City of Hope and Despair (25 page)

  Further yet along the corridor a fire had somehow started, which doubtless explained the elongated shadows she'd seen fighting on the wall as she reached the top of the stairs. Chavver and M'gruth had been pressed back close to the flames. No question this Brent was good; he was keeping Chavver pretty much fully occupied, leaving M'gruth to contend with the Fang. Kat's arrival changed the odds dramatically. The Tattooed Man took advantage of the distraction she'd provided to drop one of his opponents. Kat dispatched another. Three against three; or maybe not, as one of the two surviving Fangs evidently did a little mental reassessing of the odds and didn't much like the sums. He turned tail and ran, heading back towards the stairs for all he was worth. After brief hesitation, the other followed.

  Brent disengaged from fighting Chavver, leaping back so that all three of them – Kat, Charveve, and M'gruth – were in front of him. He was breathing hard but still had a smile on his face, as if the odds didn't trouble him all that much.

  "You should have told me about this little party, Kat. I thought we agreed to work together."

  "I changed my mind."

  Chavver and M'gruth were too experienced to be distracted by this little interplay if that was Brent's intention, though doubtless Kat would have some explaining to do once they'd finished off this interfering brecker. The three of them fanned out, making sure Brent had no avenue of escape while maximizing their own space to avoid tripping over each other when they pressed their attack.

  "Not that it mattered, of course. Or did you really think something like this could be organised without word spreading?"

  "So you thought you'd come along and wreck everything out of injured pride, simply because you weren't included?" Kat didn't believe that for one minute.

  They were almost there, almost as far apart as possible.

  "No, of course not," Brent replied. "I'm afraid I was a little sparing with the truth when last we spoke. You see, I wasn't hired to kill the Soul Thief but rather to protect her and to ensure she grows strong."

  "What?" Why would anyone want an abomination like that to thrive?"

  "My employer's motives remain as opaque to me as they are to you, but once hired I always deliver."

  "Not this time you won't," Chavver assured him.

  "Really?" That supercilious smile was still there. "Who's going to stop me? You? I thought you might have more pressing concerns."

  His eyes shifted to look above Chavver. Kat wasn't about to fall for a trick that obvious, but reckoned with three of them present, one at least could afford to check it out, so she did; and what she saw made her glad she had.

  Now at least she knew what had caused the fire. The creature must have fled up here, weakened and smouldering, only to ignite some cloth or piece of wooden furniture in passing. Then it had cowered amongst the shadows in the stucco design of the ceiling, greatly diminished and too weak to escape, while Brent and his Fang cohorts had forced Chavver, M'gruth and the fallen Rel ever closer, until finally the Thief saw her chance.

  "Chav, above you!" Kat knew her call was too late. In manoeuvring for the perfect attack, her sister had inadvertently stepped directly beneath the Thief's hiding place. A smudge of blackness fell towards Chavver, covering her face even as she attempted to turn and twist and react. The darkness immediately began to swell and gain substance, taking on an almost human shape.

  Kat heard her sister scream, a cry of unadulterated agony.

  "No!" Kat ran forward, ignoring the smell of burning overlaid with the stench of something putrid. She hacked at the thing, feeling slight resistance through the handle of her sword, but it verged on the trivial, as if she were chopping through a bag of fluffed-up cotton wool. "M'gruth, the fire!"

  The big man was already running towards the blaze. There was no sign of Brent at this point – the brecker had obviously taken the opportunity to flee, but she'd worry about him later.

  "Leave her, you bitch!" Kat screamed.

  Charveve was thrashing, struggling against the shrouded figure that now seemed to envelope her. The suggestion of a face started to appear amidst the chaos. Kat didn't hesitate, stabbing at the thing's head. As before, the blade passed through with minimal resistance, but this time the creature cried out, as if stung. Kat stabbed again, growing increasingly desperate, the fear of losing her sister something she refused to accept.

  "M'gruth!"

  Where the breck was he? Then the Soul Thief's face began to take on greater definition, becoming more human, a woman's face, one she knew. "Katerina?"

  Kat stopped attacking, her arms suddenly limp. All she could do was stare – at a face she only dimly remembered from her very earliest memories. "Mother? No!" The scream erupted from somewhere deep inside her. "You're not my mother. Don't you dare assume her face."

  "Oh, but I am." The voice was like the wind across autumn leaves, dry and ancient. "She lives on in me, as do all I claim. Everything that remains of her is here, a part of me. Would you really kill your own mother, Katerina?"

