The Book of Transformations (51 page)

‘What do you suggest?’ Vuldon asked. ‘We still want to help people. I don’t care about what we were before – even if we were the Emperor’s puppets, we still kept people safe.’

‘Exactly,’ Tane said. ‘No matter what you do in this city, it seems someone’s getting a rum deal. We might as well carry on trying so tell us, Fulcrom – tell us what we can do to
help
.’

‘I’m not in charge of the operation now,’ Fulcrom said.

‘What
do you suggest
?’ Vuldon demanded. ‘I’m asking you as someone who knows what the fuck he’s talking about, not as someone giving orders. What is our purpose?’

‘Don’t spend your time looking for a damn purpose.’ Fulcrom gave an awkward laugh, and shook his head. ‘All you’ve ever been required to do is make the innocent feel safe – and to protect the Emperor, of course.’

‘Who knows where he is,’ Tane cooed.

‘Indeed,’ Fulcrom said, contemplating the man’s state earlier. ‘You’re still employed by the Emperor to protect people, and once this has calmed down you’ll be required to do exactly the same. So all you can do now is protect the
innocent
. I’d advise you making your way towards Balmacara to offer your services – but on the way there, make sure any civilians you meet are not in danger.’

‘Civilians hate us now,’ Tane said.

‘Don’t pick sides,’ Fulcrom warned, ‘don’t support the armed forces or the anarchists. You are not the military – this war is theirs. There will undoubtedly be civilian casualties, people who have no interest in fighting, and you need to prevent as many deaths as possible. You’ll probably find that civilians will hate you less when they realize their lives are in danger.’

Vuldon offered his hand, and Fulcrom shook it. ‘You speak more sense than seems possible. We’ll take these as our last orders. You know, I hoped we could be better than this – be something more.’

Fulcrom repeated the gesture with Tane, who then rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Cheers, Fulcrom. We’ll have a civilized glass of wine or something the next time we meet.’

Tane and Vuldon lumbered to the stairwell and down. A moment later, Fulcrom peered over the edge of the building to see the two of them jogging down the street.

*

Do you want to help me kill the Emperor?

If Caley accepted, he would be writing history. The notion was not lost on him: what Shalev was asking was important, and Caley had absolutely no hesitation in choosing to go.

Caley had followed the runner back along several side streets that were emptier than a few hours ago. Past taverns and shopfronts, behind surprisingly well-stocked gardens and structures he knew to be gambling dens, they eventually arrived at a terraced cottage rammed up against one of the cliff faces. Caley’s pulse was racing.

Do you want to help me kill the Emperor?

It was just somebody’s home, this place, a two-up two-down pile of wood that oozed a heady smell of arum weed. Inside, there was nothing in the dark room except a few candles and a solid table, but moments later several cloaked men and women stepped in from an adjoining room.

And then came Shalev.

‘Caley,’ she declared, ‘you have made it. This, I am glad to see.’ Shalev thanked the runner, who then stood in the corner of the room with his arms folded.

Shalev regarded Caley, who was so awestruck he could barely return an answer. ‘It is all right, brother – we are all equals here.’

Her words didn’t do much to settle him. ‘You need me to help?’ he asked.

She smiled and gestured to a spare chair. He sat down next to a pretty woman with red hair, who had lit a pipe. The heavy fug of smoke soon obscured the other faces.

Shalev began addressing them all. ‘We are all of us equals, in Caveside, but you have all suffered a little more than most.’

No one said anything.

‘I lost my family to the Empire,’ Shalev continued in her weird and enchanting accent. ‘I came from the island of Hulrr, but I was adopted by those on Ysla, which is where I learnt many of the techniques and organizational skills I have shared with you all. I was adopted because my family and most of my tribe were slaughtered by Empire soldiers who were trying to take another territory. For all my life I have wanted to kill the head of the Empire, whoever that may be, and to bring down its structures, to establish a truly democratic system like on Ysla, where people have control over their lives and don’t surrender decisions to murdering . . . scum. And I am not alone in having such a history, am I?’

Shalev sat down in front of them and glanced around the room, waiting calmly. The pipe-smoking woman next to Caley began to speak. Her name was Arta. She told a story of her own parents being evicted from their outer-city property for removing their funding from certain councillors when they were in the Treasury – namely Urtica. When her parents refused they had been hacked down with a blade in the night. She escaped, but was forced to scrape a meagre existence down in the caves.

They all had a story. Everyone in this room had been personally affected in some way, had their lives ruined personally by Urtica. It seemed to be a gesture from Shalev to allow them all to have the opportunity to kill the Emperor: to allow them to bury their ghosts.

Eventually it was Caley’s turn to speak. He wasn’t one for sharing his inner thoughts, he just wanted to get on with life, but reluctantly he cleared his throat, wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible. ‘About a year or so after I was born, my dad was working in Balmacara as a cook when the Emperor – it was Johynn then – became increasingly paranoid that people were out to get him, so there were tough checks on anyone who worked there. According to my aunts, he’d come home complaining each night apparently. Anyway, one night Urtica and a few councillors began feeling really unwell and the blame was traced to a banquet the evening before. Urtica was the Chancellor at this point and so he sends soldiers to our house in the middle of the night to try to get my dad in for questioning. He was a stubborn one, so he resists arrest and a fight breaks out and before you know it he’s got a knife in his back and Mum’s outside screaming. She got killed too by the way. I get found the next day, by my aunt, but she was a lot older and she died a couple of years later. So I end up in the caves, like everyone else.’

He wasn’t upset about it – he was too young to know anything other than what his relatives had told him – but he knew Urtica was the man responsible for taking away what chances he had in the world.

