by R J Theodore
Talis swore as the rats surged toward them, their feral growls a miniature match to those of the mindless voices raging in the streets beyond the once-quiet alley. Talis stumbled in her haste to step backward, away from the wave of ghastly, solution-infected rodents, as vicious as the test subjects in Amos’s lab. One leapt forward and buried its teeth in her calf. Roaring, she tried to shake it free. Sophie stepped around her and swung the axe like a bludgeon, skimming the back of the head across Talis’s leg. She felt her skin tear as the rat was propelled away.
Sophie didn’t stop, sweeping rats hard against the walls with one hand while she freed her second axe with the other.
“Take it!” Sophie hissed.
Tisker dropped Emeranth, only somewhat gently, and took up the offered weapon to join Sophie. The flood of rats barely seemed abated despite the pile of still forms along the ground. They gnashed bloody teeth, driven by the effects of the solution at the chance to taste flesh and blood, to rip and thrash.
The rats were between them and the only exit to the streets. Talis tied her bandana around her blooded calf and grabbed up Sophie’s abandoned torch, scanning the walls above them. Metal rungs interrupted the smooth facade of the buildings. Safety escapes that could barely be up to legal codes, but Talis welcomed the sight of them.
“Remember how you wished we’d had rooftops in Lippen, Soph?”
Sophie stomped on the head of a charging rat and felt its skull crush under her heel. “Better now than never, I guess.”
The surge of rats was almost depleted, but Talis had seen enough to suspect there were plenty more. The slanting shingled roofline would be trickier to cross, but it didn’t harbor the piles of refuse that tempted the rats to the alleys. Talis hoped they would not have to fight off hordes of nesting grackles above.
Fortunately, the high winds kept the birds from building their nests across the city roofs. Instead they sought the marginally safer shelter of window ledges. But they only found abandoned, trampled nests as they climbed out of the alley’s deep shadows and into the twilight cast by the nearest glow stations.
Those same winds threatened to dislodge their footing at every step, but they moved carefully, crouching low, as far as the close-packed buildings and their mutual roof line would take them. It ended overlooking a wider intersection where they paused to consider which side of the building seemed safer to descend.
Talis, whose roughly bound leg wound was making limping uncomfortable, never mind scrambling over rooftops, was about to suggest breaking through a window and climbing down inside the building, when a dark figure moved across the intersection, catching her eye in the same moment it disappeared around a corner across the street.
“Captain, look!” Sophie pointed with her free arm, and when Talis pulled her gaze away from the place where the tall, dark figure disappeared, she saw crumpled bodies in the street below, many of whom were victims of bladed weapons.
“She’s not headed for the docks,” Tisker said close to Talis’s ear. Talis hated to think of the familiar figure as Onaya and flinched at the statement.
“Which means she can’t get away in that direction,” Sophie said. Her tone was as cold and hard as steel.
Talis took a deep breath through her nose, thankful the wind had carried away the nasty gas.
Carried it out into the skies, headed for the rest of the world.
They climbed down as carefully as they could, Emeranth tossed over Talis’s shoulder. She gripped her legs under one arm, jumping the last three rungs to the ground below. She felt fresh blood run down over her ankle.
In the streets beyond their alley, fitful Cutter folk struggled to regain control of themselves, obviously on the verge of losing. Others were moving about on unsteady feet, in search of a fight. Most still wore their capital finery, or what still hung from their shoulders. City guards locked in grappling battles with shop keepers and citizens, biting at each other’s faces, tearing at each other’s ears and hair. Women in full skirts and tailored silk coats attacked children attempting to bite and drag at their legs. Talis saw a lace-trimmed pram on its side in the street, its occupant and caretaker nowhere to be found.
