Shadowstrike

by T W Iain

  So the fence blocked signals. That must mean it interfered with lattices.

  That was a leap of logic, but it made sense. And it led to more speculation‌—‌the fence, or the power running through that throbbing cable, was the true barrier here. That was why both the man and Cathal had collapsed. And the shades‌—‌Cathal had said they possessed some kind of lattice, so they were affected too.

  But Brice’s messed-up lattice must be too embedded or something. Just as the shades didn’t ‘see’ him, so this fence didn’t stop him.

  Brice might have been totally wrong about this, but he’d go with it for the moment.

  He reached the fallen man. There were still damp lines of blood on the man’s face, from ears, nose, mouth and eyes. His eyes were open and unmoving, and when Brice checked‌—‌because he felt that he should‌—‌there was no pulse.

  His weapon lay an arm’s reach away, and Brice picked it up. It was an Ambrus, but an old one, the barrel scarred and the stock dented. When he checked the chamber, the ragged movement spoke of wear and tear inside.

  Brice dropped it. He’d rather rely on his wits and his knives than a damaged weapon.

  He walked on, to the man’s companions. Their throats were ragged bloody holes, and if that mysterious girl had been checking them for pulses, it was no wonder she had to wipe her hand afterwards. Not that there was any need to check.

  The place stunk of dead meat, a combination of the rancid odour of the shades and the sickly smell of fresh blood. Brice stood and walked away, along the path.

  Following the girl’s trace.

  It was slight, with none of the vibrancy he’d expect. But it was enough for Brice to follow. The path forked, and her trace turned right, taking the trail into the trees. She used a torch in the darkness of the forest‌—‌he could make out the bobbing glow ahead. As he sped up, gaining on her, he saw how she angled the beam to the ground. Brice imagined the light wasn’t to show her the way‌—‌he got the impression she knew exactly where she was going‌—‌but to guard against tripping over roots.

  He was close enough to see the way she moved now, and he knew she wasn’t a young girl. She was maybe closer to his own age. And she was confident. When the path reached a small rock wall, she climbed with ease. And she didn’t even look up to check on the shades that walked through the forest.

  She didn’t bother them, and they appeared to ignore her. Interesting, but Brice wouldn’t worry about that at the moment.

  The path she trod came to a small clearing, bordered on one side by a higher rock wall. A trickle of water cascaded down into a pool, the moon’s reflection rippling on the surface. The ground was rocky, with clumps of foliage, but there was a clear path running past the pool, hugging the rock, then continuing into the trees.

  The shades held back, Brice noted. He wondered if that was something to do with the three men who now watched the woman approaching.

  They were positioned on a wide ledge, about five metres up. Two of them sat, but the third stood, peering out into the trees, looking through some kind of object that Brice vaguely recognised from training. Oculars. Pre-lattice tech.

  They wore hooded garments that hid their whole bodies, making it tricky for Brice to judge their builds, but the one standing had a confident pose. They each had a loose-fitting belt around their hips, displaying holstered weapons that had seen better days. From the size, Brice judged them to be Prebens, but he couldn’t be sure.

  The woman didn’t seem to notice the men‌—‌either that, or she was no more concerned by them than she was by the shades. She crouched at the edge of the pool, cupping her hands to scoop up water, then splashing it over her face.

  The standing man nudged his colleagues with a foot and pointed to the woman. They grinned, teeth bright in the moonlight, and their eyes grew wide. The standing man drew his Preben and jerked his head to the other two. They stood and climbed down, quickly and quietly.

  Brice shuffled closer.

  “Well, well,” one of them said, his voice deep and menacing, “the little fairy’s come to visit.”

  “Bit late for you, isn’t it, girly?”

  The men stood with their arms folded, barring the girl’s way. To one side was the cliff, and to the other the ground was uneven and marshy.

  She stood, facing them. “I’ve got a message,” she said in a quiet voice. “For Spark.”

