Chronicles of the Invaders 1: Conquest (22 page)

CHAPTER FORTY

T
he Archmage Syrene sat in stillness and solitude, a half-empty glass of cremos on the table before her. Her pupils were closed, and her lips moved silently. To a casual observer, she might almost have appeared to be praying. She was, in a way, but not to anything that a human being might have considered a god. But like Sedulus, Syrene believed that a god was merely another species, so advanced as to be almost beyond comprehension.

The rain fell, and the wind blew, and Syrene’s mouth made its secret pacts.

It might have surprised many Illyri to learn that Syrene loved her husband. From the moment she had emerged from the Marque and begun her courtship of him, it had been assumed that this was simply one further step in the Sisterhood’s careful accumulation of power, but Syrene had been watching Gradus for a long time, and had grown to admire him. Gradus was ambitious, and clever, and handsome in a crude way, yet one that appealed to Syrene. Together they had engineered his rise to within a step of the presidency, and there he had halted. In the beginning, he had not understood why he was to be denied the ultimate prize, the one to which he had aspired for so long, but Syrene had made him understand that they needed a pawn on the throne, a token that was expendable should the need arise, while the true power would be wielded behind the scenes. He had been angry and frustrated, but she had calmed him, and the result was that Syrene and Gradus were closer now than they had ever been. He needed her, but she needed him too. The Sisterhood had warned her of the unpredictability of love, of how she might be changed by it outside the Marque. She had been youthful, dismissive—as the young often are of the wisdom of the old—but the sisters had been right. Her love for Gradus had made her vulnerable.

He was alive. She knew it. She
felt
it.

Her silent words were now spoken aloud.

“Bring him back safely to me,” she whispered. “He is mine, and I am his.”

And that casual observer, had there been one to witness her plea, might have wondered to whom the Red Witch was speaking when she was so clearly alone in the room.

But Syrene was not alone.

She was never alone.

•••

Meia stood in the darkness of what had once been Knutter’s shop. It had taken her longer than usual to escape from the castle, for it now crawled with Securitats, reinforced by more of the Corps’s own troops. It was growing harder and harder for her to come and go unseen, particularly now that Vena was doing her best to keep her under surveillance. The time when Vena would have to be dealt with was drawing ever closer. An accident, perhaps; Meia could not risk outright murder. It would bring Vena’s lover, Sedulus, down on them all, and Sedulus made Vena look like a child when it came to his capacity for doing harm. The job could be farmed out to the Resistance, but the repercussions would be terrible. Sedulus would decorate the city with bodies hanging from lampposts. In Norway, the inhabitants of an entire town, Fagernes, had vanished overnight as punishment for a failed attempt on Sedulus’s life by the Norwegian Resistance. Meals had been left untouched on tables, and sentences remained unfinished in homework journals. A town of eighteen hundred people, suddenly silent and empty. Their fate was a mystery, but Meia had her suspicions. She had heard whispers about Sedulus’s “pets.”

Would the Resistance in Scotland risk the same thing happening to somewhere like Moffat, or Langholm, or Brora? In time, thought Meia, they might have little choice; the escape of Paul and Steven Kerr had merely delayed the inevitable. If the Diplomats had their way, children would become legitimate targets, and the Resistance would respond in kind. The conflict between humans and the Illyri would descend to a new level of bloodshed.

But there were more pressing issues to consider. Althea had returned with news from Trask of what the boys had seen in the tunnels beneath Knutter’s shop: human bodies being transported secretly under the city. Trask had been right: the stories of corpses disappearing from morgues and the crematorium, of the quiet removal of the sick from certain hospitals and care homes, had not simply been tales spread by the bored and the ignorant.

