Blightcross: A Novel (36 page)

“Jasaf was a soldier, a brave field surgeon, and my wife. Whomever you are talking about is someone else.”

“Suit yourself, Alim.” If they were at a café or on the street, she would have goaded him into a fistfight. It would be easy. All it would take would be to point out his hypocrisy—the hypocrisy of his blind nationalism, which was supposed to include unity and total equality and breakdown of the traditional mores that had nearly led them to extinction, and his unwillingness to accept that his wife had behaved just as modern as Capra did.

If he were truly unwilling to see his wife as she really had been, Alim would probably be better off in Tamarck, with the king's obsessions about purity and chastity and temperance.

That
would be the ultimate insult to him.

She smirked to herself. In her mind, she had beaten him. Uttering the insult was just a formality, and one she knew to keep to herself until the threat of being shredded by spinning jagged metal passed.

It had been a long time since Dannac had gazed with his own damaged eye. He sensed the enemy more than saw them, and if he thought too hard about the vague shapes dancing around the bleak reality of his blindness, he would lose his ability to sense who to kill.

Even then, it was hard.

“The three ahead of me,” he said to Vasi. “Are they shadow men?”

The air crackled and he saw little sparks in his limited vision. Sparks from Vasi charging his hand-cannon with
vihs
, and he took this as a confirmation that there was something to attack. He fired, reloaded, and repeated this twice.

“You must still retain some of your family's power,” she told him.

He ducked behind an overturned oil barrel. “Why would you say that?”

“Blind men usually have shit accuracy.”

“It is luck, nothing more.” He dropped a shot into the weapon and loaded the powder. Everyone was fighting everyone, and the deaths far more gruesome than anything that happened in Red Sector.

He gauged this not by his limited sight, but by the rattling screams counterpointing the roar of both engines and the giants. Just now, the wind carried a wisp of smoke across his nose, and luckily this time he did not retch from the stink of burning flesh.

“Tell me what it looks like out there.”

“The giants have not moved since that last skirmish we had. And the shadows... the shadows have abandoned their human forms. They are swarming the giants, like corpse flies.”

He stood, though it didn't improve his view. “Do you hear the chanting?”

“I have heard it since it started.”

The chants wove in and out of his perception. “They know things... what do they know?” He stuffed the hand-cannon into his belt and listened, as though he were standing in a meadow of songbirds.

“What the giants offer is no better than the shadow men.”

“But they will undo everything we have done, won't they? Erase our mistakes?”

He felt Vasi's hand clutch his and direct it to his hand-cannon. “This is all you need to concern yourself with at the moment.”

She was right, but the chanting rang louder in his mind than Vasi's reasonable advice.

Yes, humanity was the disease, the problem. They needed to...

“They are not just destroying each other, Dannac. They are destroying the city. The giants are not allies. Do not listen to them.”

He began to stumble towards one of the hulking dark shapes that he assumed was a fire giant. It made sense. It all made sense now. His religion was wrong, his people were wrong. Everything was not as it should be.

“The giants can return this island to what it once was. I can hear them.” He turned to Vasi, and grasped her bony shoulders. “They want to level the city. So the plants can grow again.”

“They want us to live in caves.”

“Yes!”

“It is the wrong way. Do you think the Blacksmith toils so that we may squander it all by returning to prehistoric idiocy?”

The chant enveloped him, comforted him, reminded him of a purer time. He could only laugh at Vasi's rationalization. He wanted to join the chant, but its exact form eluded him still...

Vasi snatched the hand-cannon from his belt, aimed it over his shoulder. He stood there, half entranced. “What are you doing?”

She squinted and flinched. The weapon hung limply in her hands. Perhaps she was with the shadows, trying to trick him—

The weapon bellowed, and Vasi's hands flailed. There was a thud behind.

Dannac's ears were ringing, and he could no longer hear the chant. “What just happened?” He ripped the hand-cannon away from her.

“I just saved our lives because you were convinced that the giants killing us all was a good thing.”

That sounded ridiculous. He obeyed nobody, especially not some occult force. Blightcross may be a wretched city, but he would never agree to join in on its destruction. Yet at the same time, he could not quite remember the last few minutes. He had shot three attackers and...

And fallen victim to the giants' call, like so many crazed people around them. “Perhaps we ought to be fighting against both sides.”

“I think you might be on to something.”

Dannac sneezed, his nose filled with a rocky odour. Dust, he guessed, from pulverized brick. If only he could truly see what was going on, he could form a real strategy. Merely reacting as he had been was just wasting time and ammunition.

Vasi tapped his arm. “Look, there are still stragglers running around just to avoid being killed by either side.”

He shrugged—it wasn't as if he could see them. “I can do little besides fire my cannon until Capra gives me a decent view from above.”

“Perhaps it was a mistake to part with your eye.”

“I had my reasons.”

One of the giants roared, and for those few seconds, the din of battle crumbled under the beast's incredible volume.

“We need to gather those who have not yet been corrupted by either side. I say we bring them all behind the refinery gates to regroup, and plan from there.”

He gave a nod and followed her, cannon at the ready.

And now he realized that he had thrown himself into the hands of two women, and cursed to himself accordingly.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It might have been a miracle Capra and Alim were still alive and climbing an hour after their last conversation. It would have been so easy for either of them to give a little kick, a little shove, and never have to deal with the other again.

If it weren't for these damned shadow men...

The ticking and grinding, brass and iron, and it seemed as though she would have to squirm through this forever...

After an hour of neither speaking, Alim capitulated. “I never did understand how you got with your terrorist friend.”

She said nothing for a while. Then, when the space tightened around her in a jagged knot of metal, Capra took the distraction for what it was. “It was chance. A bar near the border with Flenmar. I was there alone and so was he.” A small gear tore through her knuckle. “Son of a bitch!”

