Dead of Veridon (42 page)

Veronica tapped me on the shoulder without looking my way. She held out three fingers, then two, then one. Then she pointed at the two in the center of the room. When I didn't move she glanced in my direction, her head cocked curiously to one side. Time to make something up.

"Oh, you meant go. I forgot that was the signal. Albert said... never mind." I hopped down the incline and slid uncomfortably over the tapestry of clockwork to land roughly on the floor. No one looked at me. Probably too absorbed in their little mystic fight to even see me. I cleared my throat and approached the pair.

"This is it!" I yelled, hoping there was someone else in the chamber to hear me. "This is me, killing you, Crane! Right here!" I pulled out the purge mask and held it like a badge. "Yeah, that's right. With this! I think."

There was a loud banging from behind me. I turned and saw Veronica jumping in place. She grabbed her bodice and pulled on it, like she was trying to flash me. Curious. I turned back to the two combatants. They had taken notice of me, watching me from the corners of their eyes. They looked paralyzed, but terrified. By now the patterns of the crows had changed. They weren't so tight to Camilla. Some of them were switching orbits to Crane, passing over him before they returned to Camilla. She was losing them, slowly, inevitably. Her control was imperfect.

It was the mask. They were looking at the mask, not me. I turned it over in my hands. This wasn't the purge mask I had retrieved from Crane's house. He left that as a signal. That one had probably been the original mask, used by whoever came to kill his family. How he had gotten it, how he had even survived that pursuit, was a mystery. Would always be a mystery. But this mask was newly minted. I looked back up at Veronica, now wearing her own iron mask. Just another secret they had uncovered, I suspected. But who was this for? Who was supposed to wear this?

The mask squirmed in my hands. I looked at the back. It had sprouted long, thin tentacles of liquid metal, lashing out hungrily in the air. This was for me. Whatever the Mother had done to me, it was compatible with this ancient technology. What would I become? What could I do, with these joined magics? What had Crane said? Two gods in one man. I looked back up at Veronica. She was watching me. Tense. Ready to pounce.

"This is too much," I spat. "Too many people with too many plans."

I turned to the closest Wright and dragged him around to face me. He was an older man, his loose jowls quivering with Crane's metaphysical voice. I gripped the back of his head with my other hand, and shoved the mask onto his face.

The voices changed.

Not all of them, not even the majority. But the guy I had in my hands, and the couple around him. They fell out of Crane's voice and were silent, then started up on something else. It was familiar, although I hadn't heard it in a while. The voice of the Singer, from the Celestean religion that so many had forgotten. That my family still kept, right up until the end. I stepped back. Behind me, I heard Veronica clambering down the clockwork tapestry.

I had been meant as bait. A third god, something to catch Crane's attention, to draw him away from Camilla. After all, the angel was just a creation of the Celesteans. If their pattern could be introduced to the Algorithm, wouldn't Crane jump at that instead? He would think about it at least. And that moment of distraction was what the Brights had wanted.

So they could snatch Camilla. I looked around and saw them, their operatives, hidden among the Wrights. Moving forward, their mouths closed. And behind me, Veronica, full of rage. And the interference I had introduced into Crane's little chorus had tipped the balance. Camilla was winning, the crows spinning tighter and tighter toward her. She looked at me with a gleam of triumph in her eyes.

"Sorry, love," I said. "Can't let that happen. No one gets what they want today."

I tackled her out from the center of her vortex of crows and rolled. She clattered into pieces as I took her heart away from the support of the crows. Just her arms and chest, and the hollow structure of her head, remained. Much yelling behind me. Crows were flying all over the place.

I picked up the remnants of the girl and ran. I knew a place. The room was in chaos when I left, crows scratching at Wrights, Veronica howling through her iron mask, and above it all the song of the Singer, beautiful and clear.

T
HE SHOCK WORE
off about two minutes later. Camilla started fighting me in earnest. I put her down on a plinth and wiped the blood from my eyes with a cloth.

"What are you doing, Jacob?" she hissed.

"Running away. I thought that was pretty clear."

"With me! What the hell are you thinking? Crane will win, now."

I shook my head. The sounds of battle had died down, but I was pretty sure the Brights were still hunting the old Artificer. Let them tear each other apart.

"The Brights know what they're doing. They know his limits. At the very least, they'll be able to hold him off. And hopefully, he'll be enough of a handful that we can slip away in the struggle."

"I had him, Jacob! I had Crane by the throat."

"No, you didn't." I held up my hand. "Two outcomes back there. One, Crane eventually wears you down, takes the crows and then steals your pattern. You would have spent the rest of your life as a cog in his engine. Two, the Brights interfere and somehow steal you away. And I think steal Crane, too, but I'm less clear on that part."

"They could have done that?" she asked.

"Yeah. But I was integral to the plan, so it really had no hope of succeeding. Listen, I'm going to get you out of here. But only if you help, you understand?"

"Why would I want that?" she asked.

"Because your alternative is an eternity in the basement of the family Bright. It won't be as nice as the eternity you spent in this place. They're certainly not going to worship you."

"An eternity is less time that you think," she said, coldly. "I've already been through two of those, and lived a third before that. Fine. I won't have my revenge in this eternity. Perhaps the next. Where will you take me?"

