Adversaries Together (3 page)

Every morning it was more and more difficult
to not eat the cheese. Holding it in her hands now, feeling her gut
twist in a pain that wasn’t going to go away. Her mind raced. What
if she didn’t eat it? What if she just kept on not eating and
wasted away? How was that any different from the Parmentier Way?
What if she lost it? Or if it was stolen? Then, all her noble
hesitancy would have been for no one’s benefit—a complete waste of
food, of effort. She had to eat. Gripping the brick with both
hands, she broke off a piece. Holding it between her thumb and two
fingers, she brought it to her mouth and slowly pressed it past her
lips. It was dry and hard, but as it sat on her tongue, she could
feel a thick creaminess flood her palate. She fought the urge to
devour the whole brick and began to chew slowly. Fery felt her body
relax.

Sitting with her legs beneath her, she let
her hands drop to her knees. She swallowed and took another piece,
for an instant it there was a flood of normalcy in her heart.
Wrapping up the rest of the cheese, she stowed her food away and
tied her pack up. Standing, she threw her pack over her shoulder
and walked the length of the floor looking for anything she could
use. As she walked she pulled the pack’s straps tight to her
body—shoulder, chest, and waist—and looked around. The likelihood
of there being any food in the building was slim but even if she
only got a handful of seed, it would increase her chances. There
was nothing here for her. But that meant there was nothing here for
anyone else. Fery smirked and kept tightening her straps, she
wasn’t going to have another satchel stolen from her by other
desperates or the city’s own obstacles. This floor was empty but
there looked to be at least two more above her. She paused at the
stairway and listened hard. There was the flutter of birds.

“
Pigeons, maybe even
gulls.” She whispered, “One of those could make a meal. And the
roof might have some pools of rainwater.”

Reaching down along her thigh, she unsnapped
a leather flap revealing a blade pocket and pulled out two small
makeshift knives. Little more than pieces of twisted scrap metal,
but a day of shaving against stone had given each enough of an edge
to serve a purpose. She held them tightly in each hand and began to
make her way up. She moved deliberately, straining to hear any
movement from above or below, her guard rising as the brightness of
the day grew.

Stepping onto the roof, she spied her
prey—four pigeons perched on the edge of the building. She froze
and thought for a moment calculating just how she should move. One
good throw could get her what she needed, except she was usually a
terrible shot. Moving even slower than before, she tried to get
into a position where she could throw both blades. Sudden motion
would send these birds flying off, but if she could simply stand
and throw, she might be able to catch one. She doubted her skill.
Ribbon dancing had never taught her how to throw, if only the birds
would just sit still while she tumbled and pirouetted towards them.
Fery let out a long sigh, her muscles tensed, and she focused on
the birds; she was stone for minutes it seemed. Then she spun
throwing both her knives one after the other, the birds soared in a
flutter of coos and down. She came to a standstill and glared. Over
the edge and into the empty air her first knife disappeared. Her
second, though, had found its mark. At least, after a fashion.

The pigeon wasn’t dead and was spinning
erratic, unable to fly. Fery bolted and pounced on the bird griping
it with both hands. Its beak tore into her hand’s flesh between her
thumb and index finger and she felt its feet scratching her wrist.
She held the bird tighter than she had ever held anything and began
twisting its neck. It took all of a few seconds before she felt the
weight of the dead creature. She smiled.

Then she heard it. Voices coming from the
streets below. Fery froze.

“
It just came flying down
from there.” A boy’s voice.

“
Did you see anything
else?” A man’s voice.

“
Just few
birds.”

“
It’s probably nothing,
let’s move on.” A different man said.

“
That’s not just a piece of
debris, someone made that.” The first man coolly
replied.

“
Can’t we just…” The boy
whined.

“
Shut up!” The first man
barked. There was stillness, and then he spoke with certainty,
“We’re checking it out.”

