Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

  Fitz’s stomach burned. His arms sagged beneath the weight of the carriage. ‘In the name of the One Father…’

  ‘We’ll get you out, I promise,’ said Culran, but his eyes told a different story.

  Dixon’s weak voice rasped, blood spilling over his lips. ‘Don’t… leave me…’

  A lightning bolt flared across the sky, followed by a clap of thunder.

  ‘Pull him!’ Culran yelled to Fitz.

  ‘I can’t… Someone help!’

  Dixon reached out to the captain—but his hand fell limp to his side, his dulled eyes fixing on nothing.

  Gods. ‘He’s gone.’ It turned Fitz’s stomach to do it, but he let go of the carriage.

  Culran screamed something in a language Fitz didn’t recognise.

  ‘We’re leaving!’ he said. ‘Now!’

  But Culran wouldn’t listen. ‘I will not leave him here!’

  Fool. Fitz made for the Wind. He had other people to look after.

  Thunder boomed, drowning out the sound of the ship’s rotors.

  The storm.

  Fitz leapt onto the ramp, knuckles white on the handrail. The airship’s rotors birthed a sandstorm. Damn it, Tiera!

  Just as Fitz pressed the button to raise the ramp, Tiera materialised. She had Roarke’s arm draped over her shoulder, his feet dragging in the dirt. His overalls were charred and shredded, his face black and bloodied.

  Strands of lightning spread from atop the Spire, clawing into the black clouds above. Machinery growled. The dormant beacons along its shaft powered up and pulsed with energy.

  ‘Move!’ Fitz called, pulling Tiera into the hold. Roarke was unconscious and hurt, but he was alive.

  Fitz retracted the ramp and heaved the doors closed. Alarms blared through the ship as she climbed.

  ‘Is everyone on board?’ said Fitz, breathless. ‘Oxbridge? Has anyone seen Oxbridge?’

  Tiera held his gaze. Ash and dirt smeared her face. ‘Dead.’

  ‘Gods,’ he said. Fitz punched the airship’s intercom. ‘Drimmon! Get us as far away as you can. Ignore the warnings and just fly.’

  His voice crackled through the static: ‘I can’t outrun lightning!’

  ‘Try! Stick close to the ground and as soon as we’re away from the thunderhead, you climb, hard and fast!’

  Some of the crew had already strapped themselves into the emergency seating. As she strapped Roarke onto a fold-down cot, Tiera said, ‘Did Culran make it?’

  ‘I ain’t waiting on him,’ Fitz growled.

  Orders. His crew needed something to do—and they needed to see their leader take control.

  ‘Everyone buckle yourselves in!’ roared Fitz. ‘I promise you, we will get through this.’

  Wind and thunder battered the walls, explosions detonating in the air.

  Sweat crawled down Serena’s face. The flashing reds and wailing screams of the bridge’s alarms stung her senses—but even they were drowned out by the barrage of thunder and lightning. She huddled down in the bridge with Angelo and Clara, each of them clamped into their chairs. The harness bit into Serena’s skin.

  The room shook as the airship ascended. It lurched forward, pushing her head back into the seat.

  Fitz burst into the room. ‘Update, Drimmon!’

  ‘It’s coming!’ said the co-pilot. ‘Oh Gods… Oh Gods… The graphs are all over the place! There’s too much interference, we’re blind!’

  ‘We got eyes, don’t we?’

  Fitz fastened himself into his pilot’s chair. He flicked switches and pulled at levers.

  Beyond the airship’s skyglass, lightning webbed the heavens. The black cloud swallowed the stars with startling speed.

  She recited Fitz’s safety lessons. The metal, the materials—lightning travels from entry to exit point. It’s not like old airships where lightning could set an outer envelope on fire. Stay low and cover your ears—the sound is like a bomb going off.

  But this wasn’t a normal thunderstorm.

  Spires created concentrated storms—and a barrage of lightning against the ship would be like sword strikes against flesh.

  The dark cloud expanded, like the muscled belly of a monster.

  The airship turned, Fitz roaring with the strain of it.

  ‘Okay,’ started Drimmon, ‘we’re sailing and it’ll get bumpy this close to the ground, but if we all stay calm and–shit!’

  Lightning struck just ahead of the Wind’s bow, illuminating the world in brilliant white.