Meia made her way to the basement. She removed her cloak, revealing the Securitat uniform that she wore beneath it, and silently became one with the darkness.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

T
he Highlanders led Syl and Gradus northwest from the crash site and down into a valley where a muddy river churned, swollen by the rains. Although Syl had technically been the object of the rescue, she felt herself to be a prisoner almost as much as Gradus was. Nobody here entirely trusted her, perhaps not even Paul. Still, unlike Gradus, her hands were not tied. Paul walked just behind her, to her right. The river was on her left. She wondered if that was deliberate, if he was still concerned that she might try to run away and had decided that it would be better if the river cut off one potential avenue of escape while he took care of the other.

She sneaked glances at him whenever she could, while trying to not be too obvious. His face was still puffy and damaged, but in profile she noticed that his eyebrow was cut by a thin white scar, fringed by the tiny dots left by stitches. She wanted to ask him how it had happened, but she didn’t want to make him feel bad about it. She was just curious. She wanted to know more about him.

She wanted to ask him why he had kissed her.

Her legs were still weak beneath her, but she was determined not to let anyone know. The terrain was rough, and would have shredded her flesh were it not for the boots, taken from the feet of a dead Illyri. Syl shivered.

“Helluva storm,” said Duncan to nobody in particular. “The rivers’s gone and broken its banks.”

No one replied. Syl already had the feeling that Duncan wasn’t very popular. They all walked onward in silence, sliding over the muddy ground, slipping on the wet grass, sinking ankle-deep into the boggy soil. The hills were lost to sight, but Syl could feel them closing in above their heads, ancient presences towering over these newcomers to their lands, these tiny creatures with their brief, inconsequential life spans.

Slowly Syl felt her long limbs uncramping, and she found she was easily able to keep up with these small, solid humans. She heard the word
freak
whispered, even though their dumpy features and beer-swollen bellies, their unshaven skin and angry tattoos were just as alien and unappealing to her. Her nictitating membranes swept over her eyes, and she took in glimmers of infrared and shards of ultraviolet. She even saw the world differently from them. Everything about them—their height, their vision, their hearing, their knowledge of the universe—was so limited compared with her. They judged Syl by the standards of the worst of her kind, hating her even though she herself had done nothing to hurt them. Earlier, a wiry woman called Aggie, one of those who had found Gradus, had stumbled on a rock while walking ahead of Syl. Syl had immediately reached for her to stop her from falling, grasping her arm, and Aggie had sworn at her and pushed her away. If I hated them in the same way, thought Syl, then Paul and Steven would be dead by now. But even as her thoughts took this turn, she knew that she was being naive; she was one of the invaders, and the fault lay with the Illyri, and, by extension, with Syl herself.

They walked on, gradually turning north, fording the stream using slippery rocks that were almost entirely submerged by the torrent. Just as the last of the Highlanders was crossing, Syl heard a faint buzzing in the air. She looked to the skies, but the low clouds hid all. She listened harder. She was not mistaken.

There was a ship in the air, and it was coming closer.

She looked round at the band of Highlanders, and at Gradus, who was staring at the ground, avoiding the eyes of his captors. This Diplomat represented those who had condemned their boys to death, although had they known just how closely he had been involved with the execution order, Syl believed that even Just Joe would have been unable to save him from their wrath.

I have to stay with them, thought Syl. I have to trust them, for now.

“There’s a ship heading this way,” she said loudly.

Just Joe stopped and looked back at her.

“What did you say?”

“There’s a ship coming. I can hear it. It’s not a shuttle, but something bigger. I can tell from the noise of the engine.”

Duncan, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to shadow her and Paul, looked to the sky. “I cannae hear anything,” he said.

“If she says she hears something, then she does,” said Paul. “Why would she lie?”

Just Joe made the decision for all of them.

“Take cover,” he said.

While the darksuits were useful, it still made no sense to be caught out in the open by an Illyri vessel. Shrubs and rocks littered the hillside before them. The Highlanders scattered, seeking shelter where they could, keeping their heads down and their faces covered. Syl saw that Aggie and another man had forced Gradus to lie prone on the ground behind a flat rock that stood like an embedded shield in the earth, and were holding guns to his head.