They avoided the open battles in the intersection, gained Dugs’s—scratch that, rot it—Onaya’s escape route, and followed her trail of victims. Emeranth struggled less, as long as they didn’t jostle her too much. As though she were out of energy to fuel her violent outbursts. The entire city reverberated with a cacophony of angry growls, half-screams of rage and pain. But not a single intelligible word from a sober person. The wind picked up, coming in off the island’s edge.
“Captain,” Sophie said, gently. They were almost to the very opposite end of the island from the docks. It had been a while since they passed one of Onaya’s victims.
Talis shook her head, refusing to accept they’d lost the trail. “No. No. He wouldn’t give up on me.”
Sophie pressed her lips in a thin line, then spoke softly, not just because of the corrupted, soulless beings but as if afraid Talis would whirl around and strike her. Or afraid she’d crumble like dry leaves. “He’s not in th—”
Then they heard a blade sing, and Talis ran toward the sound, letting Emeranth fall from her hands toward Tisker. She rounded a corner in time to see a body slump to the ground, and heard soft footsteps running ahead.
Talis leaned into a run. They had her now. The far end of the street opened at the edge of the city, a wrought-iron fence separating the street from open sky.
But Onaya did not slow. She reached the fence, vaulted it, and plunged out of sight.
A rasping cry shook Talis, and she doubled her speed. Hit the fence and caught herself, the cold metal pressing against her palms. She feared seeing the raven form abandoning Dug’s body to its final plummet, but instead staggered back, away from the airship lifting into view.
From atop the weather deck, Dug’s voice delivered Onaya’s words. “You should have sought the rings long ago, Talis. This is your fault. You forced me to take action.”
Talis couldn’t speak, her throat seized as though by strong, unrelenting hands. She choked out a sob as the ship pulled away from the island’s edge. A Bone temple ship, its crew watching warily for what she might do. They kept the ship low, below the slips, out of reach of the remains of the gas cloud.
Onaya jogged for the edge of the balloon, dove over, and caught herself along the ratlines, swinging down to the deck as though airship life was second nature.
Tisker caught up to Talis, in time to watch Onaya give a brisk wave from the railing before turning her back on them.
“No . . .” Talis could barely whisper. Her hand reached for her prayerlocks. She had one wound around her ring finger before she remembered they would do no good.
Tisker tried to steer her away from the guard rail. “Cap, if we’re going to catch up with them . . .”
“We can’t.” Talis took a deep breath, defiant of another sob that was threatening her, pulling at her shoulders. “We’re too far from the docks. I should never have tried to follow her.”
She took a step back, gaze still locked on the ship. Committing its lines and markings to memory. Shivers ran through her as she forced herself to take a steadying breath and face the next steps.
Tisker stood beside her, quiet, giving her a moment. She looked at him and shook herself. The moment was not for her. He also watched the ship, between hard, slow blinks. Thick streams of tears ran down his cheeks, and his lips worked as though in silent argument.
That gave her back her voice. Her resolve. She put a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped. “Come on.”
He sniffled, wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, and together they jogged back to where Sophie waited with Emeranth.
At the end of an alley, the streets opened up onto the sky port. The way back across Diadem had taken a series of mad dashes and anxious hiding
as throngs of violent, mindless citizens attacked each other—and far, far too much time.
Here and there, they came across people who, while still clearly freed of their senses, seemed to scan the sky, their expressions radiant with a strange, desperate hope.
Safety was a short jog away, but the docks were on the other side an unshielded, open plaza. An unavoidable battlefield of violence.
Dock workers used their heavy tools—line spool winches, chain as thick as their forearms, and cleats torn from the wooden planks—to do as much damage to each other as they could. Spittle and blood flew from their mouths as they clashed again and again until someone dropped to the ground. The remaining victors turned on each other and began the violence anew. Wild cries echoed off the buildings surrounding the plaza.
Fortune’s Storm waited in her berth on the other side of several dozen muscular, seething Cutter men.
They crouched behind a stack of offloaded cargo to collect their thoughts. They spoke only loud enough to be heard over the muffled noise of Emeranth’s struggling.