  For answer, Kat attacked with renewed fury, punctuating each stab with a word: "
You… are… not… my… mother!"

  Chavver had stopped moving. The Thief slid off of her, allowing Kat's sister to crumple to the floor; a dried, lifeless husk in black leather armour that now seemed ludicrously overlarge for the withered form within.

  "No." Kat suffered a moment of double vision; past and present superimposed, one face overlaying the other. This was exactly how her mother had looked after the monster claimed her. "Goddess, please, no."

  M'gruth finally came back, clutching the leg of a chair with fire smouldering at its top. He and Kat shared a desperate look. Too late and they both knew it. Kat felt numb, defeated, robbed of all hope. The Soul Thief flowed across the floor towards a window and all she could do was watch it go. M'gruth flung his burning brand. It sailed through the tattered trail of the killer without discernible effect.

  The window's glass burst outward as the Thief paused before it.

  Somewhere deep inside Kat the knowledge stirred that the murderer was about to leave. She stumbled forward, realisation that yet again the slayer of her mother and now her sister was going to escape overriding her paralysis and despair. Desperation empowered her and she ran the few short steps to the window, even as the last of that black cloud passed through. And then she remembered Annie's whip.

  She yanked the barbed leathery length from her belt and held it properly for the first time, feeling a thrill of energy course up her arm, and dared hope that this seemingly vulgar thing might be more than it appeared to be. Without pause, Kat drew her arm back and cast the tip towards the patch of darker night, leaning out the window to do so, oblivious to the shards of shattered glass that still clung to the frame.

  Kat had no idea what to expect. Swords had failed, while flechettes and crossbow quarrels merely slowed the creature down; what good was a whip likely to do? But she was desperate and had nothing else to hand. Her delight when the whip bit and the handle jerked violently was therefore matched by her surprise. There was a shriek of frustration and perhaps even pain from the nebulous cloud, and Kat had to hold tight with both hands to prevent the whip from being jerked out of her grasp. She found herself pulled forward, clothes and skin tearing on the window's glass-fragment teeth. She could have let go then, but refused to; refused to live with the knowledge that her family's killer had escaped again. So instead she clung on for dear life, and was physically dragged through the window.

  The wrench on her arms was immense, as they were suddenly asked to take the weight of her entire body. She waited for the whip to pull free, or for the leather to snap, to send her tumbling towards the ground. They weren't high, and she knew how to land. Kat reckoned she could survive a fall from here without too much injury. But it never came.

  She found herself carried across the courtyard while the creature above her shrieked its consternation. Perhaps the Soul Thief writhed and twisted, trying to shake off the whip's dogged grip; Kat couldn't say. Her attention was fully occupied with the wall of the opposite wing to the house, which was starting to loom large ahead of her. They'd gained a little height since leaving the window but not enough for her to clear either wall or roof. Fortunately, they weren't travelling quickly. Kat was able to bring her feet up, planting them on the wall and then using them to scrabble up it as she was pulled forward. The same tactic worked with the shallowpitched roof. She could have let go then and been safe, but the possibility barely crossed her mind. She was in this until the end, however bitter that might prove to be.

  They were free of the house now, drifting over smaller, single storey dwellings and still gaining height, little by little. Kat dangled, arms and body extended, like some lead weight hanging from a line. The solid presence of the grand conveyor loomed large. In fact, that seemed to be where the Soul Thief was headed.

  She tried not to look down on the rooftops that swayed alarmingly beneath her feet, tried not to think of the muscles in her shoulders and arms which ached in mounting degrees of agony, and tried to focus only on the task of holding on.

  No question, the Soul Thief was making for the grand conveyor. The brick-built viaduct with its series of broad supporting arches bestrode this section of the under-City like some multi-limbed colossus.

  They were fairly high up now, and Kat wondered whether the Soul Thief was intending to pass over the belt, though to do that she would surely have to go higher still. To her right, Kat could see the chophouse where she'd first encountered Brent; a painful reminder of another score that needed settling. Then they were coming in close, approaching an archway two along from the one housing Coalman's. Kat could see a fissure towards the top of this arch, a dark hollowing in the right-hand wall where some of the bricks had fallen out or been removed. Of course; no wonder she hadn't uncovered the Soul Thief's bolt-hole despite all that searching – this was it! She'd never even considered including the grand conveyor, yet it was ideal – within easy striking distance of the streets. It was also in spitting distance of where Brent had chosen to meet Kat. Coincidence? She doubted it. The man had been mocking her even then.

