Читать книгу The Seven - Peter Newman, Peter Newman - Страница 11

The Commander’s Rest skims across the sea, trailing a tail of light. Vesper’s special unit of knights, the Order of Broken Blades, pack the space above and below deck. They have seen much over the years, endured much, and now they are bonded by experience and respect. Though old prejudice runs deep, their time with Vesper has stretched their minds somewhat, enabling a grudging acceptance of the ship’s pilot.

Samael is at the wheel. Like the other knights he wears armour but his is a battered collection scavenged from an old battlefield. A mish-mash of pieces, a mess, functional. Entirely appropriate. For Samael is a half-breed, unique, changed late in life, his human essence mixed with that of the Knights of Jade and Ash’s commander. Once a great man, the commander was corrupted, his soul near burned away by a fragment of infernal essence, making him a slave. And like many who have suffered, he passed this suffering on, binding Samael to his will.

And Samael served, mindless, until the commander was destroyed. Since then he has wandered, sometimes serving others, sometimes himself. Now he serves Vesper, and for the moment this pleases him.

A descendant of the Usurper itself, Samael has little love for infernals, save for the one joined to him by an essence thread. Invisible to most, this thread connects him to a Dogspawn, red-furred and mangy, one ear torn off in its prime. The Dogspawn goes by the name of Scout and one of Samael’s eyes is in its skull, just as one of its eyes is in Samael’s. The exchange of eyes is a bond, permanent, allowing them to share vision and sensation.

At this moment Samael is aware of his hands at the controls of The Commander’s Rest, but he is also aware of Vesper’s hand scratching a spot on the back of his neck, and a tummy that needs feeding.

Vesper stands at the prow, the wind making streamers of her hair. Scout sits next to her on one side, the buck on the other. All three seem to take equal pleasure from the feel of the breeze on their faces.

She raises an eyebrow as Samael joins them. ‘Not like you to step away from the controls.’

‘No,’ he replies, his voice dry, cracked, like a man in need of water. ‘But we are here.’

Vesper looks over her shoulder, sees the light drive powering down, feels The Commander’s Rest slowing to a gentle drift. Frowning, she turns on the spot, searching the horizon until she has gone full circle. ‘Are you sure? It’s kind of quiet.’

‘These are the coordinates. Do you think the First is going to come?’

‘Why bother to go to all this trouble and then not show up?’

Samael makes a dry rasping sound. ‘Lots of reasons. To draw you away from the Empire so that it might strike elsewhere. Or to attack you in a place where you cannot bring the Malice to bear.’

‘Well, when you put it that way …’

Scout whines softly and Vesper looks down. ‘What is it?’

‘He was enjoying your attention,’ replies Samael, ‘and that itch still isn’t quite satisfied.’

‘Sorry, Scout,’ she says, resuming her grooming duties. ‘The thing is, I know the First has every reason to want me dead. My knights aren’t exactly pleased about the situation, and if the people back home knew I was out here,’ she shakes her head, ‘I’d never hear the end of it.’

‘They don’t know?’

‘Well, they know the broad strokes. I’ve told them I want to make a lasting peace and that we need to think differently about infernals.’

‘But you haven’t mentioned the First by name?’

‘No. I don’t think Obeisance, or the people of the Shining City,’ she grimaces, ‘or my father are ready for it.’

Samael nods, slowly. ‘I agree.’

‘At the moment, they can’t even imagine the changes I want to make. I’m hoping that if I can pull this off, they won’t need to. It’ll be there for everyone to see.’ She looks directly into Samael’s mismatched eyes. ‘I’m going to do this, whatever it takes.’

‘And the Malice is happy with your plans?’

Vesper touches the sword’s hilt and it hums beneath her fingertips. ‘I don’t know if the sword can ever be happy. But we’ve talked about it and we’re of a mind.’

They fall to a companionable silence. Time passes, the knights talking quietly amongst themselves, Vesper playing with Scout while the buck and Samael watch the waves.

Then, around them, the water begins to darken.

Samael looks up but there are few clouds in the sky, and none of them block the sunslight. He and Vesper move to the rail and lean over.