Fery heard them speaking as they entered the
building but couldn’t make anything out. She felt panic rising from
her gut. Quickly, she loosened some of her pack’s straps, spun it
around to her chest, stuffed the dead pigeon inside, and then
pulled the straps tighter than they had been. There was only
one-way onto the roof, Fery bolted along the perimeter frantically
looking for an escape—a ladder down or a nearby roof to jump to.
There was nothing. She came back around to where she started and
looked over. There were five cords about a foot apart from each
other coming from the story below running across the alley to the
next stone building. She couldn’t tell if the lines were wire or
rope. Maybe twenty feet to the cords, maybe fifty to the ground,
she estimated.

The voices of the men echoed up the stairway
as they drew closer. They were still bickering and it didn’t sound
like they cared too much who or what heard them. These weren’t
flesh-eaters, but Fery didn’t want to discover just who they were.
The last time she had given the benefit of the doubt she’d been
beaten to a pulp and nearly raped. Only the sound of a surging gang
of flesh-eaters had scared off her attackers. She barely had time
to crawl through a shop basement window before the flesh-eaters
came through. Fery felt the scab of the jagged cut she suffered
from that encounter that ran along her shoulder begin to burn. She
was getting flush; she was panicking.

Jumping was becoming the option that kept
flashing through her mind. Heart racing she tried to think. Leaping
for the cords and missing would send her to the ground. That’d
crush her, if not dead then just as well. She had to grab the
cords, shimmy or swing across on them. How could she make sure she
caught them though? Her hands were shaking, her head kept jerking
back and forth between the roof entrance and the cords below.
Finally, she balled her fists up, clenched her jaw, and closed her
eyes.

“
Just act, trust your
body
.
” Fery said
aloud the mantra her ribbon dancing tutor had drubbed into
her.

Keeping her pack on, she yanked her buff coat
off through the straps. She twisted the some of its corners and
tied them to her pack straps, then took the sleeves and tied them
around her hands. Taking a few steps back she winced, ran toward
the edge, and leapt. Fery turned her body so she saw the street
coming towards her but she spread her arms out, her coat puffed up
a bit—a poor man’s parachute. It didn’t feel like it slowed her,
though she guess it maybe gave her just a few seconds of control.
She hit the cords—the hard, tight rope felt like boards hitting her
chest. Instantly she wrapped her arm around one of the cords and
tried to get her feet around one. She could hear her coat rip as
she reached out frantically to grab another cord. The line she held
cut into her palm but she didn’t let go. Just as her fingertips
pulled her close enough to grab another line, she spun upside down.
Her arm went out dangling, and then she heard the scrap and creak
of the moorings loosen. She looked back at her building in time to
see the mooring shoot out because of her weight on the line; she
went flying toward the opposite building.

She hit the wall hard, heard a pop, and felt
a pull if not a tear in her shoulder. A blinding pain swept over
her. Her grip loosened and she slide down the cord. Fery had the
presence of mind to guide herself into the window below her. She
slide into the window arch opening and caught the sill with her
heel pulling herself inside. It was the least graceful entrance
that Fery could have ever imagined. She lurched forward, her feet
on the sill her body hanging out into the room with her arms caught
back in the lines. Yanking on the cords, she fell forward. Her legs
hit the floor; she stood for a mere moment and then crumpled into a
ball. Her shoulder was dislocated and her other hand still tangled
in the cord and her coat. She laid in a heap, one-half of her
collapsed and the other jetting out taut. Fery gave a few hard
pulls and finally fell down completely. She laid there for what
seemed like an eternity, her vision blurred and filled with white
stars.

When she finally stood up, she felt the burn
of the cuts the pigeon had left in her hand and those left by the
cords. Her vision blurred, she blinked a few times then pressed her
good hand to her eyes and pressed the tears out. Letting out a long
sigh, she looked around the room. It was a mirror image of where
she had spent the night. Standing she stumbled to the wall, sucked
in her breath, and threw her shoulder against it. She didn’t cry
out but rather gave a weak yelp; tears streamed downed making clean
channels down her grim covered face. Everything hurt, but she
realized that she was only one building over from the men who might
mean her harm. Fery found the stairs and made her way down.

