The Last City (27 page)

She resurfaced to Copernicus shaking her. She could hear a gurgling, choking sound and it was several moments before she realised it was coming from her. With intense effort, she managed to tell them what she had seen and heard.

‘Jude was bleeding white blood?’ Diega said at the end. ‘That’s not possible. She must be wrong.’

‘Maybe not,’ Copernicus said and Diega gave him a questioning look.

Shawe spoke up. ‘The holding? You think that means one of the minimum-security pens?’

‘We know the witches have infiltrated the military, so it’s a possibility,’ the commander said.

‘So there’s how many,’ Shawe said, ‘five, right? Sydnoble, Castlereagh, Penright, Darby and Firestone. Which one is it?’

Copernicus shook his head, then his attention snapped towards something beyond the alley.

‘Don’t linger,’ Raine hissed. ‘We’re not alone.’ She stepped into the wall and vanished.

Copernicus dragged Silho up and threw her over his shoulder.

The team moved out of the street, heading for the main drag of Mortimer Road.

‘We need to find a place to lie low until dark,’ Copernicus said, looking behind them after every few metres. ‘Somewhere well hidden.’

‘What about a pub cellar or that ammunition hold in Cleary?’ Diega suggested.

‘Too public – too out in the open,’ Copernicus replied. He turned to Shawe. ‘Do you remember that decommissioned research lab under the river in Nureyev where we used to go as kids? Do you know if it’s still standing?’

Shawe shrugged. ‘Maybe. It’s worth a look. Easiest way there is through the water pipes.’

‘Fastest way is to boost a craft and fly,’ Diega said.

‘What about skyblocks?’ the gangster asked.

‘I can sense them. We’ll find ways around,’ Copernicus said. ‘We have to keep a low profile and move fast.’

The group turned a corner and hit Prospera Street, the longest stretch of grindhouses and strip joints in the city. The buildings here were fashioned around different themes. Flashing neon lights in every blackened window made promises to passers-by of what they’d find inside. Half-naked women, men and all kinds in between loitered around in groups.

‘There,’ Diega said, pointing to a shiny silver transflyer with the name of
EnvyMe
parked in front of one of the grindhouses. The craft had a stretched centre and illegal blinder lights at the front and sides. ‘It’s seriously modified. It’s got the speed we’ll need if we’re made.’

Two burly thugs dressed in matching black stood at the door of the building in front of the craft.

‘I’ll distract them,’ Copernicus said. ‘Diega, get the craft. We’ll all meet up at —’ He stopped as Shawe broke off from the group and charged the men. He punched one and then the other, dropping them both instantly. The gangster turned back to the team and a third man who had been hidden by the doorway lunged out and stabbed a knife into Shawe’s back. The blade ripped through the gangster’s jacket and shirt, hit his skin and snapped in half. Shawe turned and the man’s face twisted with terror as he saw who it was. Shawe slammed the thug headfirst into a wall and he slumped to the ground, where he stayed.

‘Go,’ Copernicus said to Diega. She ran out and the commander followed, carrying Silho. Diega fried the craft’s security system with a device from her weapon belt and they leapt in. The Fen gripped the steering hook and brought the engines roaring to life. The craft lifted into the air as more thugs spilled out of the brothel. The hyper-speed function kicked in and Diega sped the transflyer straight upwards. The force pinned everyone to their seats. Copernicus glanced at Shawe sitting beside Silho in the back seat.

‘What?’ the gangster said.

‘Low profile,’ Copernicus reminded him. ‘The last thing we need is K-Ruz finding our tracks.’

Shawe snorted. ‘Let him come.’

Silho blinked and time skipped. She fought through to awareness as Diega landed the craft in a side street in the suburb of Nureyev.

T
he Catadral Mercy stood as one of the oldest churches in Scorpia, one of only three from the Neothessalonic Era to have survived the gorgon attack in the year-cycle of the Thorn. Its steepled roof and belltower cast a far-stretching shadow across the Asher River, which passed along one side of the church. The choppy brown waters of Scorpia’s main river rushed through most levels of the city through interconnected pipeways and waterfalls. Silho, draped over Shawe’s arm, smelt the river scent of sediment sludge as the team approached the front of the Catadral.