The shadow is beneath them, growing rapidly as it ascends. Though the taint has made denizens of the deep big enough to match what comes, it is too solid and too static for a life form. This is a ship, made in the Empire’s glory days: a Wavemaker. True to its name, it sets the water around it to motion, rocking The Commander’s Rest. Under their feet, the deck shakes, then a dull boom sounds, and Vesper’s boots lift briefly into the air. She grips the rail tight while the knights wait, stoic, strapped into their positions.

Magnetic locks activate within the Wavemaker, attaching it to the smaller vessel. Untroubled by the extra weight, it continues to rise, until the blunt nose breaks the surface, pushing itself and the smaller ship into the air.

Foam sprays in all directions, and the rocking falls into a steady rhythm, decreasing as the two ships and the water around them settle.

A hatch opens in the Wavemaker’s side and a black-clad figure emerges, its loose robe flowing easily over fitted armour. With a single leap it sails up, twenty feet, to land on the rail, a boot either side of Vesper’s hands.

Knights detach themselves, rushing forward to support her. Samael draws his battered sword, and, at Vesper’s shoulder, an eye springs open, angry.

‘Wait!’ she shouts, holding up her hands. ‘All of you, wait! Stand down.’

Immediately, they stop, though all remain prepared. Samael’s sword returns to its sheath.

The First looks down at them. ‘I see that your natures remain … violent and I am unsurprised.’

Vesper takes a step back from the rail. ‘You haven’t changed either.’

‘This is true. I remain … reasonable.’

‘Is that why you ambushed us?’

The First raises a gauntleted hand to point at Vesper. ‘You are displaying your power. I am simply displaying mine. It interests me that you have told your followers not to attack and yet you have drawn the Malice.’

Vesper blinks, surprised to find that this is true. The sword is in her hand, humming, ready to act. She thinks quickly. ‘Not drawn in anger. The Malice is part of this discussion too.’

She closes her eyes, letting the sword show her a different vision of the First. Through its eye, she sees the infernal dwelling within the human body. Swirling essence that moves in alien ways, discomfiting. Within the strangeness lurk more recognizable emotions. Rapid fluctuations that betray anxiety, a lightening of colour one moment, perhaps curiosity, in the next a change of shade that suggests bitterness. There is no sign of aggression, at least not yet.

Opening her eyes again, Vesper beckons the First forward, inviting it on deck.

Lightly, it steps down. ‘Are you ready to begin?’

‘I am.’ She lowers the sword but does not sheath it.

‘You do not wish to discuss our … business in private? If you wish, we could return to my ship.’

‘No. We can talk freely here. My knights understand what we’re trying to do.’

The First reaches up, unclasps its featureless helmet, and removes it. A face is revealed, hard, female, the features rendered slightly odd through a lifetime of minor alterations in service to the Empire of the Winged Eye.

Vesper gasps. She knows that face. Once it belonged to two people, both called Duet. The face stirs many memories, of her betrayal of one of them, of being betrayed by the other. Ultimately, Duet was taken by the infernals, though only one of her went willingly.

At the sight, Scout throws back his head and howls.

The First studies Vesper. ‘You may be wondering why it is I chose this particular body for our meeting. There are many reasons. I wanted to remind you that people of your Empire have desired alliance with me in the past. I wanted to acknowledge the … history that exists between us.’

‘Is she still,’ Vesper waves a hand, ‘in there?’

‘No. Her body was fresh enough for me to occupy, but by the time I arrived, her essence had already dissipated.’

Vesper looks down. ‘Good.’

‘Is it? For whom is it good? Had you not interfered, the woman would have realized her dreams through me. Now she is nothing more than a memory. Look at this face and remember the past. If you do not accept my offer, only death will follow.’

The threat makes the knights tighten their grip on their weapons. Unlike the other orders of the Seraph however, these knights no longer carry singing swords, having sacrificed them long ago. As such, they pose little threat to the First.

Scout glares up at the infernal and begins to growl.

‘Stop that!’ snaps Vesper, shaking her head at Samael. The half-breed does not reply but the Dogspawn lowers its head, abashed. ‘You were saying something about an offer?’

‘Yes. I have no quarrel with your kind. Many of them live … happily in my cities. For years now, we have proven an ability to coexist. It is only your Empire that resists me. Disband it, destroy the weapons made to cause my kind suffering, and I will make peace.’