  They were coming in too high. She was carried above the archway, and found herself careening towards the brickwork of the viaduct itself. Glancing quickly up, she saw that the Soul Thief had stopped, though Kat continued forward, swinging like a pendulum. Presumably a deliberate attempt to dislodge her.

  With her hands fully occupied, she brought her feet up to absorb the shock of impact. As they connected she immediately used them to push herself off, as gently as she could, anxious not to add to the momentum. The result was awkward and only partially successful, her upper-body continuing towards the viaduct. She twisted so that her left shoulder took the brunt of the contact. The Soul Thief was moving again, pulling her away and then dashing her towards the brickwork once more.

  No question now, the creature was definitely using the viaduct to try to rid itself of this troublesome burden. The combination of momentum from her kick and the Soul Thief's movement sent Kat spinning, twirling around on the whip, which did nothing to improve her concentration. She saw the brickwork racing towards her again. She tried to bring her feet up, to kick herself off as she had before, but the spinning made judgement impossible. She slammed into the viaduct sideways, her shoulder and hip striking with bruising force, followed a split second later by her head. Pain lanced through her thoughts, fracturing her attention.

  Kat's right hand slipped, losing its hold on the whip. In desperation she tried to adjust her grip by reaching higher, only for her fingers to close on nothing at all. The horror of that barely had time to register before her left hand's hold failed completely. With no time to react in any way, she was falling. This was no mere drop from a first floor window, she was far higher, fatally so. Her arms were flailing, body tumbling, the brickwork of the conveyor flashing past with sickening speed.

  Seemingly from nowhere a dark shape appeared. The Soul Thief, come to claim her life force as it had the rest of her family. Too fast. She barely had time to register its presence before the thing was upon her. Kat felt the juddering force of impact flare through every part of her body. Her last memory was of all-consuming pain.

SEVENTEEN

Above the village there was a definite trail, which came as a relief to Tom, who'd had visions of their having to clamber up the side of a mountain without any form of reference. Thankfully, the going would be a little easier than that, at least initially. Although they were yet too early for the pilgrim season to have started in earnest, this was a well-travelled path, which provided the pair with perfect camouflage. Nobody stopped to question what two such young people were doing abroad in the world alone when they took a room at a moderatelypriced inn the previous evening; pilgrims came in all ages and sizes it would seem. In a sense, therefore, the goddess was indeed protecting them, from the curious if nothing else. Tom thought better of sharing this private observation with Mildra.

  Before setting out that morning, they did a little shopping. Heeding Leon's advice, they ignored the various forms of bric-a-brac that Pellinum seemed to offer in abundance, but did acquire some warmer clothing, having lost theirs when the horse bolted during the Rust Warrior's attack.

  The pair headed into far starker and more rugged countryside, which made it all the more strange to be leaving the Jeeraiy behind. They stopped a few times during that initial climb to gaze back upon the rooftops of Pellinum and watch the sunlight glinting off the waters of the Jeeraiy beyond. It was only then that Tom realised how busy a port this was. There were boats of various types and sizes in the waters around the town, some of which were clearly fishing while others looked to be ferrying either cargo or passengers, but none were as quirky or beautiful as the Mud Skipper, which was nowhere to be seen having left the previous evening.

  Their course brought them close to the crown of the waterfalls they'd watched from the deck of the boat. For long moments they stood on a rocky knoll, awed by the power and the majesty of the plunging torrents that fed the watery plains below them; as the mist-like fret from the falls dappled their cheeks and dusted their clothes with glistening droplets. Tom was delighted he was able to gaze down on any of this at all without vertigo overcoming him. Whatever measures the prime master had taken to remove his fear of heights were holding up admirably.

  Mildra seemed mesmerised by the falls. Tom had a feeling she would have happily stayed there all day. Eventually, after he'd tugged gently at her arm, they moved on, climbing a little above the course of the Thair, which had carved a canyon into the rock. They walked now beside a broad ribbon of surging white water, bursting with energy and violence, a raging torrent, whose growling voice was their constant companion. This seemed utterly different from the deep dark giant of a river that had carried them in the early stages of their venture, or from the vast, placid expanse of the Jeeraiy flood plain that the river would soon become, which made it hard to accept that the same water comprised all three.

  For the first time since the earliest days of their journey, Tom's legs began to ache, particularly the backs of his thighs, which made him think that the effort of walking uphill must place different demands on the muscles; wonderful news.