“That’s a lot of corrupted.” Tisker thumbed the panel on his Yu rifle.
Sophie hefted her axes and took a deep breath. “I don’t mind fighting them, but who’s going to hold onto Emeranth?”
Talis shook her head. “We’re not going to fight them. There’s nothing to win here. These are all people. Might still be again. Avoid them much as you can. Knock them down if they get too close.”
Sophie and Tisker exchanged looks. If Dug were here . . . The thought was in Talis’s mind, too, louder than the roaring of Diadem’s lost causes.
She looked around the stack to their ship, silent and serene just off the edge of the island. They had left Kirna to keep the engines pumping steam to the lift system. In moments, they could stoke those fires, kick it to the boilers, and be away. Nearly there. The hairs on Talis’s skin prickled, though the sensation was almost imperceptible over the disquiet churning she felt since watching Onaya sail away in Dug’s stolen body.
“When we get there, no wasted movements. Sophie, loosen the docking lines, and push us off. Tisker, to the wheel. I’ll lock up the princess and unfetter the engines.” She took a deep breath, then said, “Just run for it. Come on.”
She hoisted Emeranth over her shoulder. The empress wriggled again, but Talis wrapped one arm behind the girl’s knees and managed to hold on as she sprinted over the cobblestones.
In the center of the square, bodies were piled, fallout from the traffic around the docks. The survivors turned toward them, panting, shoulders lifting and falling with the power of their exertion. They lost interest in each other faster than Talis had counted on.
She braced herself. With the girl on her shoulder, she couldn’t knock any of them over or barrel through them. Tisker and Sophie moved out in front of her, to either side, handling the defense so she could cut straight through. She angled for the clearest path and focused on the ramp leading to their ship.
The air split with the whine of Yu’Nyun rifles. Flashes of yellow-green light struck multiple targets around her. The men fell before Sophie and Tisker reached them.
Talis skidded to a halt, almost losing her balance trying to turn at the same time, to face a line of Imperial officers moving into position at the opening of the sky port plaza. Each wore a shining silver mask fit tightly over their faces. No doubt from the same benefactors who provided their energy rifles.
From behind the ring of Imperials—walking casually, hands clasped behind xist back—a Yu’Nyun stepped forward into the square.
Xe was taller than Scrimshaw by a full head, replete with the confidence of someone important. Shimmering translucent veils swayed from fine silver rings piercing the ridge beneath the arch of xist head. Cords of beaded gemstones and sparkling wire held the diaphanous toga in place over shoulders and hips, and along the arms at wrist and elbow. Gaps in the draped fabric bared lengths of intricately carved exoskeleton with intermittent patterns of the raw, blue tissue beneath.
It made a strange small gesture with its delicately patterned fingers. “Captain Talis, I presume.”
As her surprised faded, Talis noted a detail. A small detail. One she wished she was mistaking.
The Yu’Nyun wore no protection from the gas cloud.
Talis looked to Sophie, who swallowed. She realized what it meant.
“Since Hankirk returned to the city, we have been expecting you to appear in his wake, Captain. I wonder, is our friend aboard your ship? We would appreciate if you would return ghin to us.”
“Si’s not a prize to be passed around.” Sophie’s fingers were clenched at her sides.
The alien hissed with that nerve-frying laughter, and opened xist mouth to speak again.
But xe never got the chance. A bullet sang a single, high note through the air, and struck xin between the eyes.
The line of guards scrambled for cover.
Talis urged Tisker and Sophie in a dash to board Fortune’s Storm, where Scrimshaw stood with a rifle.
Beside sin, Kirna was also armed, but ducked low against the railing for cover. Shots fired over their shoulders, and Talis heard shouting muffled behind filters.
“Go!”
She moved for the lower decks and the engine room as Sophie tugged knots free up and down along the railing, loosing the lines leading back to dock.
Talis carried Emeranth to the first unused passenger cabin, Kirna close behind her.
