Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

  Tiera stood before him, her eyes wild, her skin slick with blood.

  Chapter Twelve

  The blade whistled in the air. Gallows rolled, wincing as the blade chimed on the stone floor.

  He scrambled across the floor and grabbed the watchman’s sword. ‘Hang on!’

  She charged at him, her face a mask of pure malice.

  ‘Listen to me! I’m here to help!’

  Her sword lunged; Gallows threw his up to deflect, straining with the effort. He knew his way around a blade and Gods knew he loved his B-knife, but he was no master swordsman.

  He lurched backwards as Tiera slashed at his throat, then ducked under her backswing, stepping out of range. ‘Stop, will you? You know me! I was at your guild house!’

  Tiera advanced, sword spinning in a silver blur. Gallows had seen the tactic before, used to disorient one’s opponent and make it look like the strike was coming from one place when in fact it came from somewhere else. If he was careful, he could dodge it and disarm her—he just had to make sure he knew where she’d strike next.

  The tip of Tiera’s blade severed the chain across his chest.

  Gallows leapt back, heart thrashing in his ears. ‘Where’s the other watchman, Tiera?’

  She replied by bringing her blade up with lightning speed. Gallows blocked the strike but it sent pain reverberating down his arm. Exhaustion nipped at his limbs, and the ground grew more treacherous by the moment.

  Steel clashed, and Gallows had to push himself to keep up with her. ‘Stop fighting!’

  The plea only made Tiera up her attack speed—she advanced, slicing and slashing, cutting and thrusting. Fearsome power radiated from her, but she was wild and undisciplined. Gallows deflected a series of strikes, parrying her blows and took any opening he could, but nothing could stop her pressing him back. Broken glass crunched beneath his step.

  Saliva trailed from Tiera’s mouth, hissing every time he denied her blade.

  ‘I’m not here to kill you!’ Gallows pleaded.

  ‘You won’t get the chance!’

  The room they were in crumbled before Gallows’ eyes. He felt the floor weaken. Intense heat pressed over him and smoke filled his lungs. The razor edge of Tiera’s blade sheared the air.

  Gods… I might have to kill her.

  The clamour around them rose as the tower fell apart.

  Over Tiera’s shoulder, Gallows spied the two watchmen. One ran towards them, screaming and brandishing a truncheon.

  ‘Behind you!’

  Tiera sent Gallows the wrong way and headbutted him, before turning her attention to the men behind her.

  Gallows could only watch as Tiera swiped the truncheon from the copper’s hand and drew her blade against his throat-

  The wall next to them exploded, blasting Tiera to the side. It saved the watchman’s life.

  Gallows rushed over. ‘Listen! The place is falling apart—we need to get out—all of us!’

  ‘They made me do it!’ Tiera howled.

  ‘Piss on you!’ the watchman snapped.

  ‘Faraja!’ called his companion, his eyes beaten black and blue. ‘Listen to ’em! We’ve been done, mate! I ain’t dying in here!’

  The fire raged ever closer. ‘Listen to Black-Eye!’ Gallows pressed.

  ‘Mate, you’ve got a daughter,’ Black-Eye continued. ‘Don’t be stupid!’

  That settled it. Faraja gave a curt nod.

  ‘Tiera,’ said Gallows.

  She scowled, fingers wrapped tight around her weapon. But after a moment, she followed Gallows and the watchmen through the gap in the destroyed wall.

  ‘This way!’ Gallows called, climbing down a narrow staircase and into a large, round room. Burning timber fell from the ceiling.

  The attic. He scoured his memories of childhood visits to this place, and the times when he’d sneak in to see the relics before they were open to the public. The earthy odour of smoke forced its way into his lungs. ‘There!’ Gallows scrambled across the room towards a spiral stone staircase and bolted down.

  ‘That’s the way these bastards brought me up!’ yelled Tiera.

  Gallows ignored her. He thundered down the stairs, landing in a room full of destroyed artefacts.

  Then he noticed it—the hatch in the ground. About time we caught a break.

  Someone screamed from behind.

  Faraja’s body tumbled down the staircase.

  ‘Help!’ cried Black-Eye. A moment later he landed on Faraja.

  ‘Gods damn it, Tiera-’ Gallows stopped when Tiera appeared—a knife protruded from her thigh.

