Читать книгу The Seven - Peter Newman, Peter Newman - Страница 12

Delta looks at the ships beneath her. They carry the same troops that razed Greyspot Three, the ones that turned the people living there to the bones in her hands.

She looks at Alpha’s palace in the wake of its just-launched volley of missiles. Distantly, she feels their tiny impacts. Deep inside her, the misery grows until it becomes too much to contain.

Her mouth opens in song.

The air shakes with it. Nearby clouds weep, and below, waves pause, collapsing in on themselves.

Without being ordered by their commanders, the pilots of each of the ships cut their engines.

Everything stops.

But Delta is not done.

She turns her gaze to the sky, singing out as her brother has done, connecting with a distant orbiting body. But her order is different. The satellite glimmers one final time, and is gone.

Silver wings carry her over the top of the battlements, soldiers gasping at the sight despite themselves, awestruck. She ignores them, diving into the courtyard where Alpha is emerging, followed quickly by Beta, Epsilon, Theta and Eta.

He glances past her as she lands, sky-blue eyes darkening with rage. As that stare turns on her, she feels his displeasure, like fists pushing at her chest. Bracing herself, Delta raises her hands, opens them so that they can all see the charred, misshapen bones in one and the small skull in the other.

‘How did it come to this?’

Three volleys have come, each a rain of singing missiles. Vesper waits to see if there will be a fourth. Around her, the crews of the First’s ships swarm over their decks, putting out fires, plugging holes, pumping out unwanted water.

The interlude of peace continues, extending well beyond the rhythm of the previous attacks. An eye closes, and she puts the sword away.

Two of the nine ships escorting The Commander’s Rest have been sunk, another five damaged and unable to submerge. The Wavemaker has sustained hits to one of its engines, slowing it substantially.

Unlike conflict on land, there are no other scars of battle visible. If anything, the water is calmer than before.

Vesper takes a drink to soothe her throat. Use of the Malice has left it raw, and it complains each time she speaks. She watches in silence as her knights, of the Order of the Broken Blades, tip one of their number into the sea. There is time to see the shrapnel wound, to appreciate the misfortune, before the sea claims the body.

A gloom falls across her people. They are used to death and struggle but they are not used to this. One of them raises a hand.

‘Yes?’

‘That attack, it came from the Empire.’

It isn’t phrased as a question but Vesper answers it anyway. ‘Yes … and it was directed by Alpha of The Seven.’

Dismay does not sit well on the usually stoic faces. Eventually one of the older knights says, ‘If The Seven wish us dead, should we not oblige Them?’

‘No,’ replies Vesper. ‘It’s not that simple. Alpha started the attack but the sword, Gamma’s sword, protected us and another of The Seven stopped it.’

‘But … The Seven speak as one! What does this mean?’

‘It means They don’t speak as one. Perhaps They never have.’

Another knight speaks, full of despair, though his courage has never failed before. ‘What will we do?’

An eye flicks open at Vesper’s shoulder and her own widen with anger. ‘What will we do? What will we do! We’ve lived our whole lives without The Seven, up till now. Gamma helped us before and she’s still helping us now. We survived the Usurper and the Yearning without Them. We’ve just started making sense of everything and I’m not going to stop now.’ She looks at the crippled ships around her and her scowl only deepens. ‘Damn Alpha! How dare He attack the people who faced it all alone while He wept in the dark!’

The knights don’t answer, shocked by Vesper’s defiance. They are utterly loyal to her but they are also loyal to The Seven. Up till now they believed these loyalties to be one and the same.

There is a whisper that reaches Vesper’s ears. ‘We’re not worthy, we have failed Them. We have broken our oaths.’

‘No!’ replies Vesper, her voice cracking. ‘No. Don’t you see? They have failed us, but we need to keep going. If we don’t, then thousands of people are going to die. Can you do that? Will you stand with me?’

She looks at them. One by one they meet her eyes, nod. She nods back, relieved, proud.

As she returns to Samael, she notices how unsteady he is on his feet, one hand pressed against the side of his battered helmet. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes,’ he replies.

Vesper suspects that there is a longer and more complex answer but doesn’t press for one. Scout whines nearby, lying flat on his belly, paws over his head. ‘And him?’

‘He’ll recover.’

‘Glad to hear it. Have you seen my goat anywhere?’

Samael points down. Tucked between his legs and the wheel of the boat is the buck. Only an act of desperate contortion has enabled his large frame to fit within such a small space. The buck’s head sticks through a gap in the bottom of the wheel, the angle awkward.