Vesper bites her lip and looks out to sea. In her hand, the sword begins to shake. ‘That’s it? That’s your offer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I agree on one thing; if we can’t negotiate, there will be war.’

‘Then let us negotiate.’

‘Alright. I don’t have any quarrel with your kind either.’ She gestures to Samael. ‘I can, how did you put it? Coexist. I’m on good terms with New Horizon, West Rift, Red Rails, Verdigris and Slake. That’s only a first step. I intend to negotiate with all of them, not as individuals, but as a collective. I want you to be part of that collective. Come south with me. Take part.’

‘I have heard of this gathering of yours.’

‘It’s no secret.’

‘These things are not mutually exclusive. If you agree to my offer, then I would come with you.’

An eye narrows and Vesper’s voice rises. ‘How can you be so blind?’ She holds up the sword and the First flinches away. ‘The Malice is alive, just as much as you are! It deserves to live just as much as you do. The Seraph Knights’ swords that you try so hard to break also live. They’re not as complex or as clever but they are alive. If you want me to look at you and see more than just an enemy, you have to do the same for me.

‘You’re offering me the chance to submit to you or be destroyed. That’s no choice at all. I’m offering you the chance to be part of something bigger.’

The First’s face does not react, its expression disconnected from its feelings. ‘This is … surprising.’

Vesper allows herself a small smile. ‘The Usurper is gone and I speak for the Empire now. There’s no need for us to fight anymore.’

‘So you say. I remain unconvinced but, I am intrigued.’

Vesper shifts the sword to her left hand and holds out her right. ‘A truce then? You’ll come with me and take part?’

‘I will travel with you, I will observe. Perhaps I will engage. I promise no more than that.’

‘That’s all I’m asking.’

The First takes her hand, mimicking the human gesture perfectly. ‘I accept.’

A few days pass as the Wavemaker and The Commander’s Rest speed along the sea together. From under the water, a new vessel moves to join them, then another. Both part of the First’s fleet.

Vesper and the sword exchange a concerned look.

It does not stop there. A fourth ship comes, a fifth, and so on, until a war fleet of nine follows them, just under the surface. When a half dozen sky-ships drop from the clouds to fall into position above, Vesper demands another audience with the First.

It comes in multiple bodies. Some arriving from the sky-ships, others swimming up from the depths. Vesper watches them through the sword’s eye, and begins to appreciate how big the First truly is. A single being, divided into bitesized human chunks. Though the First has a diverse collection of shells, they dress the same, move the same, making the differences in height and weight hard to remember. Vesper guesses that perhaps a quarter of its strength is here, the rest of the infernal spread out across the world.

They line up along the rail, like a line of ravens watching, waiting for an animal to die.

Vesper gestures to the ships all around them. ‘What is this?’

One of figures breaks from the others, jumps down. It removes its helmet, revealing Duet’s face. ‘You wished for me to come south with you.’

She frowns. ‘For talks. We don’t need an invasion fleet.’

‘I am not here to invade. We have made a truce.’

‘I just don’t understand why we need all of these ships.’

‘You seem displeased. I do not understand. Surely your gathering is important enough to warrant my full attention.’

‘Wait. You’re calling all of, um … you, here?’

‘Yes.’

The sword looks at Vesper, its hum felt more than heard, whisper-like. She nods. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

‘You once promised to stand between me and the Malice, do you remember?’

‘Yes.’

‘And while we are at peace, do you promise to stand between me and rest of The Seven?’

‘Yes.’

The First leans closer, bracing itself against the invisible force of the Malice’s anger. ‘You truly don’t know, do you?’

‘What are you taking about?’

‘The Seven. They have awoken and the fires of their rage burn in the north.’

‘But there’s no hostile force in the north.’

‘They see it differently.’ Vesper’s face falls and the First continues to speak. ‘The Seven are gathering Their strength. They call out to Their agents, who in turn call out to others. Factions within the colonies that came over to me have already begun to rebel.

‘They are coming south. I believe They are coming for me.’

Vesper’s hand goes to her mouth. She thinks of her family, despairs. Have they become another sacrifice? And what will The Seven do to her? What kind of example will they make? Such thoughts are dispelled with a shake of the head. ‘You knew this all along. That’s why you came to speak with me. You’re afraid!’

‘Yes. I am afraid. We are united in fear.’