Seemingly satisfied, Shalev briefed them on what would now be required. Caley listened on, amazed that he would be playing such an influential role.

Shalev said, ‘The military is going to be engaged in a constant conflict, and our overwhelming numbers will wear them down eventually. An initial ten thousand of us are up against their handful of units, which I believe to be two thousand. They will eventually bring in the Inquisition, and possibly seek the assistance of other civilians. The Knights are out of action for the moment, according to my sources. Everything is in our favour. And whilst erratic conflicts continue across the city, this true anarchism leaves Balmacara vulnerable. I can offer no training but I can offer weapons and guidance with relics. All of you may choose not to be involved, and it will not be held against you – you may rejoin the rest of the rebellion.’

Not one person in the room wanted to miss the opportunity.

Shalev smiled, stood. ‘Then brothers and sisters, I shall return momentarily with all the tools we’ll need.’

Clouds began to thicken above Villjamur. They brought a light snow at first, then it became heavy and relentless. The already hazardous streets became worse. Those civilians from the outer city not engaging in the combat locked themselves up in their homes and hoped for the best. A thousand lanterns were lit almost simultaneously in response to the bad weather and the wild cries of the anarchists’ advancing army.

Tane and Vuldon sprinted through the streets of Villjamur, jumping over corpses left from skirmishes. Bodies lay in slushy snow, blood smeared all around them. Blood beetles flowed in weird spirals up the sides of walls in order to get to the corpses and then they tore into flesh with a ferocious appetite. There appeared to be equal amounts of civilian and military casualties, but those of the former group wore crudely constructed armour, giving them the appearance of soldiers, so it was often difficult to tell.

Now and then the two Knights checked to see if any of the bodies were alive, but each side had done well to look after their own.

In street after cobbled street, there were clusters of individuals either looking to find their way to safety or to despatch violence. More than a few arrows or bolts whipped near the Knights, highlighting their unpopularity. All they could do was ignore it, and Vuldon did his best to remember Fulcrom’s words, to not let his anger take over again.

The city was – as he put it to Tane – fucked. There was no doubt about that. It didn’t take much to realize that there were more Cavesiders than military, and they were organized and well armed. Small groups were stationing themselves by street corners, blocking access with upturned carts or crates or whatever junk they could find. The military, for the most part, seemed non-existent. As remarkable as it seemed, the city was gradually being taken over by the anarchists.

When they approached what was an empty iren, Tane urged Vuldon to stop. They pulled themselves behind a wall in time to witness purple light erupting from one end of the courtyard to the other. Between immense walls, and beneath two wide-arched bridges, four cultists were engaged in combat. In dark cloaks they dashed about this way and that, taking refuge behind disused stalls, collapsing awnings and sending wooden crates skittering towards their assailants. It wasn’t at all clear who was fighting whom, or which sides they represented, but none of them fitted the description of Shalev. When two of them were side by side with relics in their hands they shot bolts of light at the other pair, and bricks exploded from the wall behind them, leaving gaping holes. Suddenly the other pair summoned the cobbles to rise up as if someone was flipping a rug, sending the other two up into the air, and the ground collapsed back into place, making the sound of thunder.

Tane whispered to Vuldon, ‘Do we help these people?’

‘No,’ Vuldon grunted. ‘They’re not the innocent. We’ve no idea who’s Empire or who’s anarchist. We’ll probably end up getting fried anyway.’

‘Good point,’ Tane replied.

They took another route around the scene, listening to the sounds of the cultists ripping up the city.

*

Then there were children.

Vuldon could only worry about them as they made their way across a bridge over the iren where the cultists still fought. From one side he watched them marching across, about ten or so, with two adults guiding them. He didn’t know which group they were – maybe schoolchildren trying to get away from the conflict – but when magic flared up from below, he knew they were in trouble.

Some of them gasped: and it was exactly the same noise as all those years ago. Vuldon froze as memories rose up from his past yet again. He had hoped he was over the incident, but their faces, their cries, they seemed identical to the ones who had perished and who he had been unable to save. With the magic beating the underside of the bridge, the children screamed and refused to move. They huddled and the two men who were guiding them across could not seem to budge them. One of the adults peered over the edge to assess the situation below and a vast blast of purple magic blew back his head. He didn’t even have a chance to scream, and his charred face peered Vuldon’s way before he collapsed in front of the kids.

I’ll be fucked if I’m letting them go this time.

‘Come on, Tane,’ Vuldon said.

The two Knights sprinted across the bridge. All across the city there were streets burning. Smoke drifted up in a much greater volume than the usual chimney smoke, carried out across the tundra by the breeze. Snow skidded into his face, so he kept his head down. He approached the children, none of whom were older than ten. The remaining adult, a man in a wax rain cape and a tricorne hat, confirmed they were from one of the wealthier schools nearby.

‘There’s a safe house that a lot of families are sending their children to,’ he said. ‘They want shelter on school property – it’s safer that way.’

‘Seems like a good idea,’ Vuldon replied. The children seemed pleased to see him. A few of them knew his name. Obviously the
People’s Observer
had not yet affected their opinions of the Knights just yet. Vuldon explained that they should move and get to safety.

Three of the children were crying as they pointed to the charred corpse of their teacher as another blast of magic struck the bridge.

‘We move now!’ Vuldon shouted. ‘Tane, stay at the back.’

Vuldon noted three children who were huddled on the ground dressed in their little rain jackets, unwilling to move, and he scooped them under one massive arm, then repeated the gesture with two more; all the while, magic raged upwards under the bridge.

He began running with the crying children beneath his arms; he looked back to see Tane copying him, a child under each arm and one on his shoulder, and the remaining teacher did his best to move the kids along behind.