  ‘Bastard stabbed me.’ The words rumbled from Tiera like a furnace threatening to explode.

  ‘Son of a-’

  The ceiling collapsed in a shower of stone and oak. Tendrils of blazing fire crept down the walls.

  Gallows coughed, arming grime from his stinging eyes. ‘Follow me!’ He darted towards the hatch, the floor buckling and throwing him like a paper boat on a stormy wave. He pried the hatch open, revealing ladders. He had no way to know if it was any safer down there, but he didn’t have a choice.

  ‘We go down through the museum and out the north entrance!’

  ‘Are you gonna leave us here?’ grumbled Black-Eye, fresh blood oozing on his face. Faraja was still on the floor.

  ‘Follow if you want,’ said Gallows. ‘But I ain’t saving your ass any more.’

  ‘Wait.’ Tiera grabbed Gallows’ shoulder. ‘If I die here… I, I want someone to know. They made me do it. They made me kill. Captain Vaughan’s witch poisoned my head!’

  Amidst the chaos, amidst the ruin and the fire, Gallows froze. ‘What?’

  And she was there, looking down at him. Nidra, the Idari Grand Perceptor, in that putrid cell, the constant drip in the distant corner, her voice slithering like a snake in his brain…

  The ground tremored, snapping him back to reality. ‘Let’s go!’

  ‘Will… Will you let me live?’ said Black-Eye.

  ‘Keep up!’

  ‘Faraja! Faraja, come on mate!’

  The two watchmen got up.

  Gallows climbed down the ladder. He recognised the chamber it brought him to as the top floor of the museum. He dropped to the floor. ‘We ain’t far!’

  Tiera was next, then Black-Eye. Faraja came last, the ladder collapsing behind him.

  The walls quaked around them but the fire hadn’t reached this room. We can survive this.

  ‘This way!’ Gallows called.

  Dust clouded the air. Ancient tools and weapons were kept pristine in glass cases, some miracle preventing them from smashing amid the destruction.

  Gallows came to a giant oak door. It refused to budge. ‘Gods damn it.’ He charged it with his shoulder once, twice. ‘Faraja!’ he called. ‘Give me a hand.’ The watchman looked haggard and defeated, but he was bigger than Black-Eye. Anyway, Gallows wasn’t ready to take his eyes off him yet.

  The room grew hotter.

  They both charged into the door.

  Nothing. All this fighting, blood and fire, and it’s a goddamn door that kills us.

  Black-Eye screamed and hurtled towards it—the door burst inward with a satisfying crack.

  ‘Yeah, well, I loosened it for you,’ grunted Faraja.

  A hall lay open in front of them with hundreds of suits of armour, grand paintings and more weaponry. Black-Eye stepped through, panting. He opened his mouth and-

  And before he could speak, a hole opened where he stood.

  He screamed as the floor swallowed him.

  ‘No!’ Gallows dived over—just in time to see the watchman’s head crash into a beam and snap back with a sickening crack. Bright orange flames wreathed his body. ‘No!’

  ‘Let’s go!’ urged Tiera, seizing Gallows by the shoulders and pulling him back. Flames licked up. ‘Move!’

  The hall of armour ahead looked untouched, but the chasm made it impossible to cross.

  ‘We’re dead,’ muttered Faraja. ‘We�
��re dead.’

  ‘Quiet!’ snapped Tiera.

  ‘Piss on you! Look at it! We’re too late!’

  ‘Wait!’ said Gallows. ‘The bombs that caused the fire—there were no explosions at the north of the building—the scaffolding may still be intact there! We can smash through a window and climb down.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ asked Faraja.

  Gallows didn’t answer. He walked towards the gaping hole, took a step left, and put his back against the wall. It took all his will not to look down at Black-Eye’s flaming remains. ‘We’ll need to shimmy over like this!’

  ‘You’re crazy!’ yelled Faraja.

  Gallows kept his gaze pinned to the other side of the hall as he inched his way along the edge of the broken floor, palms pressed flat to the wall. Plaster and paint cracked and curled around his fingers from the heat.

  A crash sent his torso lurching forward. ‘Whoa, whoa!’ His sword slipped from his grasp, spinning down into the fire. For a second, he was sure he’d follow it. His heart raged in his head—but still he moved, sweat slick on his hands.

  He collapsed into the safety of the corner, but the cavity expanded. ‘Your turn!’ he called to Tiera.