She looks up, defiance colouring cheeks. ‘No, we are united in more than fear.’

But when the advance scouts of The Seven’s armada appear on the horizon, she goes straight to Samael, and he pushes The Commander’s Rest harder until it seems to fly across the wavetops.

The First returns to its fleet and they too accelerate, doing their best to keep pace with the sleeker vessel.

The scout ships fade from view but they are not forgotten.

Delta forces herself to look. In one hand she has a skull, in the other, part of a skeleton. The skull is ordinary, that of a human male, the skeleton belonging to a different man, one that has experienced the touch of the taint, turning the bones asymmetrical.

Even without attending to the essence echoes around them, she can tell their end was abrupt, anguished, and at the hands of her brother, Alpha.

A compulsion makes her walk around the ruins of Greyspot Three. Where normal eyes see only the present, pyres, ashes and charred buildings, Delta’s see shimmering where the power of her kin was used. Her ears attend to the fading hum of energy, her body sensitive to the softvibrations in the air. Together, these sensations allow her to follow in her brother’s footsteps. She stops at each place he sang, identifying the corpses he has made, choking on her brother’s righteous anger that still lingers, remorseless.

There are so many dead. So many of her people, dead, that it overwhelms her. Finally, on the edge of Greyspot Three, she stops, and thinks.

Her role is to love her siblings, to make a better world with them, and yet she cannot feel love for what has happened. Cannot help but judge.

She has asked how it came to this, and they have pointed to her brother. But this is unsatisfactory. She knows that Alpha did this, knew it the moment they arrived. What she does not understand is why he did it, nor why it was done in such a manner.

The need for answers bubbles in her, converting despair to action.

Jem pulls on the Vagrant’s sleeve, lowers his voice. ‘How long do you think She’s going to be gone for?’

The Vagrant looks in the direction Delta went, shrugs.

‘Then let’s go before She comes back.’

The Vagrant nods and strides off towards the docks.

Reela strides after him, little legs working double time to keep up. With a last glance at Delta, Jem follows her.

The air here is smoke-heavy, smelling of burnt rubber and cooked meat. The Vagrant covers his mouth and, for different reasons, the two behind do the same.

The ragtag array of ships usually found in port are gone, their wrecks thickening the water. Most are sunk, some still sinking, the odd stray mast protruding from the surface in final salute.

The Vagrant looks out to sea. Alpha’s sky palace has already lumbered from view, leaving an empty, peaceful vista.

After a moment’s contemplation, he frowns and walks along the corrugated jetty, amber eyes searching.

‘What are you doing?’ asks Jem. ‘We need to get out of here. If we follow the coastline far enough we’ll hit another port. Maybe we could get passage on a ship there. Or we could go inland, find somewhere remote, where nobody else goes. Somewhere with lots of goats!’

The Vagrant pauses to direct a hard stare over his shoulder.

‘What? You love goats!’

The Vagrant turns back to his task, dismissive.

‘Look, it doesn’t matter what we farm or even if we farm. We have to get out of here, now. The Empire will be coming for Delta and we don’t want to be here when they arrive.’

Jem checks again to see if he can see Delta, only to find she is a hundred metres away, and that he is staring directly into her eyes. She seems purposeful, angry, and he looks away quickly, shame dousing him like a sudden blast of icy water. ‘We have to go,’ he says, then again, louder. ‘We have to go!’

He hears a splash, turns back. The Vagrant is reaching down, pulling objects from the water like a magician from a hat. Each one is tossed onto the jetty. Jem examines the objects, seeing nothing more than broken junk.

The Vagrant plunges his arm under, pulls hard. The water nearby bubbles and a small sea-shuttle bobs up from the depths, cheerful. No longer bound to its stricken mother vessel, the sea-shuttle floats easily, only a few dents marring its flanks. Built for speed and short-distance travel, the sea-shuttle resembles a triangular dart, a shallow deck cut into the topside.

Reela looks wary of the boat but allows herself to be lifted onboard. Jem needs no encouragement, jumping on as soon as there is space to do so.

‘How do you turn this on?’ asks Jem.

The Vagrant frowns at the blank display.

They try a few experimental prods at the screen and search around the sides of the steering column. Neither of them are familiar with the design.

Nearby, Reela carries out her own experiments, touching places at random.

