Symphony of the Wind

by Steven McKinnon

  Tell that to the families of the murdered people in the Kingsway. Gallows rubbed the back of his head. It did nothing to alleviate the pounding.

  This is what was left of the government: A handful of bureaucrats. They were in a briefing room in a bunker somewhere in the depths of Musa’s Harp. Most of the other seats were empty—Enfield was the only surviving member of the Council.

  They’d arrived here by travelling through an underground tunnel in transport trucks used in the war, known as Golden Goddesses for the trails of ignium smoke they left in their wake.

  ‘In fact,’ Verimedes began, ‘the only vessel we have reason to suspect is the Liberty Wind—Tiera Martelo’s airship.’

  ‘No-one else from her crew was involved,’ Gallows said. ‘Not that you’d know, sitting so far back from the crowd.’

  Enfield spoke before Verimedes could respond: ‘Martelo’s airship was involved in an accident two nights ago in which three people died. Their captain claims the Sector Seven Spire had been activated yet we have no record of this. One of the crew went missing before today’s attack—a young girl—following a murder in the orphanage. We have to assume that Martelo’s attack is related.’

  ‘What?’ said Gallows. ‘A kid was murdered?’

  Enfield nodded. ‘Uh, yes. Serena—we have no surname—absconded following the death of another student.’

  ‘When? What was the kid’s name?’

  Enfield squirmed. ‘Marrin Anne Pettigrew.’

  ‘Aerulus,’ he whispered. His whole body sagged. ‘You’re sure?’ Marrin. That’s the name of Veronica’s daughter. Gods above and below. ‘This Serena, did… did she do it?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘As sad as the death of a child is,’ began the Arch Vigil, ‘the assassination takes priority. This man should be with the Confessors.’

  Gallows punched the table. ‘Damn it, asshole, listen! Tiera could’ve killed me. She didn’t. The mind control shit wore off as soon as she completed her objective.’

  ‘Why, but of course it did!’ huffed Verimedes, his face growing more scarlet by the second. ‘You think saving your hide elevates her above suspicion, hey? All that does is implicate you!’ Verimedes sprawled his hands on the table. ‘This is an act of war by the Idari, and you have no place here. Junior Councillor, arrest this man and let us get on with the real work! We must respond! How many more Idari agents are in our city? How many more must die before we take action, hey? Junior Councillor?’

  ‘Witnesses verify his story,’ said Lockwood. She kept her voice level, but rage brimmed in her eyes. Or was it shame? ‘He was spotted from the Schiehallion engaging Martelo and saving the watchmen there from her attacks. They all escaped together. That’s the end of it.’ Her eyes trained on Gallows like a primed ballista.

  No way they saw everything after I leapt into the tower. I owe her—and she’ll cash in.

  ‘This, this is a time for calm, Arch Vigil.’ Enfield tried hard to compose himself. ‘We’re all grieving, we’re all in shock. We need to regroup, plan-’

  Verimedes’ hands flew up. ‘The foolish notions of a boy not fit for office! The Council has been destroyed! Rally the military, seal all exits, garrison troops in every district, declare martial law! Gods above and below, I do not mean to insult you, Junior Councillor, but our generals are more proficient and better equipped to deal with this situation!’

  ‘Proclamation Six Nine Seven Two has been enacted, Arch Vigil. Martial law is in effect. General N’Keres is co-ordinating his resources and will be here shortly. I have formally ceded control to him and will work to, um, install continuity of government while he deals with this atrocity. I hope this eases your concern, but I must insist that you—we—remain calm.’

  Verimedes shook his bulbous, squashed face. To Gallows, he looked like a stoneroach after it had met the pommel of his sword.

  And, like stoneroaches, he didn’t know when to give up. ‘The longer we wait, the graver the threat is to our kingdom! We have no reason to believe this crisis is over. For all we know it’s just beginning!’

  ‘Councillor Enfield is acting Prime Councillor and you will address him with respect,’ spoke Lockwood, her voice cutting like a guillotine. ‘Perhaps you’d have heard the Information Towers announce Proclamation Six Nine Seven Two if you weren’t so… hasty to reach the bunker.’

  The Arch Vigil’s face paled, but he kept his fat lips closed.