  The room spun. Clara recited a prayer. Instruments and tools clattered onto the floor as Drimmon corrected the course. Serena felt the Wind digging into the ground with an awful wrench and squeal.

  ‘We’re good!’ howled Fitz.

  Drimmon whimpered to himself. ‘Oh Gods, oh Gods… Aerulus, Irros, grant mercy… Gods what if I don’t see Ena again…?’

  ‘Stay focussed!’ Fitz barked. ‘The rotors took a scrape but we’re fine!’

  ‘Ena…’

  Another arc of lightning shot down from the heavens, heralding its siblings. A flood of light burned Serena’s eyes, accompanied by the sickening twist of wrenching metal.

  The world spun.

  High-pitched alarms rang out, the room bathed in the crimson red of emergency lighting.

  ‘Speak!’ demanded Fitz.

  ‘We’ve lost the aft starboard rotor!’ cried Drimmon. ‘Crosswinds are battering us to shit! If we take one more hit-’

  ‘Focus!’

  The ship picked up speed.

  Thunder snarled.

  Lightning sparked and burst from the sky.

  The alarms pierced the air, their sound a strangling caterwaul.

  Serena’s skin bristled. She locked hands with Angelo, and closed her eyes.

  The Liberty Wind scoured the ground. Sand, dirt and rock flew out in waves beneath her rotors. Angry, guttural thunder surged through the air. The storm spilled from the sky, gaining momentum. The cloud expanded and spiralled like a tornado, its funnel pinned to the Spire’s peak.

  Forks of lightning punctured the air as the roiling cloud steamrolled the sky.

  The Liberty Wind raced the storm. A bolt slashed its way towards her bow and sent the airship careening from side to side. She wobbled, the turbines on her starboard side cleaving into the earth, metal screaming and tearing off. Plates ripped from her and plummeted to the ground before she levelled off and ascended.

  Another bolt ripped one of her rotors away, like a talon slicing into escaping prey.

  The lightning increased in frequency and strength, but still the airship wove its way through the air, spinning and toiling, coils of lightning driving into the earth at her back.

  She twisted and hugged the ground, a silver pinball bouncing beneath crashing, black clouds, breaking from its grasp as she made her mad escape. She climbed the air as she broke free from the thunderhead’s grip.

  Behind her, the Spire surged with power and arcs of lightning blitzed the earth beneath it.

  The storm raged, and with it came the rain.

  Chapter Two

  Smoke coiled through Dustwynd Alley and tumbled up towards the dark, obsidian sky. The place smelled so foul, even its own filth tried to escape.

  Tyson Gallows armed sweat from his forehead. He ignored the pain in his lungs and ran through another alley, feet carrying him through thick shadows. The ignium streetlamps gasped into life, but they didn’t help—the darkness here had taken root.

  Where are you?

  Gallows scanned the corners, the cracked windows. The slum towers sat like crooked teeth in rotten gums.

  Eyes followed him as he pushed his way through human traffic. Without thinking, Gallows clasped the hilt of his shortsword. It was like his mum used to tell him: No matter how bad things seem right now, you have to remember—they can always, always get worse.

  ‘’scuse me!’ He pressed around a corner and the Ashway sprawled open in front of him. There.

  The jerky gait gave Buzz F
itangus away—it was common among scuzz addicts. The tension eased in Gallows’ stomach. He’d never live it down if he escaped.

  Sweeping his brown, matted hair behind his ears, Gallows slowed his pace, making sure to keep well away from his target. In the skybridges connecting the slum towers, a shadow danced. Damien. He darted across the skybridge and down onto a rooftop with the poise and precision of a ballet dancer. Clad in deep blue, he was just another shadow.

  Gallows pushed his way through the crowd and caked dirt across his bare arms. It didn’t do to look too clean here. People could think you had money.

  ‘Recycled water! We got recycled water, better’n fresh! You want it, speak to Mister Zoven, he’ll sort ya out!’

  The voices washed over him. Shouting, cackling, constant whispering punctuated by the occasional scream… He could read it. Feel it. There was a rhythm beneath the chaos, like it was being conducted by an unseen hand. Strange to think there might be some kind of beauty beneath it all.

  A child spewed on the cobbles at his feet.

  Gallows stopped just short of barging into him. ‘You okay, kid?’

  The child—cheeks sunken, skin pale—looked up at Gallows, pleading without words.