‘There you are. Now just stay still a moment and …’ she trails off, her attention taken by the First. It moves towards her in leaps, launching from the deck of one ship to land on the next, an armoured flea.

‘Don’t worry,’ she says to the buck. ‘I’ll come back.’

By the time she has stood up, the First is landing in front of her. ‘There is conflict among The Seven. Do you perceive it?’

‘I do,’ she replies.

‘We should leave before it resolves.’

‘Agreed.’ She checks in with Samael for confirmation. ‘We’re ready, are you?’

‘Our mobility has suffered. If they pursue again, they will catch us easily.’

‘Then we’ve got no time to lose.’

The First returns to its ships, Samael goes to the wheel and Vesper goes back to trying to liberate the buck. Moments later, engines stir in the still water, and eight ships continue their journey.

Though not as impressive as Alpha’s sky palace, the armada sailing beneath it is comprised of the Empire’s finest ships. Greatest of these is their flagship, Resolution.

Functioning as a launch station, command ship and artillery platform, Resolution would appear massive if not sailing in the shadow of something greater. The bridge is raised above the main deck on an articulated mast of steel, S-shaped, like a dragon’s head drawing back to breathe fire.

Standing within is the Knight Commander, highest military authority in the Empire of the Winged Eye. Around him are officers, crew, all poised at their stations, all waiting for him to say something.

But for once, he has nothing to say.

‘Knight Commander,’ says one of his officers, ‘the Bearer and the First’s ships are moving away from us.’ They consult their screens before adding, ‘They are two down.’

He turns toward the officer. ‘Only two?’

‘Confirmed, sir. Two down.’

Unlike his predecessor, the Knight Commander has seen nothing of the battlefield during his tenure. He is, therefore, unduly troubled by the way simple things are rarely as plain as they appear. The missiles, for example, should have wiped out the enemy entirely.

But the failure of missiles to live up to expectations is the least of his worries.

‘Knight Commander, they are still moving.’

‘Understood,’ he replies, irritated at the needless update and the nerves that prompted it. ‘Inform me if this changes.’

He clasps his hands behind his back and checks the impulse to pace. He of all people must appear calm.

Alpha’s orders are clear. Their purpose is to purge the world with fire and song. They are to become legend, immortalized in canon for future generations. Or so he thought. Delta’s order was equally clear: stop. In the absence of specifics they are forced to err on the side of caution. They have stopped their pursuit, powered down their engines. Now there is nothing to do but wait.

The Knight Commander looks up. Beyond the metal above his head, somewhere in the floating sky palace, The Seven are together and, as far as he can tell, they are arguing.

The thought is ludicrous, going against everything he was taught, from his earliest days in his choir, through to his squire training, even the many lectures received from Obeisance. For the first time in his life, the Knight Commander feels the bedrock of his certainty crack and begin to crumble.

In the courtyard of Alpha’s sky palace, two essences rage back and forth, a pair of storm fronts colliding, colliding again.

Delta’s and Alpha’s argument is elemental, made up of words, will and song.

For the humans unfortunate enough to witness the display, it is too much. Blood runs from ears overwhelmed with furious song, pupils gape wide, blown forever. They are not dead but there is little of life left in them.

Others distributed throughout the palace are merely driven to their knees in terror. Some weep, some cover their faces, others pray, enacting the rite of mercy. All responses are equally irrelevant.

Beta of The Seven watches, aghast, while Epsilon, Theta and Eta simply wait as they have always waited.

The bones that Delta brought with her from Greyspot Three have been destroyed. Too fragile to be exposed to such energies, they have been reduced to ashes that swirl briefly about the two immortals to be scattered, forgotten. She came with a question and it has been answered. This leads to more questions, each a stab in the eye, and more answers, like slaps across the face, coming faster and faster, rising in volume and anger until even Beta looks away.

Abruptly it ends, with Alpha’s hand on Delta’s throat. At the contact something in her seems to break and her eyes half-close, body flopping, going slack. Alpha does not let her fall, not yet. His anger is not done.

He walks up winding stairs to the battlements, dragging Delta after him, her heels ringing against each step.

Beta follows and, after a pause, Epsilon, Theta and Eta do the same.

Past bowed heads and trembling bodies, Alpha goes, ignoring all. Displeasure radiates from him in waves, driving people from his path like iron filings from a magnet, flipped the wrong way.

Raising Delta over the edge, he draws his sword. Its eye is open, glaring balefully at Delta as she dangles, a puppet, stringless.

When Alpha draws back the weapon the light around it sparks so brightly that the blade turns black within it.

And then, Beta is at his side, one hand on his wrist.

Alpha looks down.

Their eyes meet.