  The heavy doors of the briefing room flew open and General N’Keres stomped in. Military personnel flowed in along with him, many of the same faces Gallows had seen at Castle Rochefort. Kirivanti followed the general in, her face tired and drawn. Roland of the Raincatchers, the mage woman and even Lucien tal Giorgio of the Musicians’ Guild shuffled in. None of them looked like they belonged here.

  ‘Thank you all for coming, I am relieved to see you all safe,’ started Enfield. ‘Straight to it, then: Casualty report, General?’

  ‘Around sixty civilians killed in the bomb blasts, more than two hundred wounded.’ The general’s deep voice sounded like it would launch into a vibrant baritone song at any moment. ‘It seems their objective wasn’t to cause mass death; the bombs used were relatively weak ignium charges. Regrettably, they’re a common commodity and likely impossible to trace. Commander Lockwood, you had a better vantage point than I did; what can you tell us?’

  ‘The explosions were carried out by operatives wearing suicide vests,’ she said. ‘After the Prime Councillor was shot and the bombs discharged, further agents within the crowd—posing as street entertainers—initiated an assault with concealed weapons. As the general said, the objective seemed to be to sow confusion rather than cause mass casualties—the Prime Councillor was the real target. A number of these individuals were apprehended but they had some kind of poisonous pellet embedded in their teeth. They all died before we could get answers.’

  ‘Shit.’ Gallows shook his head. Tiera’s the only suspect. She’ll be hunted. They’ll sentence her to death and we’ll never know the truth. The spot where she’d punched him throbbed. Gods damn her if she lied to me.

  ‘Damage to the Kingsway has been minimal,’ N’Keres continued. Only in his late forties, his dark skin wore a patchwork of red blotches around the neck, common among survivors of bloodlung. ‘However, two water dispensing stations were destroyed and the Arc of Iona has suffered minor damage. Queen Iona Bridge has been closed and is under armed guard. The Collegium will take in as many people as possible. As per protocol, the Lord Sentinel and the Royal Guard are with King Owain and the Princess. Castle Rochefort has been locked down and checkpoints are being erected in all districts as we speak. The Prime Councillor’s body is in Princess Anabelle Academy Hospital.

  ‘However, the Tower of Remembrance and Memorial Museum did incur significant damage. The Tower still stands but may yet collapse.’

  ‘No doubt exactly what the perpetrators had hoped for,’ said Verimedes. ‘Destroying the Tower of Remembrance is a direct insult. It will be seen as a rallying cry to our enemies and must not go unpunished.’

  Gallows stared at the Arch Vigil. He may be full of hot air and impotent bluster, but he was right. They were on the ropes right now, weak and close to defeat. Another attack could cripple them.

  ‘Evacuation procedures of the Kingsway are underway,’ said N’Keres, ‘but it will take time. ’

  Enfield wiped the sweat from his face. ‘By which point other attacks may be carried out.’

  ‘We will prevent that,’ said Confessor Cronin. He hadn’t uttered a word before now. ‘My inspectors are questioning suspects now.’

  ‘What suspects?’ Gallows asked. ‘The other attackers killed themselves.’

  The eyes around Cronin’s pin-prick pupils brightened. Gallows remembered that look from when Cronin questioned him after Amberfire Night. It made his stomach tighten. ‘I am not at liberty to divulge that to you, Mister Gallows. But rest assured, my line of enquiry will be thorough.’

 
; ‘Commander Lockwood will take the Schiehallion and patrol the sky above the city,’ said N’Keres. ‘It will act as a reminder and hopefully deter any further attacks. Our Golden Goddesses will distribute water to those affected by the loss of the water stations, but rations are tight. The Watch and military will patrol the streets—we should be seen in force to reassure people while Confessor Cronin carries out his investigations.’

  ‘Agreed,’ nodded Enfield. ‘Guildmaster Kirivanti, as per the Hunters’ Guild charter, I am passing command of your men and women over to General N’Keres. See that they follow his orders to the letter.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Kirivanti.

  ‘Mister Gallows,’ Enfield continued, ‘the kingdom of Dalthea thanks you for risking your life in your attempt to apprehend the assassin. However, you acted against direct orders. For that reason, I am revoking your guild licence.’