  ‘Here.’ Gallows took his last water token and pushed it into the kid’s hand. ‘That’s for you—no giving it away.’

  The boy snatched the crumpled paper and ran away giggling to his friends. Good acting skills, realistic vomit and nice sickly effect with the dirt makeup. Solid effort. Well earned.

  Wait.

  Where’s Buzz?

  ‘Gods damn it,’ he said, then started running.

  ‘-official water tokens, signed by the Magisters themselves! Follow me an’ I’ll show you what you need to do to get your paws on ’em…’

  Cooked rat meat filled his nostrils as he ran, stoneroaches scurried along the walls and the metallic tang of spent ignium settled on his tongue. Where are you?

  Women huddling in doorways called out to him, beggars tugged at his legs.

  But Buzz had disappeared.

  ‘Shit.’

  Another voice cut through the din; a weathered old man with his eyes stitched closed. He stood atop a crate and wore tattered light blue robes. ‘Follow the Fayth! Follow the Indecim! The wrath of storms will rain upon you! Aerulus himself commands you!’

  Con-men and cut-throats were so rife here, it was a wonder there was anyone honest to steal from.

  The Ashway narrowed and split into spiralling alleyways. Where is the slippery bastard?

  Gallows’ eyes landed on the back of a familiar buzz cut. Red scabs lined the back of the head. His arms juddered, his clothes hung on him and his feet were bare and blistered.

  Gallows stepped over what he told himself was a puddle of oil and closed the gap. Buzz’s pallid, jangling body hopped from side to side. Anticipation. The scuzz den must be close.

  ‘Move, move, move,’ said Buzz, pushing his way past an elderly woman. He skipped ahead some more and took a right, heading down towards Scab End, all the while scratching and clawing at himself.

  He disappeared down a narrow, stone staircase. The amber glow from the lamps ebbed and flickered on the walls, sending shadows into a constant dance. He’s heading towards the old Temple of Irros.

  Gallows followed. Dank air filled his nostrils but the tunnels were immaculate when compared to the alleys above ground. It always struck Gallows as being a strange place to build a temple, but hey—if Irros was the God of water, then why not sewage, filth and shit as well?

  Pillars stretched out in the gloomy hall. A man-made trench ran through the centre of the chamber, where clerics would bless people as they bathed and sang hymns to Irros. Local legend said that this was the site of the first Idari bombing, that the water supply to the temple was the first to be poisoned, but people said that everywhere.

  Gallows flitted between knots of people. Half of them looked like scuzzers as well. A door lay open at the other end of the hall, a blade of light cutting through it and-

  Buzz bolted for another passage.

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Can’t keep an eye on old Buzz Fitangus without ’im knowing, haw haw!’ He dived around the next corner.

  ‘C’mon Buzz, do we really have to do this? Save me a lot of time if you gave up.’

  ‘Give up? I ain’t done nothing wrong!’ Buzz laughed. ‘Does this take you back, Ty? Do you remember giving the coppers a merry ol’ chase through these same tunnels when we was young?’

  Gallows didn’t waste his breath responding.

  ‘Haha, you daft bastard! I made you back on Barrow Lane! Chucked that kid an aeron to spew on your shoes! C’mon, bootlicker, come an’ get me, ha ha!’

  Buzz’s lanky legs were stronger than they looked, and he was energetic for a man who spent most of his time slumped in a corner with drool dripping from his mouth.

  ‘Gods damn it…’

  Gallows barrelled down into the tunnels after him, twisting through narrow passageways. The smell got worse the deeper he got.

  ‘This place is a maze, old Tyson! Nobody knows it like me!’

  Buzz’s voice bounced on the walls, making it difficult to pinpoint in the darkness. Keep him talking. ‘Yeah, I bet you’ve spent your fair share of time down here, Buzz. What, the women chase you all over the place, telling you they’d pay you not to screw ’em?’

  ‘Oi, I’m a man of principle! And my particular vice don’t leave me open to disease.’

  ‘I tailed you by following the pus from your toes!’

  Gallows burrowed through an antechamber and came to a large room with three more doorways ahead of him, lit by a solitary ignium lamp. He closed his eyes and listened.

  ‘This is my territory, copper-lover!’ Buzz’s voice resonated. He was close. ‘You ain’t ever gonna find me!’

