Half Discovered Wings (16 page)

His clothes were thrown down against the
rise behind him, soon to be joined by his boots. He was dressed
only in long shorts and his inflatable pouch, with the case
securely fastened in the small of his back. After putting aside two
minutes for muscle exercises, Cleric waded until he was up to his
ribs, put his hands together, and swam.

Stroke after stroke carried him further into
the mist. On the uneven surface of the still-shallow waterbed he
occasionally caught his knee, bruising himself whenever he passed
above a sudden sandbank.

After ten minutes’ strong swimming he caught
sight of faint ripples spreading outward from a nearby source. With
these ever-expanding rings as his guide, he soon found the
miniature island he was looking for.

He dragged himself close enough to the rock
to prop himself up with his elbows. Beneath the water, his bare
toes grasped at the outcrop’s wider base, which rooted itself into
the earth at least thirty feet down. He was far out of reach of any
other sandbanks, the water being much too deep here. With a great
effort, he heaved himself out of the water and crouched shivering
for a moment, rubbing his skin with the rough palms of his hands.
He barely had enough room to sit.

He granted himself a moment’s respite, and
waited for his lungs to settle. Around him was an impenetrable wall
of fog, the kind one would find far out to sea – though Cleric had
only swum a fraction of the lake’s full diameter. Once his heart
rate settled, he began to work.

The case strapped to the small of his back
came away with a few clicks of some clasps, and he immediately went
about repositioning the plastiplex phials inside. He took an empty
one between his fingers and drew it out, then held it in his teeth
as he removed a small tool from his pocket. He fastened it to the
rock with putty and set it going; the device’s strong perpetual
motion mechanism kicked in, and it began chipping away at the slime
and guano plastered over the island’s surface.

All the while, Cleric sang a quiet song
under his breath:

Later as the
wind blows,

Steady as the
sea goes,

Darwin sails
to shore;

Galapagos
found him,

Had a lot to
show him,

‘
Guanas, finches, more.

Chap
-
chap
-
chap
went the little device,
collecting the sample Cleric so fiercely desired. This would go
with all the other prizes, stored away in the cool underground
chambers of the rainforest facility, as good as refrigerated: rare
errant DNA.

The beings that had so thoughtfully left behind their genetic
codes were much farther out, directly in the centre of the great
lake. Sometimes they would swim toward shore for a little while,
and were occasionally even seen by one or two of the São Jantuans.
Usually, though, they stayed out of sight, away from
misunderstanding eyes. Even then, the flotsam and jetsam of their
waste and shed scales drifted toward Cleric’s little rock, and
collected against its coarse sides. Cleric breathed a prayer of
thanks that he would never have to meet those creatures first-hand.
Only fools sailed into the mists of the Lual.

With the gene sample safely stored away for later use, Cleric
began the second objective of his journey. This was the most
important stage, the completion of which would confirm something
for the scientist, something particularly significant.

He pulled on the adhesive tape that secured a thin leather
necklace to his chest. Fastened to the thong was an object of
uncertain origin that could have been a shell, an eroded stone, a
ceramic screw, some beast’s horn…

Cleric packed
the chipping mechanism away and scraped his fingernail into the
tiny groove it had made. Picking away at layers of scale and
encrusted bird droppings, he fashioned as deep a furrow as he could
and inserted the screw-lined horn into it.

The bio-case hissed as its vacuum seal was broken once again,
this time in order to remove a tiny electric generator. Wires
fastened to metal crocodile clips were carefully pinched into place
at the horn’s blunt end. The generator was activated with the flick
of a switch. As it hummed, the man took a phial of blood from the
case. It had been drawn from a living sanguilac, one of the ones he
controlled when he could. It was thick and partially coagulated,
but it was charged with arcane properties. He drew his magic
circles and esoteric phrases around the horn, and then watched as
the markings omitted a faint glow. He sprinkled them with ashen
powder from the burnt corpse of an errant theriope.

Cleric was naturally reluctant to believe in magicks, but
there was a lot a person could witness during a world-enveloping
war. A man of science had to be open to other possibilities,
however conflicting they may be with his chosen profession.
Besides, there were creatures and forces at work beyond the
atmosphere of this little planet, in the frozen reaches of space.
Things went on behind dimensional walls that only the most
sensitive bodies were privy to. He didn’t believe in gods or
devils, but knew damned well that they existed, or at least beings
that had been attributed those phoney religious titles. He knew
with scientific surety that there were pseudo-spiritual beings able
to grant great, great power.

For half an
hour, the man now known as Cleric sat back as a humanly
imperceptible electric current washed through the horn and into the
still waters of the Great Lake Lual. Its unnatural properties were
saturated into the reservoir’s plant life, its clams and hermit
crabs, the errant beings that barely subsisted in its very centre.
Things were changing off the coast of São Jantuo-on-Lual.

The man known as Cleric sang.

Darling do the
fit live?

What does
Mother Nature give?

Do the best
rise up?

Spare some
more attention

To natural
selection,

Darling,
change my blood.

Darling,
change my blood.

*

Eleven

HADENTES
LEFT

As the
darkness outside transposed to paler skies, Rowan opened her eyes
to the dingy room on the second floor of the inn. She could just
hear the sound of the lakeside, the lapping of the waves blown by
the weak winds from across the Lual.

She rolled over in bed and put her face in her hands. The
thought of crossing that great expanse of water made her nervous.
She had never been on a boat or ship, had never seen so much water
pooled in one place.

She rose and dressed. Her fingers found knots in her hair,
her skin felt dry, and her nails, cut short because she didn’t know
any other way, had dirt under them. None of this bothered her, as
it was how she had lived for the previous two years. She put on her
shoes, already falling apart, and left the confines of the room,
where the magus still slumbered on a separate bed. No-one was in
the bar downstairs except the innkeeper, who smiled at her as she
left.