  With great reluctance written over her face, she cast her sword below and followed Gallows’ steps.

  When she made it to safety, Gallows ran ahead. He picked up an antique pole-axe and hurled it through the darkened window at the end of the room. The sight of the intact scaffolding might have made him weep with joy.

  Tiera appeared at his back, Faraja not far behind.

  Gallows called out to him. ‘When we get out of this, we’re getting answers! And you,’ he turned to Tiera, ‘we’ll talk to the Watch, tell ’em you were manipulated.’

  ‘I’m not surviving this only to hang!’

  ‘If you run, they’ll kill you. Your best bet is to turn yourself in, speak to-’

  The whole room shook with the sound of thunder.

  ‘Move, Hunter!’

  The floor disappeared from where Gallows stood.

  He plummeted down, hands and face scraping against stone.

  He felt the heat grasp at him, the touch of flaming fingers snatching out.

  This was it.

  Just like that.

  Death.

  Sera.

  With pain shooting through his arm, Gallows stopped.

  He hung in mid-air, every sense burning, every nerve frayed.

  Tiera was on her stomach, clutching him by the wrist. ‘Can’t do this myself!’

  Gallows fought down the bitterness in his stomach. He reached up with his free hand, sweat making it hard to latch onto an exposed beam—but he did, and pulled himself up. He rolled onto his back, gasping for breath.

  And Faraja approached—another knife in his hand and murder in his eyes.

  ‘Tiera!’

  She inched back, his knife slashing her cheek

  In one fluid movement, she grabbed his arm with both hands, broke it at the elbow, snatched the knife from him, and buried it in his heart.

  ‘No!’ Gallows lurched but Faraja’s body fell through the hole like a rag doll.

  Tiera yelled above the din. ‘Come on!’

  With tremendous effort, Gallows stood and lumbered over to the window. He kicked the remaining shards away and climbed through, latching onto the metal framework. The construction framework here was intact—just about.

  After a fraught ten minutes of climbing—concealed by smoke and the rabble below—Gallows and Tiera reached the ground.

  Silhouettes flickered back and forth in the smoke and dust, and bodies littered the ground.

  ‘Tiera,’ said Gallows, mopping his face. ‘You gotta turn yourself in.’

  ‘Piss on that.’

  ‘I’ll speak for you.’

  ‘Piss on you.’

  ‘Damn it, listen! There’s nowhere to hide! Thackeray’s dead! Tell ’em the truth, it’s the only way to save yourself.’

  Tiera spat, then wiped grime from her eyes. She held Gallows’ gaze for a moment. ‘Fine.’ Tiera cracked her knuckles. ‘We’ll do it your way.’

  ‘Good. C’mon.’ Gallows turned—which was just the latest of several stupid mistakes he’d made today.

  Tiera bounded towards him, her fist connecting with his jaw.

  He fell to the ground, bright lights popping in his head. When he opened his eyes, Tiera had gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘And you thought running away would solve your problems?’ Myriel placed her tea down.

  ‘Someone died,’ said Serena. ‘The sisters are looking for an excuse to kick me out. And…’ Her voice strained. ‘I think… whoever killed Marrin meant to kill me.’

  ‘Because she had green hair?’

  Serena’s fingers gripped her cup. ‘I wasn’t hanging around to find out.’

  ‘Speaking with the Watch might have been an idea.’

  ‘The Watch are a joke.’ Flicker had burrowed his way into her pouch again, where he sat in contented ignorance. ‘Look, are you going to turn me in?’

  Myriel examined her for an age. ‘I suspect you’ll simply run again if I let you out of my sight. And if what you say is true, you are in grave danger. I won’t turn you in, Serena—but I’m not sure I can protect you.’

  ‘I’m not going to the damn Watch! The one time they post a guard at the orphanage, someone ends up dead.’

  ‘Well you can’t sit around here forever. That horrid little man will come back with a warrant. Thank goodness the parade affords us some time to think about what to do with you.’

  ‘Yeah. And crowds. I’ll get on a train tonight. I’ll cut my hair, dye it.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Well… I’ll be out, won’t I?’

  Myriel sat forward. ‘Running is not a plan, Serena.’

  Sounds just like Jozef. ‘Look… I don’t know, okay? Is that what you want me to say? I don’t have friends. I don’t have family. I can’t go back to my crew.’