She blinked to adjust her eyes to the soft candlelight as they entered and felt Shawe shiver at the drop in temperature. His footsteps echoed on the uneven stone floor, marked with the tombs of the great and mostly forgotten. Immense columns reached up to the ceiling where the famous painting,
Creo Paradisum
, had been born and painstakingly restored. Silho glanced up at the artwork and instantly regretted it. There was so much history in the picture that it felt like being plugged into electricity. She tore her eyes away, focusing on the few random human-breeds kneeling at the front of the church.

Shawe paused to cross himself three times then followed Copernicus to a shadowy corner of the great building hidden by a pair of confession boxes. The commander indicated to Diega to keep watch for witnesses and knelt down beside the wall. He slid his blade behind one of the stones and pried until it loosened and he was able to drag it out. The stone was a fraction of the thickness it appeared to be, a mere façade to hide the opening into the tunnel behind it, which was barely big enough for them to slither inside.

Copernicus and Diega entered and Shawe pushed Silho in after them. Hands grasped her, dragging her through to the end of the tunnel where it dropped down to a pipe below. Here the air tasted stale and metallic and Silho heard the sounds of rushing water all around them. Copernicus grabbed her up and moved the team through the pipe.

Their boots splashed through ankle-high water until the commander stopped at a metal hatch with a heavily rusted opening circle. Shawe took the levers and heaved. The metal screeched, unwilling, but it stood no chance against the gangster’s strength. He turned the circle until they heard the clank of a lock shunting open. Shawe lifted the hatch and Copernicus dropped down with Silho. He sat her on the ground and flicked on the lights of the abandoned underwater research facility. Boxes lined the walls where dirt-frosted windows looked out into the river. Shawe and Diega’s boots thudded down near Silho.

Shawe looked around. ‘Been a while,’ he grunted. He and Copernicus locked eyes, then both looked away.

Silho turned towards a window and peered, with stinging eyes, through a cleared patch of glass. She looked down on one of the underwater suburbs of the city, inhabited by the human-breeds of aquatic bloodlines. Rock and coral houses crowded the river base and the streets teemed with water dwellers going about their daily lives. Some rode seahorses, others darted here and there on flat flying-carpet stingrays or giant anaconda eels. Those who lived here had built up resistance to the corrosive pollutants of the Asher River.

Silho heard fewer voices down here, but now they were yelling and the visions were lasting longer and longer. She shook her head, trying to clear a space in her mind to think. She spotted SevenM lying on a table nearby where Diega had put him. The robot’s eyes were dull. The commander started rummaging through boxes, pulling out tech equipment and handing it to Diega.

‘What are you doing?’ Shawe asked them.

‘We have to set up a hedging device to stop the military from tracking us when we ring out,’ Copernicus told him.

‘Ring out to who?’

‘Eli,’ Copernicus said.

Shawe snorted. ‘What are we calling that little insect for?’

Copernicus’ back stiffened. Diega glared at Shawe and said, ‘We’re calling
Eli
because he’s brilliant. He might have information that will save your brother. But if you’d rather, we can wait for someone taller to come up with the answers.’

Shawe held up his hands. ‘Keep your shirt on. I didn’t mean to offend your boyfriend.’

Diega mumbled something that sounded like
imbecile
and turned back to putting the tech together.

Silho swallowed as nausea swelled inside her throat. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to be sick in front of everyone. A soft hand closed around her arm and she felt herself propelled silently off the ground and carried away from the others. She opened her eyes to see Raine’s face above her.

The spectral-breed carried her through a hallway made of glass into a second room with bunk beds built into the wall. She turned left into a large, open industrial bathroom, made for researchers returning from underwater treks to wash off their suits before getting undressed. The scent of bleach and other heavy chemicals still lingered in the stuffy air. Raine crossed the bathroom to the toilet cubicles and lowered Silho onto the cold tiles. The restraints clanked together as Silho doubled over, retching.