  ‘Sir, Tyson Gallows is one of my best assets,’ Kirivanti started, ‘I’d be gratef-’

  ‘It’s fine, Sheva,’ said Gallows. ‘He’s right.’ In the back of his head, he was thinking about how to tell Veronica that her daughter was dead.

  ‘Now, sowing chaos is, uh, is a typical objective of terrorist attacks,’ Enfield explained. ‘To that end, waging war in our streets would be a mistake. However, we have no conclusive proof this heinous act was perpetrated by the Idari.’

  ‘Who else could it have been?’ questioned Lockwood. ‘Suicide bombings were instrumental during their siege of the Sanctecano Islands.’

  ‘Indeed, but Tiera Martelo is Phadrosi. Phadros has no known alliance with the Idari.’

  ‘Refusing to aid us in eradicating the Godsforsaken runts is crime enough,’ said Verimedes.

  Fury flashed in Enfield’s eyes.

  ‘Whether independent or as some Idari mercenary,’ said N’Keres, ‘our objective remains the same: Find her.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Enfield. ‘But I have another theory. As I mentioned, an accident occurred at the Sector Seven Spire two nights ago involving Martelo’s airship. Therefore, I believe we have to consider the possibility she assassinated the Prime Councillor in some misguided attempt at revenge.’

  ‘You can’t be serious?’ Roland asked, eyes opening as if from sleep. ‘Fitz and his crew are rough but they’re not conspirators and killers!’

  ‘Any crew allied with Tiera Martelo should not be dismissed so lightly,’ Lockwood pointed out. ‘I had more than one run-in with her former captain.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ started Verimedes, ‘I find that to be preposterous. How could a rag-tag crew of Raincatchers plan, co-ordinate and execute a terrorist strike in the space of two nights? Martelo could have been radicalised months ago for all we know.’

  ‘I’m aware of how unlikely it sounds,’ Enfield started, ‘but the doubt that clouds all of this highlights the need for reliable intelligence.’

  ‘Guildmaster Kirivanti,’ N’Keres began, ‘you will task your hunters with locating all crew of the Liberty Wind.’

  ‘No, you can approach them through me,’ demanded Roland. His face gleamed with sweat. ‘We don’t need to round them up like criminals. Let me talk to them.’

  ‘Come on!’ Gallows rocked to his feet. ‘Do your own damn dirty work, General. You know the damage you’ll cause by pitting the guilds against each other?’

  The general turned on Gallows. ‘Until government has been restored or King Owain declares otherwise, I am acting head of state while Proclamation Six Nine Seven Two is in effect. Speak out of turn again and I’ll not hesitate to arrest you. If the men and women of the Raincatchers’ Guild see anyone in Watch and military garb, they’ll alert the crew of the Liberty Wind and they will go to ground. I cannot take that risk. The Hunters’ Guild is ideally suited.’

  ‘You can’t do this,’ wailed Roland. ‘This is people’s livelihoods you’re destroying!’

  ‘Guildmaster Roland, I am hereby relieving you of your command,’ said N’Keres.

  ‘What? You can’t-’

  ‘It’s clear you are not impartial. Captain Norcoté Vaughan will take up Guildmaster duties.’

  Roland’s face sagged. ‘Vaughan? He’s not fit to lead!’

  Gallows had to bite down on his tongue, fire rising in his chest. Giving Vaughan leadership of the Raincatchers, the Watch examining his airship and finding nothing… Fallon’s conspiracy theory didn’t seem so far-fetched.

  Either that, or Tiera Martelo had played Gallows for a fool—which made him even angrier.

  ‘Let’s get to work,’ said General N’Keres. ‘Arch Vigil, order your officers to patrol the streets in three-person squads. See that they are all armed with swords as well as truncheons. In addition to my own military patrols, armed personnel will be stationed at each checkpoint should you need them. Question citizens if you have provocation to do so—anyone who can’t produce identification papers should be apprehended immediately.’

  ‘What of the girl, Confessor Cronin?’ Myriel’s voice floated around the room like the pluck of a violin string. ‘The one whom you enquired about earlier.’

  Cronin twisted a smile at her. ‘I am confident she will be located, Guildmaster. You see, as soon as Proclamation Six Nine Seven Two was enacted, I ordered the Watch to carry out searches on all Guild properties—including yours.’