  Myriel’s face softened. ‘Goodness, child. You’ve certainly had a time of it.’

  Serena’s eyes burned. The floor became very interesting.

  ‘No shame in crying, dear.’

  Serena hammered the table with her fist, causing the teacup to leap from its saucer. ‘People keep dying around me! What if… What if whoever wants me dead attacked the Liberty Wind? What if everything that’s happened… is my fault?’

  Myriel smiled. ‘Guilt’s an awful thing, child. I know it’s easier to succumb to anger than to admit you’re frightened, but you mustn’t blame yourself.’

  ‘I…’ Serena started. But the words trailed off. What was there to say? What was there to do, except escape? ‘At the funeral…’

  ‘Mm?’ said Myriel, righting the teacup like she was setting a diamond into a ring.

  ‘You told me to come here if I had questions.’

  ‘I did. I fear coming here to lay low from the law might be pushing the generosity of my invitation a touch, but think nothing of it.’

  ‘Why did you tell me that story? The one about the light in the sky?’

  Myriel’s face lit up. ‘Ah, the Angel’s Breath.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever. You said it was a gift from the Orinul… But they’re meant to be demons, right? Enemies of the Gods?’

  ‘Not everyone subscribes to what our Fayth tells us.’ Myriel leaned back in her chair. ‘I told you the story because, well, stories are important, are they not? They’re everlasting. They often change over time, but they outlive all of us.’ Myriel gazed past Serena, lost in some memory. ‘Yes, stories are important.’

  ‘You sound like Angelo.’

  ‘Hm? Who’s Angelo? A boyfriend?’

  ‘Just a friend. He reads. A lot.’

  Myriel’s face lit up. ‘Then he is a friend worth cherishing.’

  ‘Right, yeah. Look, you said your guide told you about his people, ocean folk?’

  ‘Yes, he said the Angel’s Breath was a gift
to help sailors navigate when mists blotted out the stars. He said it warded them from the seduction of Siren songs—creatures that seized men’s will and lured them into the icy depths. I just thought it looked pretty.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I… I have… Memories. Of being on ships with my people, sailing around.’

  Myriel’s smile stayed still, but her eyes narrowed. ‘Ah yes. I thought so.’

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘I… suspected.’

  ‘How? Was your guide part of my family? Did he know Jozef? Do you?’

  Myriel’s laugh sounded like a child’s. ‘I don’t recognise the name, I’m afraid. Truthfully, I don’t know a great deal about them, but I travelled with a tribe for a spell. Nice people, kept mostly to themselves. Favoured Feria above the other Gods, as I do. Blesser of Journeys, literal and spiritual. Rather nicer ring to it than “the Death God” and “God of War”, wouldn’t you say?’

  Serena’s hand shot out. ‘Hold on, a tribe? There was more than one?’

  ‘I believe so. The world is a big place, and the Fayth isn’t very… Flexible. My peers derided me for seeking out other cultures. The other sisters shunned me for possessing the audacity of daring to expand my knowledge.’

  ‘You were a nun?’ Serena pictured the nuns back at the orphanage. She couldn’t see Myriel in the same light as Ingrid and Petrakis—drinking tea seemed like too much of an extravagance for them.

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied Myriel, the glint in her eye not fading for a moment. ‘Took my orders when I was fourteen with grand notions of serving the Church of Feria. I figured there would be more literal travel and less spiritual. I was wrong. They ex-communicated me when I… Well!’ She clapped her hands once. ‘That’s a story for another time. Tell me, Serena, what do you know of your family?’

  ‘Nothing. My mum and dad died when I was young. I… I don’t remember much about them. I was brought up by other people. They didn’t stay around long either. We kept moving from place to place, different people each time. I lived most of my life cooped up on boats. An Elder named Jozef taught me how to read and fish, and how to use the stars to navigate.’

  Myriel nodded. ‘And how did you end up here?’

  ‘I was in the Sanctecano Islands for a while. On a pilgrimage. I mean, not me, but everyone else was. We went back there every year or so, closest place to a home I had. That was a couple of years ago. The Idari came, war broke out… I was taken across the Discordant Sea but when the Enlighten was destroyed, we turned back and sailed across Irros’ Bounty. I wound up here the same day the bomb went off.’