“You okay?”

She licked the wound and lurched back into her previous rhythm. “I'm fine.”

“So you were in a bar.”

“Yes, and there was a raid. I guess the Flens are happy to let Valoii soldiers do what they want. I thought they were after me, Dannac thought they were after him, and we ran into each other on the way out. Been together ever since.”

“That sounds rather stupid.”

“It's served me well.”

“A terrorist.”

“Come on. We all know how meaningless that word is. Dannac is a good man.”

A good man in a damned shit predicament. Was it really worth gaining back one's sight in exchange for becoming a spy for the Republic?

Now she pulled out the eye. Dannac had not been specific, and it only dawned on her now that this immense machine was something the Republic might be interested in analyzing.

“What are you doing with that?” Alim asked.

She let go of the shaft from which she hung and jogged against a large gear. She then swept the jewel at various angles. “Just a favour for a friend.”

“Is that the Ehzeri's eye?”

“Yes.”

“What use could it be here?”

“You just never mind about that.”

It was tempting to dump it on to him—the idea that he was aiding in a treasonous act and had nothing to say about it, but today marked one of those rare cases in which Capra knew when to keep her mouth shut.

They continued upward. Capra was dizzy and her throat burned from the fumes, but now, since they had only ten more floors to clear, she tried to look forward to climbing, rather than dreading it.

“Some kind of side deal you have, is it? I still can't figure out your angle with the Ehzeri.”

“I don't have a clue what you're talking about.”

“Come on, I have followed you for six months and picked up most of your activities since you left us. I know you don't do anything for charity, and messing around with that eye at a time like this hardly seems necessary.”

“It's a complex situation. An exception.”

“What's with the eye, then?”

“Dannac wants a view from high above, so he can better decide how to fight the shadows.”

She heard his sceptical chortles as she dodged an inexplicable pendulum. Now it seemed the machine had sprouted its own life and grew for its own sake, like creeping vines of metal.

“So what would the view of this place serve him, eh? Is he a clockwork hobbyist?”

Best not talk. The bastard was too inquisitive for his own good. No wonder the army had sent him to track down deserters. Instead of fighting, he got to dig into his quarry's dirty secrets.

And what exactly had he uncovered about her?

She would definitely have to kill him once this was over.

“Sabotage, espionage... even now, you're doing it, aren't you? Even at a time like this?”

“I said it wasn't like that.”
Don't make me tell you about what your wife told me...

“I'll not be an accessory to treason.”

“Then don't.”

“Your trial is going to be difficult for me, Capra.”

Now she opened her mouth, with her dead friend's secrets begging to leap out and tear up Alim's little pleasant delusions about his married life. And to think she had started to trust the man again. All of his patronizing nonsense had been just that.

“Listen up, Alim. Jas wasn't exactly into—”

“Capra, come back down. The elevator's right here, past this maintenance conduit. There should be a panel in the wall here...” There was a screeching, followed by a snap, and she looked down to find him holding the panel and gesturing into a hole in the wall.

—
into the same things as you, friend. She only wanted to shield her family's honour by marrying you...

Luckily for him, finding Vasi's brother and Helverliss was more important than pointing out Alim's delusional marriage. Just as well. The bastard would probably find a way to bring Capra into it. His mind would likely conjure more fantasies than his moral senses could handle, and she'd hate to have to disappoint him. Well, mostly.

He crawled inside first.

“Uh, how are you fitting your shoulders through there?” Her voice wavered, and to her eyes the space looked half the size of what it ought to be.

“Just get in. It won't be very long.”

She poked her head in, then retracted it. “I can't.”

Alim said nothing and continued to crawl.

Down? No way. Up? It would eventually terminate at some corridor similar to this one. “Alim, wait.”

But he didn't.

The callous ass, how could he just ignore her like that?

She put her arms through, then tried again with her head.

Okay, it's not so bad
... Controlled breaths, as if she were about to dive under water for a long time. She might as well be—nobody could possibly breathe in that little conduit.

Now Alim's feet disappeared into the darkness, and she began to panic about being left alone. Alone inside this tiny space.

She called out to him once more, and again he did not answer.

The walls scraped against her shoulders. When she lifted her head, it clunked against more stone.

Damn this stalling! How could a person be terribly afraid and paralysed while at the same time knowing how ridiculous the fear really was?

At last, she decided to pretend that she was in fact diving under water, during a nighttime exercise. She had done them before, and it almost felt the same—dark all round, holding one's breath for long periods of time, threats of suffocation— so there was no logical reason for her paralysis.

She pulled herself inside the conduit.

Helverliss watched the boy fondle artifacts and sneer at the abstract paintings. There was something different about him, as if he no longer carried the reverence he once had for Sevari and his order. He almost walked and looked like a younger version of Sevari, perhaps before his traumatic encounters had changed him and tempered his immanent arrogance.

Did that mean that Sevari was dead? Did the child fancy himself the regime's successor?

After a few minutes of his disinterested exploration, Rovan folded his arms and said, “What have you done, Helverliss?”

The boy's voice carried an edge much beyond his years.

“Is it not your bedtime yet, son?”

Rovan turned his back, then spun round and drove his fist into Helverliss' already sore abdomen. Helverliss retched and spat blood, but by now this kind of pain was unremarkable. Rovan still lacked Sevari's precision and understanding of how to inflict the right kind of pain for the right occasion.

“So the shadow beings were fed up with me, eh? They had to send a child to finish their work?”

“They told me about your strange sciences. I saw the books Sevari confiscated, too.” Rovan tried to jerk himself into a kind of gangly martial stiffness. “There are fire giants laying waste to my city, and you are the one who called them here. I want it to stop.”