Afterwards she tried to lean her head against the cubicle wall, but she jolted back, seeing a stranger’s face staring at her from the toilet piping. The face, filthy and haggard, registered shock, which deepened as Silho realised it was her own reflection. She turned away from the disturbing sight and saw Raine standing in front of one of the bathroom mirrors on the other side of the room. Instead of her own reflection, the image of the he-Wraith, Amateus, looked back at her. Inside the mirror he moved independently of Raine’s movement and spoke to her, though his voice was mute to Silho’s hearing. Raine replied in the language of the Skilsy Wraiths, which to Silho’s ears sounded like a collection of
shhh
and
ssss
sounds. Raine lifted her hands and touched them to the mirror. The two Wraiths, male and female of the same person, stared at each other with unmistakable adoration.

Silho lowered her head, the sickness building again inside her. She focused on the bloodline marks showing through her ripped sleeves. The red of the flame and green of the dragon scales shimmered in the weak light. The colours brought faded memories to her mind of her father’s works of art. In her mind he stood in front of a blank canvas, his eyes already seeing the image that he would paint. This memory, like every other of her childhood, was shadowed with the darkness of his terrible death.
She
– that woman, that demon witch – had not just killed him, she’d murdered his name and everything good that he had been.

Silho’s eyes burned with tears. How could there still be tears after she’d cried so much for so long? When would it stop? She slid down and rested her head on the tiles. The Wraith appeared at the cubicle door, watching Silho with sad, almost bewildered eyes.

‘Did you know my father?’ Silho whispered.

‘We knew of him,’ Raine answered.

‘Did you know the Skreaf were hunting him before they framed him?’

The Wraith pressed her pale lips together. She searched for the right words before she spoke. ‘We are forbidden by our law to associate with those outside our kind, or to interfere in their matters. After your father’s death, Amateus and I made the choice to fight the Skreaf – regardless of the consequences.’ Her words faded in and out in Silho’s mind.

‘What consequences?’ she managed to ask.

‘Our people believe that everything happens as it is intended. To fight against fate is an insult to the gods. This merits the severest punishments. We can never return to our kind. We will never be separated into two bodies.’

‘You want that?’ Silho said.

A complexity of emotions stirred the shapeless torment of the Wraith’s haunted eyes. They settled somewhere between desperate hope and utter despair.

‘We are always together, but always apart – until we are released.’

Silho took in the words, processing the extent of the Wraith’s sacrifice.

‘Look in my pocket,’ she whispered.

Raine crouched down beside her on the grimy bathroom floor. She reached into Silho’s jacket and drew out the oval compact mirror Eli had given her on her first day as a tracker. The Wraith stared into it and the red eyes of Amateus looked back at her. She stroked a finger over the mirror.

‘Keep it,’ Silho said.

The door squeaked open and Diega entered the bathroom. She moved around the room, scouring the corners and behind the toilet doors. Raine rolled into the floor and vanished as the Fen turned their way.

Diega spotted Silho and said, ‘There you are.’ She approached the cubicle. ‘What are you doing sneaking off like that?’

Silho cringed as the sickness boiled again inside her. The anger faded from Diega’s eyes. She stood watching Silho for some time. When she finally spoke her voice was softer than usual. It sounded like beautiful, sorrowful music.

‘You know, when someone dies there are a lot of empty spaces – their room, their chair at the table. They are sacred places and you can’t fill them – ever.’

Silho nodded. She knew all about empty places.

Diega’s face contorted as though she was going to cry, but the tears didn’t come. Her voice hardened. ‘The witch has to pay – but only you can end her.’ She stepped closer to Silho. ‘You have to find out how, right now. No more lies and hiding. No more games. You have to get control. If I were you, there is nothing in the universe I wouldn’t do to get retribution. Do you understand? Here, get up. Now. Move.’ She grabbed Silho’s arm and tried to drag her to her feet. Silho gasped, struggling to find her balance.

The commander appeared silently behind Diega. He took Silho out of Diega’s grasp and sat her down on a crate beside the toilets. He fixed his dark stare on the Fen. ‘Go monitor the system.’

‘I don’t want to monitor the system,’ Diega said. ‘We shouldn’t be hiding down here. We should be out there, hunting these hags, finding Jude.’