  The room was more a treasure vault than a basement. Well, if you considered books to be treasure, anyway. Brass pots, candlesticks, and mortar and pestle sets sat on shelves. Unlike the books, these were covered in dust.

  What was Angelo doing right now? Did the sisters take the students to the Remembrance parade? Was Angelo there? Did he think she’d killed Marrin? Would they ever see each other again? Probably not. Maybe that was for the best.

  A blade of light from a gap in the floorboards above her cut through the darkness, one of the few square inches of Myriel’s front room that wasn’t covered with a rug. A faint vanilla smell caressed her nose—like the basement may have been decked out with flowers once upon a time, the aroma clinging to the walls like a memory grasping not to be forgotten.

  Cloth sacks lined the square room—probably full of tea leaves, knowing the rate Myriel went through the stuff. Above her, the drone of the Info Tower announcement continued through Myriel’s transmitter in an endless cycle. She was half-tempted to climb out of the basement and shut it off, but the way her luck had been going, no doubt twelve watchmen would charge through the door as soon as her head popped up.

  She threw herself down on one of the sacks, rested a chin on her fist and tapped her feet.

  For being a fugitive in the midst of a citywide terrorist incident, Serena wasn’t half bored.

  ‘Right, well, let’s see what all the fuss is with your books, Myriel.’ She pushed herself from the sack and scanned the shelves, having to narrow her eyes to read the spines. The Histories and Accounts of the Council of Mages—volumes I to XXXIV. ‘Well, that’s a no. What else?’

  Parables From Palthonheim.

  Potions, Poisons, Tonics and Brews.

  Demons, Doom & Blood Magic—A Romance.

  More volumes with equally unappealing titles sat there, well-worn but devoid of dust. She traced a finger across the shelves, stopping when she came to a huge tome entitled Schiehallion’s Breath: A Comprehensive Guide on Aerulian Gods & Daemons, and Myths Surrounding the Orinul.

  But it wasn’t the title that drew Serena’s eye—it was the author.

  By Myriel An tal Lo, Magus Aspirant

  ‘Huh.’ Serena pulled it down, enjoying the weight in her hands. She sat cross-legged on the floor, leafing through the old, yellow pages. Curls of cursive writing filled every space. ‘She wrote the whole thing by hand? And drew, apparently.’

  On a page entitled ‘Amarax’, a hand-drawn sketch of a wolf stared up at her, fangs bared and eyes ablaze with red ink, as if daring the reader to pet it. She dragged herself beneath the shaft of light to read the entry: The Amarax—or its derivatives—is present in numerous example
s of folk tales found in disparate places such as Phadros, Ryndara and the Forbidden Lands of the far north. While details are of course often conflicting—or perhaps lost in translation—one thing they are all clear on is this: The Amarax is a wolf that drinks the blood of men, but can never slake its thirst. I find this unifying feature most intriguing as these tales were recorded centuries past in separate corners of the earth—long before travel between the countries was possible.

  ‘Vampire wolves,’ Serena muttered. ‘Cool.’

  She flicked through more pages—Ajax Dragons from Tarevia; Bakari ghost warriors from Nom Ganald; impish Draus from Aludan; Shadow Dragons said to dwell among the stars; and a creature Serena could only describe as a hairy goat-man with a leopard’s face.

  They all stared back at her.

  And that’s when she noticed the bookmark, a thin slip of cracked leather. It marked a page towards the end: Sirens. Mind-controlling entities. Said to be enticing creatures that live beneath the surface of water. Rumoured to lure men with their beauty and sweet yet sorrowful singing. Their melodies poisoned sailors’ minds and made them drown themselves. Stories featuring Sirens can be traced to the Idaris continent, with Idar-Vankhur in particular presenting a wealth of tales. It is said that their victims die with smiles on their faces. A shiver crawled across Serena’s back. ‘As if drowning wasn’t creepy enough.’

  She turned the page and the sketch of a Siren greeted her, spanning two pages. Serena turned the book in her hands and held the image up high.

  There, in sharp black ink, sang the Siren—naked, beautiful, smiling…

  Her windswept aqua-green hair rolled like ocean waves.

  Serena gasped, and the book plummeted to the floor. Is… that…

  The door above her crashed inward before she could form a thought.

  Her head snapped toward the ceiling.

  Someone was in the room above.

  Damn.