Now they could all hear the sound, a low roar that grew steadily louder until the ship split the clouds and soared down, raking the land with the powerful beam of its searchlight. It was a cruiser, a troop carrier, and Syl picked out the insignia of the Diplomatic Corps on its side. There would be twenty or thirty heavily armed operatives on board. If anyone caught sight of the Highlanders, they were finished. Sheer force of numbers would overwhelm them.

The cruiser descended still farther, hovering just above the hilltops but unable to go lower for fear of crashing. Its beam came so close to where Syl lay that she could almost feel the heat of it. If she were to stand up now—even if she were just to move her arm a fraction—she would be seen. She had a strange, self-destructive desire to do just that, but she fought it, even as the light hurt her pupils and the roaring of the cruiser’s engines pained her ears.

Suddenly the beam was extinguished. The pitch of the cruiser’s engines changed as it rose and headed southeast, staying below the clouds so it could search the land. They saw its beam activated again in the distance, but it continued to move away from them, and soon it was lost to sight. Paul opened his eyes and half smiled at Syl.

Just Joe stood first, and the rest of them followed his example. He gave Syl no thanks and simply told everyone to get moving again. They walked for hours, leaving the river behind them, until a hint of dawn began to light the sky. A giant glossy stag sprang from nowhere and, seemingly without fear, watched them pass, but otherwise it was deserted and quiet, save for the chill wind that cut through the vale.

Finally the valley floor rose again, and Syl saw a small village in the distance. They drew closer to it but did not enter, instead skirting it until they arrived at an old crofter’s cottage, its whitewash graying with age and its slate roof battered by the elements. They were now on a rough path, muddy and well trodden by boots. As they approached the house, a woman appeared, dressed in a dark checked shirt tucked into green canvas trousers. She had binoculars around her neck and a rifle slung casually over her shoulder.

“Just Joe!” she said. “I thought it was you. It’s been a while.”

She smiled, and her teeth shone white and even in her handsome, weathered face. There was something about the way she looked at Just Joe. These two have been together, thought Syl. They’re lovers, or once were.

“That it has, Heather,” said Just Joe, and he reached for her, drawing her close to him and kissing her on the cheek. “We need a place to lie low for a time. Can you oblige us?”

She looked past him, taking in the figures of Syl and Gradus. Even in the darksuits, their difference was clear.

“Where did you get these two?” she said.

“From a downed shuttle.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

“The male we’re taking to the Green Man. The girl . . .” Just Joe paused. “The girl we’re not sure about yet.”

“Is that why the big ship was disturbing my sleep?”

“It was. Would you like something else to disturb your sleep instead?”

Heather slapped Just Joe on the shoulder, and laughed deeply in her throat.

“You haven’t changed,” she said. “I swear, I’ve never met a man who loved himself more. Come on, let’s get you all under cover. Tam is about. He’ll be pleased to see you.”

Behind the main house, a copse of scraggly trees surrounded a scattering of newer farm buildings, punctuated with rocks and the occasional bedraggled sheep. A pig rooted around under a midden heap dotted with thistles, and a ratty terrier barked without stopping when it spotted the newcomers.

“Shaddup, Lex,” said Heather.

Lex did as he was told, and contented himself with sniffing doubtfully at the strangers from a distance. Syl followed Paul and the others over the deeply puddled ground into one of the smaller buildings, its windows boarded over and its thatch repaired with thick pieces of black plastic anchored by stones. Inside it was damp and dim. A man in jeans and a heavy padded jacket stood by a metal table, a gas lamp at his right hand. A selection of weaponry was laid out in rows on the table. There were two machine guns, a smattering of pistols, and several shotguns. There were also axes, scythes, and a large array of blades, from meat cleavers to steak knives. Boxes of ammunition were stacked nearby.

“Open for business, I see,” said Just Joe.

“You never know when trouble will come calling,” said the man. He turned and shook Joe’s hand.

“We need a place to stay for a few hours, Tam,” said Just Joe.

“That won’t be a problem, as long as you don’t go bothering my sister.” He grinned at Heather.