‘We will be, when the time is right,’ Copernicus said.

‘Which is when?’ she demanded.

‘When I say it is,’ Copernicus replied. He nodded to the bathroom door. ‘Go.’

Diega’s angry eyes retorted, but she obeyed and left them alone.

The commander turned to Silho. His eyes moved along her arms, studying her bloodline marks. He narrowed his stare.

‘Your pictures have changed – extended,’ he said, leaning in closer. ‘Did you notice?’

Silho shook her head, but his words made her think of her fight with Bellum in Moris-Isles. After drawing power from the witch’s body-lights, she had coughed up sparks. That had never happened before. Her pictures had been tingling and itching ever since, but the sensations had faded into the more consuming pain of the drug withdrawals.

‘Bellum,’ Silho whispered. ‘I felt something change when we fought.’

Copernicus thought for a moment then said, ‘The pictures may be related to the Skreaf – or to the skill you need to fight them. That must be your light-form vision.’

‘I can’t kill anyone with light-form,’ Silho said.

‘I know – you can only draw a small amount of strength, but maybe if you can gain better control over your mind you might be able to take more power before you ignite. Maybe enough to be lethal.’

Dizziness forced Silho to lean back. Sharp images from the wall sliced through her thoughts. She saw a much younger Christy Shawe and Copernicus sitting in the bathroom smoking illegal Estle Thistle. Purple smoke curled above them and their laughter echoed around the empty room. More people walked into the vision: researchers in underwater suits washing off under the showerheads, a maintenance crew testing the glass walls, a couple kissing in secret. The picture grew increasingly crowded as memory-people from times long past appeared. Silho heard the commander’s voice calling her from a distance.

‘Brabel, can you hear me? Say these words:
Claude animus meus
.’

Her numb lips mumbled over the words and the visions and sounds suddenly vanished. Silho had a moment of feeling as though she was falling through a silent void. With the distraction of the mental interference gone, the nausea amplified. She bent over, trying to breathe slowly until the sickness lessened. As it did, Silho became aware that the commander was kneeling in front of the crate where she sat. He was holding her. Silho could see along the pattern of his viper bloodline marks. His colours pleased her eyes and the coolness of his touch soothed the perpetual heat of her skin. Silho looked up at his face, into his midnight black eyes, and saw in them a lifetime of experiences that others only had in their nightmares. He had gone into the darkest places and seen the worst atrocities created by the most demented minds. He had gone in to save, but had paid a personal cost. He had been touched by the evil. There was no way to avoid it. So he had become what she saw – the villainous hero, admired and hated, revered and feared, closely followed and widely avoided because no one could understand the way he thought, and that made people uncomfortable. But she understood. She saw he was dangerous, even disturbed, but that was what she found so magnetic. Everyone Silho had loved in her life had had that same look – Oren Harvey, Hammersmith, Ismail and Ev’r – and now she realised, so had her father.

The commander watched her with caution and asked, ‘Has it worked?’

Silho nodded, but then another vision flashed behind her eyes. ‘But it’s coming back.’ She hated hearing the panic in her voice.

‘Say the words again,’ the commander instructed. ‘In your mind.’

Silho obeyed and the hallucination vanished.

‘What is it? What does it mean?’ she asked.

Copernicus sat back, his eyes moving in thought. Finally he spoke. ‘It means
close my mind
. It’s an Illusionist enchant. They use it to centre themselves, to shut their thoughts away from outside influences and distractions – like other people’s voices, other sounds, their surroundings, even their own physical needs. Keep repeating it.’

Silho silently spoke the words again with the same clearing effect.

‘How long will it last?’ she asked.

‘Illusionist magics aren’t just tricks – they’re a way of thought,’ Copernicus said the words carefully as though he wasn’t comfortable with them. ‘People without natural Illusionist skill need to practise the magics and build up strength with time. If you continue to repeat the words, they will become imprinted on your mind. They will create new pathways in your brain, the way exercise creates new muscles in your body. Eventually you won’t need to actively say the words. Think of it as if you’re building a wall around your mind – every time you say the words is one brick of the wall. Do you understand what I’m saying?’