The Vagrant smacks the steering column.

Nothing happens.

‘Don’t break it!’ says Jem.

Reela smacks the side wall.

‘Reela, stop that!’

With a sudden hum the steering column activates. Lights sparkle on its surface, diagnostic checks begin, and on the underside, steering flaps open, close, open and close again.

The Vagrant, Jem and Reela all share a smile, each taking credit for their good fortune.

There is a ping, and the lights of the steering column display blue and green in all the right places. The sea-shuttle is ready to sail.

As the hum of the startup sequence fades, they begin to hear a second hum, identical in pitch, coming from behind them.

The collective smile fades away. Reluctant, the three turn round as Delta steps onboard.

The Vagrant kneels, Jem presses himself against the far side of the sea-shuttle. Reela just stares up, mouth open, her eyes as wide as they will go.

Delta stares back. ‘Go,’ she says, and the word jars through them all. Jem wonders if she wants him to leave but does not dare to move. In any case, she is blocking the exit. Perhaps, he wonders, bitter, she expects him to jump over the side.

The sea-shuttle’s engine starts up, eager.

The Vagrant stands. He turns to the steering column and places his hands into the moulded surfaces on either side. Mutigel adapts to the contours of his fingers, pressing snug against his skin. He adjusts his footing, squares his shoulders and tilts his hands forward.

The sea-shuttle begins to move, parting the debris around it with ease. The Vagrant tilts his hands further, the sea-shuttle accelerating as it clears the worst of the wreckage.

With the Vagrant steering and Reela busy pretending, Jem is left alone to worry about Delta. He tries not to look at her but cannot help himself. He sees she still carries the bones from the pyre, poised between her index finger and thumb. The slightest use of her strength would reduce both to powder. Jem wonders at her restraint, applies a pattern to the behaviour, knowing it is foolish. So long as she does not break those bones, he decides, they will be safe.

Vesper feels her hand move to the hilt of the sword. She doesn’t fight the compulsion, allowing herself to be guided. Drawing the weapon, she sees that the eye is already open, staring straight up. She follows its gaze, sees nothing but cloud-smeared sky.

She looks down at Scout. ‘Does anything seem wrong to you or Samael?’

Scout sniffs the air, while behind him, at the wheel of The Commander’s Rest, Samael looks around. Neither have anything to report.

But the sword is insistent, concerned even. Vesper sighs. The sword has been concerned ever since the Shining City. Reading her thoughts, the sword vibrates in her hand. No, it seems to say, this is different.

Silvered wings point, underlining the sense of there being something above them.

Vesper closes her eyes, letting the sword see for her.

The physical world remains as she saw it, there are no sky-ships, no winged figures, no threats of any kind but the currents of essence, usually invisible, are disturbed.

There is a communication, a song, that travels from her pursuers up into space. She cannot fathom its meaning but has the sense of an order being given, recognizes that it comes from Alpha of The Seven.

Though the immortal is far away, separated by miles of ocean, she can feel him reaching out, almost as if he could touch them.

And then, as she watches, something does become visible: a tiny glint in the sky, like the first star of the evening arriving early.

Without knowing why, Vesper’s heart beats faster. Eyes still closed, she calls back to Samael: ‘We’ve got trouble incoming!’

She barely hears his reply over the ocean. He is asking for clarification. Does she want him to change course? To slow down? To speed up?

‘I don’t know!’ she shouts. ‘Just be ready!’

Scout barks an affirmation.

The buck’s dark eyes twitch from left to right. He senses the change in mood but cannot see the cause.

Around her, knights prepare their weapons, their lips moving to prayer, automatic: ‘Winged Eye, watch over us, protect us, deliver us.’

They do not appreciate the irony, for an eye is watching them, a sphere of silver-steel high in orbit. But its attention does not herald salvation.

An answering song is given, emotionless, flat, directed back to Alpha.

Vesper opens her eyes again, runs to Samael. ‘The Seven! They know where we are!’

‘Yes,’ replies the half-breed, unsurprised. ‘You hold the Malice.’

She remembers what the sword was trying to tell her. ‘This is different. They know exactly where we are. Signal the First.’

Samael does so, then adds, ‘We’re already at top speed and there is no sign that they can match it. Could this be a way to make sure we don’t lose them?’