Finally, she made it to the ground floor; she
moved slowly trying to hear any voices or movement. She turned away
from doorways opening to the street and walked through to the back
of the building. There were no windows; she dragged herself through
the dark using the walls to keep herself upright. Finally, she came
to a door where light peaked through the cracks. Fery tried to open
it. The hinges were stiff and the metal door had been warped just
enough to make opening it difficult. She pushed and tried to kick
it open, but she only succeeded in making a noise. Stepping back,
Fery let out a long breath and focused then turned toward the door
and with her good shoulder slammed into the door. Wincing, she saw
the crack of light had widened just so. She did it again and then
again, each time opening the door a little more.

“
Almost there,” she mumbled
as she felt her injured shoulder throb, “Just one more and I can
slip through.”

Pain swam all through her body. Yet she
summoned one last push, hit the door, and felt it give way. Hard
glaring light poured over her, it was blinding. Her momentum took
her forward into the alley. Without knowing it at first, she
crashed into a body. Terror seized her and she was about to kick
out when the arms of the body she had ran into wrapped around her.
She tried to spin around. She thrashed pushing back terrified.

“
What the?” A man’s voice,
the voice of the body holding her.

“
Get off me!” Fery lashed
out. She kicked the man holding her in the shin, and then shoved
her palm up into his nose. He released her, swearing as he fell
back.

“
Calm down.” Another man
spoke. Fery spun around to face him, her hands held up in tiny
fists. She was disgusted with herself; she felt the blood rush to
her face.

“
You can’t, you…don’t hurt
me, I have…nothing.” Fery could barely get out a thought; she was
choking on her rage, a mix of shame and anger.

“
We’re not going to hurt
you.” The second man said, he held out his hands and took a step
back.

“
We’re civics,” the man
Fery had struck was slightly bent over but looking at her
intensely. He wasn’t angry, he straighten himself and reached out
to her, “Civics, do you hear? We won’t hurt you.”

Fery took a moment, looked at the men. They
weren’t dressed like the mobs or haphazardly like herself; they
wore bright red wool tunics under grey quilted jerkins. Their
buttons were a polished silver and each had a well-made falchion at
their hip. Fery looked from one man to the other and back again,
their expressions were of a mixture of surprise and concern.

“
Civics…” She croaked and
lowered her fists slightly.

“
Yes, civics.” The man she
had hit stood up to his full height. “I’m Soren,” he leaned back
stretching while making a dismissive gesture to the other man, “And
that’s Calum.”

Fery’s eyes went wide, and she couldn’t help
but start shaking. Suddenly, exhaustion hit her and she found it
hard to stand. She faltered nearly collapsing. Soren sprung to
catch her.

“
Fery,” she said, “Fery’s
my name.”

“
Alright,” Soren said,
“Good that we…” He gestured for Calum to come over and help
him.

“
Landis.” Fery added
breathlessly.

“
What?” Soren snapped back
to face Fery, “Say again?” He demanded.

“
Fery Landis. My…my
father…”

“
Wynne Landis.” Calum
finished, the two civics fell silent but stared at each
other.

Soren nodded then looked at Fery, “We’ve been
looking for you.”

The Cathedral of Sulecin

The dusk filtered through the Aelia Chapel
throwing a deep yellow over the altar railing where Stilbon knelt
muttering prayers. The chapel was one of the oldest in Sulecin
existing before the construction of the Cathedral and as such
bearing the markings of the faith’s early architecture. Made of
grey stone, the interior was austere and cold with the only light
coming down from the lone window, which took up more than half the
wall behind the altar. Its glass was a queer honey color with
multiple imperfections yet not a single nick, scratch, or crack.
There were no pews, only rows of railings maybe a foot and a half
off the polished marble floor. The nearly prostrated congregation
looked down upon by a lone lectern centered on the altar directly
before the window. None of the stone absorbed any heat; the chapel
seemed always freezing even at the height of summer.