"I know a place. Now. What did you do with Wilson?" I asked.

"He's safe."

"Define safe."

"Not dead. Not dying. Probably not awake enough to know the difference."

"Let me clarify some things for you." I spat. "You need to stop giving me smartass answers. Smartass answers are going to get you killed. Did. You. Hurt. Wilson."

"I did, Jacob. I hurt him very badly. Probably in a permanent way. For what the two of you did two years ago, the last time I had a chance to escape. And I would do it again, and I would do it to you, if you gave me the chance." She crossed her thin arms over her dissected chest. "Are you sure you don't want to take me back there and give me a chance with the Brights?"

I sat there, staring at her and smoldering. "You little
bitch
..."

"Careful, Jacob. You're supposed to be saving me, remember?" She smiled prettily. "You don't threaten the girl you're trying to save."

"You've misunderstood the nature of this rescue, Camilla." I stood abruptly and picked her up. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and hugged me with the remnants of her wings. "I can't let the Brights have you. But I can't let you free, either."

"Well, then. Whatever are you going to do with me?"

"Something pretty horrible," I said. "For whatever you've done to Wilson."

"Honestly, I'd almost think you didn't like me. Live my life, Jacob. For one day. And then decide what you would do, given the chance."

I grimaced, but didn't answer. Instead I headed down, down into the Church, down toward the chamber of the heart. I hoped the Mother Fehn had one more trick.

The chamber was as I remembered it. Spherical, cold. The cage of pipes at the center had been torn open, from when Camilla had gained her freedom. There was a thin pool of foetal metal on the floor. It had gone stiff in the cold, clinging to my boots like tar. Camilla looked down at it wistfully.

"I could rebuild you, Jacob. I could restore your heart," she said. "I could make you fly again."

"Promises, promises," I answered. "Now where's that door?"

Last time I was here, there had been a secret passageway. One of the Fehn, a friend of mine by the name of Morgan, had come through it to lead me out. Camilla had used him to negotiate with the Council, and to lead me to safety, when it was in her interest. I was hoping it was still here.

"The Fehn stopped talking to me," she said. "They controlled the door."

"They've stopped talking to anyone," I said. "On account of Crane killing most of them. It should be right around here. Somewhere."

At no prompt from me, the door opened. Wright Morgan, undead of the river Reine, stood in the entrance.

"Jacob," he said.

"Morgan. Haven't seen you in years. Thought you'd joined the silent chorus."

"I've been away. Looking for your girl, actually."

"Emily?" I asked. Afraid of the answer.

"Emily. And the heart you gave her. The cog."

"And?"

"Still gone, Jacob. You got good and rid of her."

I sighed. Of course I had. Jacob Burn never screwed something up halfway.

"Why are you here now?" I asked.

"You were looking for the way out, weren't you?"

"Sure, but I suspected the Mother wouldn't be interested in helping me anymore. Not after what happened with Crane."

"She isn't," he said, then held out his hand. To Camilla. "I'm here for her. You're just coming along."

T
HERE WAS DARKNESS
, and water. The flat slugs of the Fehn filled my mouth and my lungs, but I struggled not to panic. When we came up, the Mother Fehn was waiting. Wright Morgan had left us behind, long before we got to the current of the waterfall. Said something about never going down there again. I had an anchored rope that would get me back to the calm water, after all this was over.

The Mother Fehn was waiting. I vomited her children up on the floor as that globe of light watched impassively. Camilla lay on the metal floor, bewildered.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Central Processing," Mother answered. "Servitor colloquially known as Camilla. Welcome."

"That didn't make sense," Camilla said.

"I'm glad to see you just as baffled," I said. "I think so, at least. This thing is very old."

"Time frame relative. Iterations occur regularly, central fragmentation makes referencing source dates irrelevant. There were many of us. Now there is one. This unit is still getting used to its vessel."

"What is that thing?" she asked.

"This, my dear monster, is the Mother Fehn. She knows a lot about you."

"I would know more," the Mother answered.

"Which is why we're here," I said, standing up. "Initiate your subteens, you crazy old bitch."

The globe turned to face me, then strobed its attention over Camilla. The pillar of slugs slithered forward.

"Jacob, what's happening?" Camilla shrilled. I smiled.

"She's about to know more," I said. "Put yourself in my shoes, Cam. Live my life for a day, or a year, or a brief, mortal span. What would you do?"

The carpet of squirming Fehn-slugs surged across the room like a tide, covering Camilla. She was screaming when they got to her mouth, and then there was silence. The Mother was still processing when I let myself out.

About the Author

Tim Akers was born in deeply rural North Carolina, the only son of a theologian. He has been recovering in Chicago ever since, where he lives with his wife, his German Shepherd, and a healthy respect for an internally consistent narrative.

Find out more at
www.shadoth.blogspot.com
.

HEART
of
VERIDON

TIM AKERS

Jacob Burn: pilot, criminal, and disgraced son of one of the founding families of the ancient city of Veridon. When an old friend delivers a strange artifact, Jacob finds himself on the run from both the law and his former friends. But even as an array of strange creatures and devices stalk him through the streets of Veridon, something yet more sinister and dangerous makes its move against him, an entity that will make him question everything he thought he knew about himself and the city.