  ‘Yeah, that would be a lot more convincing if you didn’t leave your footprints all over the ground.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’ Buzz burst from a shadow and legged it down through the centre doorway.

  Gallows took up the chase—the light weakened with every step. ‘C’mon, mate, I got better things to do than traipse through crap!’

  ‘“Mate”? Long time since we was friends! Seem to recall you grassing old Buzz up to the Watch!’

  Gallows rolled his eyes and cupped his hands around his mouth. ‘Seems to me you stole water tokens from me and sold ’em to shove more junk into your arm!’

  ‘Ha ha! Yeah, that was a good day.’

  Gallows stood still. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he made out the silhouette of a staircase, a tomb, a jagged-

  Buzz jumped from a shadow and swung a wooden torch into Gallows’ lower back. It snapped in half but Gallows went tumbling. Buzz was on him, raining punches onto his head.

  Gallows scrambled to his feet, white lights popping in and out of his vision. He clawed at Buzz, dragged him off and slammed him onto the filthy stone. ‘Gotcha, you little guh-’

  A fistful of grime flew into Gallows’ face. Buzz sprang up, charged Gallows into a wall and ran off.

  ‘Gonna get me scuzz, some sweet and lovely scuzz. Gonna jam it up, gonna jam it up, gonna jam it up and it’ll take me far away. Ha ha!’ He turned to face the way he came, stumbling backwards. ‘You hear that, Gallows me old mate? Oi, Ty, I’m talking at you! Whassat, mate? You’re too busy being outsmarted by ol’ Buzz Fitangus, you can’t hear me? Shame, me old mum always said I has a lovely voice!’ He turned around and skipped on. ‘She was stone deaf, mind.’

  Buzz’s voice swam around his ears, as elation turned into exhaustion. It felt like an hour he’d been wandering down here—or was it a day? Was ol’ Ty Gallows really there? He could barely tell where the sewage ended and the Temple of Irros began, or one whore from a street rat, their faces all merged and melted and their eyes were on him laughing at him, jeering, mocking, those godless bastards, those human stains, and there was his mum, mother, bitch, decrepit and skinny and lurching out at
him and blood bubbled from his arms but the noise oh the noise it sang it sang it sang out to him sweet sweet music…

  Buzz doubled back and found the opening at Dustwynd Alley, feeling pleased with himself. But sick. Very very sick. It pained him and made him do terrible things, filthy things. Medicine was needed, oh yes medicine.

  And Buzz knew, oh Buzz always knew, he knew it all, pray sweet Songstress, beautiful Musa, God of Music and of Poetry and Bliss. But may all the Gods damn that bastard Gallows, damn his eyes and his songless soul and yes Buzz would need extra today, extra to take the pain away. He deserved it. And the work he’d been doing at the orphanage would end soon, oh yes, he deserved it. Sweet Songstress, spread your arms wide and embrace me, embrace me with-

  With great speed, Buzz’s face met stone. Agony sifted through him and copper filled his mouth.

  ‘Is, is that you Ty? Bastard. Need my medicine, need it, need it-’

  Something hauled him to his feet. A fist drove into Buzz’s stomach, knocking the breath from him. He coughed blood into the dirt. ‘Right, I can see’s we ain’t gonna be mates.’

  ‘Astute.’ The low voice resonated.

  Buzz’s stomach lurched at hearing it. ‘You’re Ty’s posh mate.’

  With slender fingers, Damien slipped his mask away. The floor and walls down here were caked in filth, but his short blonde hair was clean. Buzz gazed up into his blue eyes. They were cold but alive, shining even in the darkness. They glinted like… Well, like how the whole world glints when you’re on scuzz.

  ‘Bertram “Buzz” Fitangus. You are wanted by the Crown and the City Watch of Dalthea for the crimes of aggravated assault, thievery, possession of illegal substances—and public defecation.’

  ‘Posh bugger.’ Buzz hated posh buggers. He wept into the limestone. ‘Damn you, just leave me be, leave me be I’ll have your bloody soul you bastards all of you, leave me be, I ain’t hurt anyone.’

  ‘We’ll let the Magister decide. As a licensed agent of the Hunters’ Guild of Dalthea, I am placing you under arrest.’ Damien’s voice drawled, like he was deciding whether or not to get up from a chair. Almost playful.

  But different. Everything was different.