought these children into the world.”
Shakily, he said, “Then I should fix it.”
“But the real crime’s in you,” she said brightly. “There’s always suicide, but I’m sure that’s a crime, too. Let’s table that for now. Look at those tiny children. Perhaps they’re somebody else’s. Maybe she found what you wouldn’t give her in somebody else’s arms. Maybe after you abandoned her, she was driven to find a replacement. Or maybe she found somebody better.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body rigid.
“We’re not done,” she said, her voice cutting like a knife. “Look at those tiny children.” As if beyond his will, his eyes flickered open again, though he remained coiled like a spring. “Look at them. Look at their faces. Don’t they look like her?” She was gambling on his own heart filling in details she knew nothing about. “Can you really kill her children, all that may be left of her, no matter who their father may be? Can you stand a world without Nina?”
She paused, and he said nothing, his eyes fixed on the little girls. “I think,” she said finally, “that everything you’re trying to stop will occur because you’re trying to stop it. That’s usually how prophecies seem to work. You’re a lot older than me. Maybe you know that, too. Maybe you even want that. I don’t know.” She stared at his broken face, and felt pity finally stir in her heart. “I really don’t know,” she repeated.
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