  “Yeah?” said the first man. He tilted his head back, and in the shadow of his hood Brice saw a deep, red scar running down the side of his face. “You want to give old Sparky something?” There was an ugly leer in his voice.

  “It’s important,” the girl said. “It’s about the ones who tried to escape.”

  Scar snorted. “You going to tell Spark they made it?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “Thought not. Said they left it too late, didn’t I?” he said, turning to his bulky colleague. “Bloody fools to even try. But that close to nightfall? Doubt they even got to the fence.”

  “That’s what I want to tell Spark about.” The girl stood straight, even though she barely came up to Scar’s chin. And his colleague was even larger. He folded his arms, and Brice clearly saw how muscular his arms were.

  “Tell you what,” Scar said, “you tell us, and we’ll pass the message on. How’s that sound?”

  She shook her head. “I’d prefer to tell him myself. There’s‌…‌there’s complications.”

  Scar turned to Muscles again, then back to the girl. “Complications? You making out we can’t cope with a complicated message? What, you think we’re thick or something? That what you’re saying?”

  She shook her head more vigorously. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just‌—‌if he has questions, it’s better if I’m there. I might forget something important if I tell you, and then‌…‌well, it’ll be better if I see him myself.”

  Scar nodded. “Suppose that makes sense. Little thing like you, can’t expect you to remember everything.” He nudged his colleague. “So what d’you reckon? We let her see the boss?”

  Muscles shrugged. “Might be a toll, like.” His voice was surprisingly light, almost effeminate. “We need payment for climbing down, don’t we?”

  Scar stepped towards the girl, who stood her ground with only a slight tremor in her legs. “My pal here has a point. You’ve put us out, girly. Makes sense that you give us something for our trouble.”

  “I‌…‌I don’t have anything.”

  Scar’s head dipped down, then rose back to her face. The red mark on the side of his face creased up as his mouth broke into a leer. “Oh, I can think of something.” He reached forward, and although she flinched, she didn’t step back. He pushed the hood from her head, revealing a pretty face with small features and short hair. Her jaw was set defiantly firm, and she met his eyes with impressive determination.

  Muscles reached for the jacket she wore. She backed away, pulling her arms up to protect herself.

  Brice eased round the boulder, ready for the inevitable attack. The thugs were tough, but this girl wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  The shades in the trees must have read the situation, too. Brice felt them shuffling closer, but they didn’t step into the clearing yet. The watcher on the ledge swung his Preben lazily, ready to take a shot at anything that moved.

  “Just let me see Spark,” the girl said.

  “After we take our toll.”

  Scar lunged forward with a grunt. One hand found the girl’s shoulder, and he gripped hard, pulling her towards him. Her gasp was sharp, and Scar laughed. But Brice saw a flash of metal, and the thug’s laugh turned to a yell. He backed away, clutching his arm.

  The girl stood side-on, legs bent, with the knife extended before her. “Stay away from me!”

  The shades in the trees shifted, and blood darkened Scar’s sleeve. He cursed.

  “Company!” That was the man on the ledge. He jerked his weapon round, aiming into the trees, finger resting on the trigge
r. “Get back up here before they attack.”

  Scar grabbed his arm. “You’re gonna pay for that.” He gave Muscles a look, and the big man swung his fist. The girl staggered against the rock, dropping the knife, and Muscles leaped, pinning her to the cliff.

  He grunted, doubling over as she planted her knee in his groin. But he didn’t let her go. She squirmed. With a yell, he brought his head forward, smashing it into her face.

  Scar was already by her side, arms reaching round to pull apart her jacket. “Yeah, I like ‘em feisty,” he said.

  Brice couldn’t stop himself. He ran up behind Muscles, driving a foot into the back of a knee as he grabbed and twisted. The big man tumbled to one side. Brice turned, slamming an elbow into Scar’s face.

  Brice analysed in a glance‌—‌the uneven ground, the slope down to the pool, the ledge that stuck out above them. Scar on the ground, torn cloth in both hands. The girl, eyes wide in shock. And Muscles charging in, head down.