She found Gabel by the shore of the lake, just under the
ridge where she had sat with Caeles the night before. She had
dreamed of pits of fire and hordes of snarling theroipes, and the
memory of them chilled her even now as she walked best she could
over the uneven rocky ground.

Stopping on the ridge, she looked down at the factotum. He
was bent over and wearing his shirt and trousers, which were dark
with moisture. He must have washed himself in the waters of the
lake.

He heard her
come clumsily down the ridge and stood to greet her, trying to dry
his hands on his damp trousers.

‘
Good morning,’ he said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘
I tried to. And you?’

He looked
away, into the water. ‘I dreamt I was hunting a wolf.’

‘
Did you catch it?’

‘
I was still hunting when I awoke. I wonder what it
means?’

‘
Does it have to mean anything?’ She paused, trying to pierce
the heavy fog with her eyes. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you
before we went to sleep. I couldn’t find you.’

‘
I was out looking around the town. I purchased some warmer
clothes for us. They weren’t expensive, but they’ll keep out the
cold. And I got you some boots.’

‘
Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t bring better footwear, I wasn’t
thinking when we left…’

‘
You needn’t worry about it, Rowan. What time is
it?’

‘
I’ve no idea.’

‘
We might be leaving soon,’ he said, and looked at her briefly
before turning back to the lake. ‘Have you spoken to Caeles or the
magus this morning?’

‘
No.’

‘
Caeles wasn’t at the inn when I got back. He’d better be here
by the time the boat’s ready to set sail, or else I’ll leave
him.’

‘
You wouldn’t!’

‘
Of course I would. For all I know, he has no major role to
play on this journey. All I need is for us to get to Shianti
unharmed and find a cure for you.’ He paused. ‘How are you
feeling?’

She turned
away so that he couldn’t see her face. He stood behind her and put
his hands on her shoulders.

‘
Rowan, we’ll find out what’s wrong with you. I asked around
last night and there’s a doctor of sorts in Goya, where the boat
takes us. He may be able to help.’

She nodded,
but the weight of his hands on her shoulders was a heavy one, his
breath hot on her neck.

~

Snow had fallen during the night, leaving a powdered carpet
over the ground that froze solid. Marko Kinneas’ heavy boots
crunched as he walked and his shoulders, covered to protect his
dark skin from the cold, brushed snow from the branches of the
trees as he passed.

He stood still and rubbed his hands together. It had been a
while since there’d been a morning as bitter as this. And with the
boat sailing as well … The travellers would be cold that night. He
would be surprised if the water didn’t freeze itself solid around
them. Slowly he looked around, watching his breath in the air. He
turned fully when a voice called to him from somewhere through the
trees.

‘
Marko.’

The woman approached him. She wore the same clothes she’d
worn the night she left: the armoured vest, thin yet durable,
underneath her snugly-fitted brown jacket, which she had made
herself from the hide of a horse that died a few winters back. It
was laced around the neck with thick white ermine fur she bought
from a trader on the coast, the cuffs rimmed with the same. It was
held shut by toggles she’d cannibalised from another garment, which
glinted silver in the morning light that drifted down through the
branches. Her boots and fingerless gloves were made of sanguisuga
hide, yet they matched perfectly, and were adorned with the same
white ermine fur. Kinneas shuddered to remember their encounter
with sanguisuga. Savage, bloodthirtsty monsters.

The wind ruffled her red hair, which had a streak of grey and
cut short – for efficiency, not for looks. Her neck would have been
cold were it not for the fur collar. Over her chest was the heavy
leather strap that held the broadsword to her back. No-one from São
Jantuo trusted pre-war firearms; only blades were
reliable.

‘
Commander in Chief,’ Kinneas said. He stood to
attention.

‘
Marko,’ she repeated. Her eyes, it was said, could be as soft
or hard as she liked. Today Kinneas thought they were hard. Hard,
but always beautiful.

‘
Sorry tae keep ye waitin,’ she said, in her Goyan accent. It
was unlike her to apologise.

‘
Think nothing of it, Commander in Chief. I was
early.’

‘
Kem on, let’s get outtae here. Ah’ve been frozen half tae
death these last few nights.’

They walked side by side toward the town.

‘
How did it go?’ Kinneas asked.

‘
Fine. The man at the gate didnae know who ah whus, had tae get
his seniors involved. Pain in the arse.’

He stood in
front of her. They halted, the snow falling around them.

‘
Marisa,’ he said, ‘the Regent has given us new
orders.’

‘
An whit might they be?’ Kinneas watched the freckles move over
her face as she gave a thin-lipped smile.

‘
The messenger Henrique Unger has been making copies of
messages. We’re to catch him when he leaves the Transitway, and
kill him.’

‘
He’s comin’ back frem another delivery?’

‘
Yes, Ma’am.’

‘
Why
did the Regent give him a message tae deliver if he knew he whus a
spy?’

‘
He said it would serve his purposes. But we’re now to kill
him, on his way back. It’s to be a surprise.’

‘
We know he’ll take the Transitway on the way back?’ she asked,
picking at a matted portion of her fur. Kinneas couldn’t help but
watch her nails work, her long fingers.

‘
Yes, Ma’am,’ he replied quietly.

‘
We’d
better git goin’ then, righ’?’

Wind tugged at
their clothes: the first proper gust of the day.

‘
If you say so, Commander in Chief,’ Kinneas said. ‘There are
horses in the city for us.’

They walked back without a word, and it was Naja who readied
the horses. Kinneas was once more called back to the Hall. The
Regent had sent for a package from Goya across the Lual, and
Kinneas brought it to him as ordered.