She dumped her on the undressed bunk inside and turned to the alchemist. “Can you help her?”
Kirna swallowed. “We will do our best, Captain.”
Satisfied, Talis ran to stoke the engines. Tisker called out to her on the all-ship before she could finish setting the controls for a hard run.
“Just a minute,” she responded, fussing with a lever that needed a delicate touch.
“Now would be better,” he replied. Something in his tone stayed her hand.
She climbed the companionway and gained a view of full midship again where shock froze her feet.
Masked in protective gear—not of Yu’Nyun design—Hankirk stood at the edge of the docks, waving for them to wait.
“Double-dipping, fetid hells.” Gods rotted man. She hadn’t seen his green puddle, had she? She motioned for Tisker to keep them on their heading, then turned back to face Hankirk. “You ever gonna die?”
“Let me have Em. I’ll keep her safe.” His voice was muffled behind the filtration mask. Until they could fix this, no one would be able to travel the trade winds without one.
Talis was still wearing her holsters. She didn’t try to stop the impulse, and she drew on him and fired. She was hardly within range, and the ship’s motion made him a moving target.
Hankirk ducked beside a dock pole for partial cover. “She’ll be safe with me.”
“No one’s safe with you. This is all your fault!” She waved a hand in the general direction of Nexus. “We’re taking her to Meran since we’re headed in that direction anyway. You’re done here.”
She took another shot, which caught him in the meat of his arm. Nonlethal. If she were lucky, maybe it would get infected.
He looked uncertain, gaze flicking from the edge of the dock to her railing. Not a leap any mortal man could achieve, but it didn’t seem to stop him from considering it.
“Please, by all means, attempt the jump.”
But he didn’t. He was beyond range of her guns, and she wasn’t about to slow down to get the cannons prepped.
As the roaring startup of the engines faded into the chuff of smooth flight, his shouts were stolen by the wind rushing between them. Talis could hear Kirna and Amos struggling with Emeranth in her cabin below.
Talis was covered in a chafing layer of dust and sweat, and no small amount of blood from a leg wound she was pretty sure needed antibiotics. A wholly unfamilia
r sense of fatigue gripped her. She wanted a shower. Coffee. Sleep.
Didn’t matter that Hankirk survived. He was in the middle of a city he’d destroyed. Possibly a planet that was destroyed.
She’d have happily pushed him off the docks herself, but they had business to attend to.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out Silus Cutter’s ring, turning it over between her thumbs and forefingers. She felt something harden inside her. An anger. A resolve. It braced her, as though she wore armor beneath her skin.
Winds guide her, she was going to get Dug back.
Chapter 47
Twenty-five minutes, then twenty-five minutes. The barrel through the ocean water swirled open, clearing the path to Nexus. This time they knew to watch for it, and the hull got no wetter than the spraying mist in the air could fling at them. Talis held her breath anyway, shoulders tense and knotted, until they were through, and the ocean sealed up tight again behind them.
Either fixing the empress would help Peridot, or it wouldn’t. Talis had no idea, but now that they had the girl, she was going to do what she could.
Kirna had made her a box for Silus Cutter’s ring, marked with the same sigils they’d drawn within their cabin, to obscure the ring from the senses of Meran and the gods. Talis had no intention of handing it over. For good measure, she tucked it in a locker in the deepest center of the ship. Not that she didn’t trust Kirna’s work. The sigils she tattooed on them were all the evidence of the alchemist’s skills. Even now, with the gas pushed all over Peridot on the winds, the markings glowed green against their throats. They’d all shared the experience as Hankirk unleashed his fury upon Diadem. They’d all had to reach for their own soul essence and reel it back in. It was horrible, it was agony. And they were the lucky ones.
A shifting, curving pathway opened, drawing them deeper into Nexus. Either Talis misremembered how long it took to get to Meran’s chamber, or the path led them more directly this time.