  Stupid move.

  Brice sidestepped, bringing a knee up to meet Muscle’s face. He followed through with a kick to the man’s stomach, hearing the man crash to the ground as Brice spun to face Scar.

  He’d pushed himself to his feet. One hand reached for the gun on his hip, but Brice grabbed the man’s wrist. He pulled sharply, then drove Scar’s arm back, the elbow smashing into rock with a satisfying crunch. Brice let go with one hand and brought that up, fingers gripping tight into Scar’s neck, finding the windpipe and squeezing.

  Scar made a kind of whimpering noise. Brice pushed him against the cliff, his free hand sliding to his own belt.

  A panicked voice came down from above. “What’s going on?”

  There was a soft thud of a Preben being fired, and something in the forest rustled. If the watcher had hit a shade, it would only excite the others more.

  Scar took the opportunity, and brought a fist round for a kidney punch. Brice shifted, the punch missing, but Scar squirmed from his grasp, and with a foul-smelling shout the thug slammed into Brice.

  Brice’s arm shifted, and the knife ran deep across the man’s side, slicing through clothing to find flesh. The shout became a roar of pain, and Brice twisted one foot, bringing it round to trip the man, using his momentum to send him down the slope and into the pool.

  The water turned dark as blood flowed from the wound, and the shades hissed loudly. One of them jumped onto a boulder, arms out, jaws dripping drool.

  The watcher on the ledge found his mark, and as the gun fired the shade spun backwards, disappearing from view.

  More blood.

  “We need to get out of here,” Brice said to the girl as he pointed along the cliff-face.

  She ran fast. That was good, because already there were more shades. The Preben cracked again and again, and Brice heard and felt shades fall. But more took their place. He heard a splash as one‌—‌or more‌—‌leapt into the pool, and their traces throbbed vividly as they bit down into Scar’s flesh to drink his blood.

  The girl bounded over the rough ground, using hands when she needed, and they were almost at the tree-line when the shade jumped out at them.

  It slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. He saw claws in the moonlight, and heard her yell as it grasped hold of her. It hissed, and Brice knew it smelt blood where those claws dug into the girl’s shoulder.

  It twisted its head, like it was unsure what to do. Like it didn’t know what it held.

  Brice reacted instinctively, jumping and thrusting his knife down, driving the point into the back of the thing’s neck. He grabbed the beast as he hit it, then yanked the knife out. As warm liquid splattered his face, he stabbed down again, twisting the blade, widening the wound.

  It howled in agony, and thrashed about with both arms. At least that meant it let go of the girl. But she was still trapped underneath it. Those claws could still do damage.

  Brice clung on the bucking beast and stabbed down repeatedly. Other shades drifted closer, but they seemed unsure of what was happening, of why one of their own was being destroyed like this.

  Because Brice was destroying it. With each stab of the knife, with each twist of the blade, he was working his way into the thing’s neck, severing whatever connected its mind to its body. The shade thrashed, then twitched. The angry hiss morphed into a cry of pain that faded away.

  And then it was done. The shade lay motionless.

  Brice climbed off, kicked it to one side, and pulled the girl to her feet. She gasped for air, and stumbled for a moment. She glanced down at the lifeless shade, then at Brice. Her mouth opened, and he leaned in to hear what she had to say.

  But no words came forth. She looked around once more, and then ran into the forest.

  Sensible, Brice thought as he raced after her.

  After about fifteen minutes of running, the girl stopped. She rested one hand on a tree trunk and the other on her chest, doubling over and breathing fast.

  Brice let her catch her breath, while he closed his eyes for a moment and slowed his heart. His leg muscles throbbed, almost pleasantly, but there were cuts on his hands and face from some of the branches and spiky plants they’d passed.

  “You okay?” he said eventually, because someone had to say something.