“Your sister, if I remember rightly, was the one who bothered me.”

“Well, a man’s got to defend his sister’s honor, even if it’s more than she ever did!”

“You’re both ignorant men,” said Heather, who had been listening to it all, but even as she chastised them her face was bright with fondness for them both.

Tam studied Syl, and then his eyes drifted to Gradus. He didn’t seem very surprised to see two Illyri in his barn. Syl guessed that they might not have been the first prisoners to pass through this place.

“I see you brought company,” he said.

“And a story to tell,” said Just Joe.

“I’ll go and put the kettle on,” Heather said. She tapped her brother on the arm. “And you, put your toys away and get breakfast started.”

•••

The outbuilding was dank and grim, and the straw on which Syl sat was so prickly and uncomfortable that fashioning even a slightly agreeable seat was impossible. She was more than a little annoyed that she’d been put in here, with the door locked. It seemed to confirm her status among the Highlanders; she was more prisoner than anything else. At least Gradus was confined elsewhere. She couldn’t have stood to be incarcerated with him.

Time passed slowly, and the light outside grew brighter. After an hour or two, the door to Syl’s new cell opened to reveal a girl of seven or eight, her shock of hair haloed by the weak sun. In her hands she cupped a bowl of what appeared to be steaming oats. Behind her lurked one of the Highlanders, a shotgun hanging on his shoulder.

“Hello,” said the girl, smiling a little, shy but curious.

“Hello,” said Syl.

“I’m Alice.”

“Okaaay,” Syl replied, wary.

“Who are you?”

“An alien bitch,” said the Highlander.

Alice looked annoyed.

“No, don’t say that.” She turned her attention back to Syl. “What’s your name?”

“Syl.”

“That’s pretty,” said Alice.

Syl didn’t reply. She was tired, and sore, and—even though she was reluctant to admit it to herself—frightened. These people were not her friends. Even Paul hadn’t objected when it was suggested that she be confined to this outbuilding. He hadn’t stood up for her at all. It just added to the confusion of her feelings for him.

“My mum thought you might be hungry, Syl.” Alice put the bowl down. “There’s nothing wrong with it—honest. I even put extra sugar on it because that’s how I like it.”

The porridge smelled good. Syl’s stomach growled after being so long without food. Under the watchful eye of Alice—and the more hostile one of her guard—she wolfed down every morsel, even licking the bowl clean. She wiped her face with her sleeve, and Alice laughed.

“I knew you must be hungry. Here, you missed a spot.”

She used her finger to gently wipe Syl’s cheek. Their eyes met, and they really looked at each other now, close up, Syl’s large, swirling, unblinking eyes staring into Alice’s own black pupils.

Alice sat down against the wall opposite Syl. It was clear that she didn’t get much company out here, and was happy to have someone to talk to—even if that someone was an alien.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“My ship crashed.”

“The men inside say that you were arrested by your own people. Is that true?”

“Yes. We did something we shouldn’t have, my friend and I. I got caught.”

“What about your mum and dad? Didn’t they try to help you?”

She was cautious, not wanting to reveal to the child that she was the daughter of the governor. It was bad enough that Just Joe knew.

“My mother is dead. My father couldn’t help me.”

Alice nodded. “My dad is dead too.”

“Really?”

“He was a fisherman. His ship sank when I was very little. After that, my mum and me came here to live with Uncle Tam. My mum didn’t want to look at the sea anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” said Syl.

“Where were they taking you when your ship crashed?”

“Offworld. To jail, probably.”

Alice watched her for a few long seconds before picking up the bowl and rising to leave.

“Duncan doesn’t like you,” she said.

“Oh.”

“It’s okay,” said Alice, “because I don’t like Duncan.”

She reached over and squeezed Syl’s hand, then bounded into the sunlight. The door was closed and locked again, and the room was suddenly emptier than it had been before.

Syl sighed heavily, sat back and tried to sleep, but her questions and fears would not give her rest.