‘No. Well, it could be but that doesn’t feel right. The sword knows The Seven are in that direction.’ She points without thinking. ‘They must sense where we are. Why bother with anything else?’

‘To know our strengths.’

‘That makes sense but …’ She trails off, looks at the sword. It is looking back the way they came, across open ocean, expectant.

Then she sees them.

A cloud of missiles, each one spinning, air playing across fluted surfaces to create a collective buzz. Their approach is so fast that by the time Vesper’s brain has made sense of what she is seeing, the missiles begin arcing down, splitting into clusters, each one targeting a specific vessel.

The First’s fleet springs into action. None of the sky-ships are targeted, leaving them free to fire on the missile clouds, thinning them. Warships submerge, leaving countermeasures in their wake.

Meanwhile, Samael turns The Commander’s Rest as tightly as he dares, the whole ship tilting, threatening to flip over. Knights are thrown against their harnesses, forced to watch and hope.

Vesper runs to the back of the ship, staggering as the lean of the deck sharpens. Slamming into the back railing, she gasps down a breath and holds up the sword, singing. Air flashes blue around her and the nearest missiles tremble, their spinning suddenly erratic.

An eye flashes, angry, and missiles veer away, crashing into the sea.

In spite of this, in spite of everything, many missiles find their targets, puncturing hulls, ripping holes, and fire flares underwater. With each detonation comes a smaller pulse of essence. None trouble Vesper, but within its many shells, the First pauses, momentarily stunned. Samael flinches, pressing a hand to his head, and Scout howls wildly.

The First’s fleet remains intact but four of the vessels have been forced to return, smoking, to the surface, and one of them has stopped entirely, its engines ruined.

Vesper grips the railing, catching her breath as The Commander’s Rest slows to a crawl. She doesn’t relax, the sword won’t let her, and when the second wave of missiles comes, she is already straightening, drawing breath to sing again.

As they travel, the Vagrant pushes the sea-shuttle faster, until his hands meet resistance on the column, feedback from the mutigel informing him that he has reached the craft’s safety limits.

The water is choppy here, the sea-shuttle launching from one wave-top to another, haphazard. Jem hunkers down in a corner, holding Reela to him. Hard surfaces smack against his back and legs with each new impact. Delta unfurls her wings, for balance.

The Vagrant squints at the empty horizon, scowls, and presses his hands forward again, until his fingers are curling against the back edge of the steering column.

A humming engine becomes a whining one, though the sound is barely heard over the wind. Emergency flaps open at the front of the sea-shuttle, bravely trying to prevent the high speed from flipping the ship over.

Onward they go, the sea-shuttle so fast now it threatens to defy gravity. Water soaks them all, whipped cold, numbing hands and stinging eyes.

The Vagrant grits his teeth.

Jem tries to talk to him, but the words are torn away. Terrified, but more scared of moving than staying, Jem reverts to watching Delta’s hands and the bones within them.

At last, Alpha’s sky palace comes into view. Such is its size that it confounds the mind, like a half-rendered image where the mountain that surely supports the structure has not yet resolved itself. But there is no mountain, no ground beneath it.

Ahead of them, on the water, they see rows and rows of Alpha’s ships, an armada, too many to count. War cruisers, frigates, scouts, all moving in perfect formation. Such a fleet has not been assembled since the Battle of the Red Wave.

And then, from the battlements of the palace, a glimmering cloud issues, a swarm of missiles streaking away, soon lost to sight.

Jem shouts, his voice an insect’s whine against elements and engine. ‘Now what?’

The Vagrant ignores him.

‘You’re not just going to sail through that? You can’t!’

The Vagrant ignores him.

‘I won’t let you do this to Reela!’

A shadow looms over them, making both men turn.

Delta has stepped forward, she steps again, so close that the hilt of her sword nearly pokes Jem’s chest. Knees bend and she leaps skyward, the sea-shuttle lurching dangerously in the opposite direction.

Seawater briefly rises above ankles, diving over boot-tops to chill toes.

Delta’s wings beat, the downdraught plastering the Vagrant against the steering column, and Jem and Reela against the floor.

Spluttering, Jem sits up, looks up.

Delta’s wings beat again, long and fluid, propelling her, catching currents that draw her swiftly away, a silvered arrow pointing unerringly at Alpha’s palace.