  She nodded, standing up straight and looking to her shoulder. Moonlight filtered through the trees‌—‌she’d been running practically blind, and he was amazed she hadn’t fallen. But now she patted the pockets of her jacket and brought out a small light.

  Her wound was only superficial, and had already stopped bleeding. She rotated her shoulder, and although she winced, she seemed to have full movement.

  “First time one of them has grabbed me.” There was an undertow of annoyance in her voice, and she clicked her tongue. “Should’ve seen it coming.”

  “It got lucky.”

  She nodded, then looked at Brice. “Guess I did too. Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t leave you there.”

  “But you didn’t have to get involved.”

  “Those thugs needed to be taught some manners. You’d think, with these shades roaming the place, they’d be a bit more considerate.”

  She seemed confused, then said, “You mean the demons? Shades. Yeah, couple of the others call them shades. What tribe are you from?”

  “Tribe?”

  “Hmmm.” She eyed him up and down. He didn’t interrupt her thoughts‌—‌let her talk, and he might learn something. “Not from close by. Attacking Spark’s men like that‌—‌bound to cause problems. Siren’s not going to be happy. But you’re new, right? When did you get here?”

  “Earlier today. Dusk.”

  “Today? Didn’t know we’d had a drop”

  “Drop?”

  “The way they brought you in.”

  “Nobody brought me. I walked.”

  She laughed. “Right! The fence just opened up for you!”

  He shook his head. “I climbed it.”

  Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, and her brow furrowed. “You don’t have a lattice?”

  “It’s complicated,” he said, then, because she looked like she needed more, “It started playing up a few months ago. It’s changed quite a bit.”

  Or maybe it’s stayed the same and I’ve changed, he thought. But he couldn’t say that. Instead, he thought about how the shades appeared to ignore her.

  “What about your lattice?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “It’s there, but it never took.” She seemed more at ease now, ready to talk. “They say it happens, but it’s incredibly rare. Whatever they tried, it didn’t activate or something. Doesn’t do me any harm, so they left it in place.” Then she grinned. “But it means I can climb the fence too.”

  “And avoid the shades‌…‌the demons.”

  “Seems that way.” She thought for a moment. “Same with you?”

  “Think we figured it out, me and a friend,” and he supposed that was as good a way of describing Cathal as any.
“They see through their senses, but they’re highly attuned to lattices. But with me‌—‌and probably with you‌—‌they kind of detect us as being there, but the lack of obvious lattice means we confuse them. They’re not that smart, so they choose to ignore us.” He shrugged. “That’s the best we could come up with.”

  It was different with the infected. They could ‘see’ Brice just fine. And they could suss clearly, too.

  That was when Brice realised he hadn’t heard any sussing‌—‌or anything more personal‌—‌from the three men at the cliff.

  “But what about others round here? Their lattices have been altered, right?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Had he let too much out? “Just a hunch.”

  “Yeah, they’ve been tweaked. Enhancements turned off, everything cut back.”

  “But the fence still kills them.” When the girl furrowed her brow, Brice shrugged. “I saw what happened earlier.”

  She tilted her body and looked at the pack on his back. “You got oculars in there?”

  He shrugged, refusing to answer. He didn’t want to lie, and the truth would lead to more questions. Instead, he grinned, and stuck out his hand. “Anyway, I should probably introduce myself. I’m Brice.”

  She took his hand, and hers was warm and small‌—‌petite was the word that came to mind. But she gripped firmly as they shook. It was a signal‌—‌she wasn’t as vulnerable as she appeared. But he already knew that.

  “Brice,” she repeated. “Yep, you’re definitely new here. Nobody uses their true names. Something about this being a new start, and all that. Like I’m called Fairy‌—‌which I hate, but when Siren gives you a name, you don’t argue, right? I’m really Deva. Deva Verga.” Then her brow furrowed, and she repeated his name a couple of times. “I’ve heard that name before. Where did you say you were from?”

  “I didn’t. I’ve been walking for a while now. Started off from a base called Haven, over to the south. It’s in a basin…”