  By late morning the terrain had levelled out and the Thair had calmed a little – the roar of white water replaced by an altogether more soothing murmur. They came to a lagoon, a spur leading off from the river's course which may have been a natural feature with later human embellishments or could have been entirely man-made, Tom wasn't sure. All he did know was that decorative paving stones bordered the pool around its entire perimeter, providing the lagoon with an unnaturally smooth edge, and that directly opposite the inlet stood a building which simply had to be a Thaissian temple; subtly different in many ways to those he was used to seeing in the City Below, but similar enough that he instantly recognised the general type. As did Mildra, who gave a delighted cry and hurried forward. The path led them around the lagoon directly past the front of the temple. Tom's respect and affection for the Thaistess had grown throughout their journey, but he still felt no inclination to embrace her beliefs, so rather than joining her inside he sat and waited on the temple steps, studying the water. The surface of the lagoon rippled with half-glimpsed life, as scaly forms entwined and slid past one another in some silent ballet. The waters of the pool seemed to be alive with them, and dark fins frequently cut through to momentarily invade the air before disappearing beneath the surface once more. Tom became absorbed in watching the fish, trying to predict when one would next break the surface, and completely lost track of time.

  "Thaasiel," Mildra murmured as she came to stand beside him. She sounded almost in awe. "They're holy fish, the water avatars of the goddess," she explained. "They're the same fish we keep in the temple pools back home, though I've never seen them this big or in such numbers."

  Tom stood up and the two of them continued around the lagoon. A girl, swathed in a white shawl, stepped out from the temple and walked daintily down to stand close to where he had been sitting, She commenced to cast a large fistful of something, perhaps nuggets of bread, onto the water. The white pellets soared out, peppering the surface in a broad arc, and wherever they landed the water broiled with scaled forms. The girl was already taking out a second handful from a bowl clasped one-handed to her stomach. After scattering these, she looked across and smiled. Her dark face was narrow and far from pretty, but there was a serene quality about her features and the smile lent them added grace. Mildra raised an arm and waved to her. She took the trouble to pause in the ritual feeding and wave back. No words were spoken, as if such coarse human utterances would spoil the moment.

  There was a spring to Mildra's step as they walked away from the lagoon, which lightened Tom's heart far more than the sight of the temple or its fish. She hadn't been quite herself since the raid on the village, lapsing into bouts of sullen silence which he didn't know how to respond to.

  As they continued, the landscape around them opened up, the slopes on either side growing gentler and greener, though the path itself was covered in loose shale that had the promise of grazed knees written all over it.

  Directly ahead of them rose a particularly verdant slope which seemed oddly marked. At first Tom failed to make sense of what he was seeing, but as they drew closer it became clear. Tier upon tier of low walls decorated the hillside, reminding Tom of his home, the City of a Hundred Rows, except that here the rows were used to separate crops rather than people, partitioning the mountainside into a series of staggered fields.

  The green shoots of crops could be seen crowding the gaps between the stark paleness of the dividing walls, and here and there people were also in evidence; small pale motes moving among the green, presumably tending the plants. From this distance they looked a little like cavern ants, scurrying around the walls of chewed up rock and earth from which those busy insects built their nest mounds. Comparing these industrious people to such mindless, instinct-driven creatures seemed hardly fair, but he couldn't fully dismiss the image.

  Mildra seemed to delight in everything they encountered, maintaining the smile and carefree demeanour she'd rediscovered at the temple, which prompted Tom to comment, "You look happy."

  "I am," she replied. "I am."

  With that she laughed and danced ahead of him. He hurried to catch up, breaking into a run, his own spirits lifted merely at seeing her like this. Tom was still coming to terms with the wonder of life; the paradoxical way he could feel so cheerful, giddy even, within a few short days of losing first a newfound friend and then a vital companion. The City Below taught pragmatism but offered little by way of this sort of release. In all manner of ways, the world was proving to be a far bigger place than he had ever imagined.

Much to Tom's frustration they left the cultivated slopes with their neat walls and crops behind without meeting any of the people who were so busy tending them. He had been tempted to dally, to climb up to wherever these people dwelt and learn exactly what was grown with such care in those precarious terraces and how the people farming them lived, but Mildra was keen to press on while the light and good weather held. The clear skies of earlier had disappeared as the day progressed and it was a while since they'd seen the sun, which lay hidden behind heavy clouds. The darker the clouds, the more anxious the Thaistess became, her earlier bright mood evaporating. With the sun's disappearance and the higher altitude, temperatures plummeted, and the pair stopped to unpack some of the thicker clothing they'd bought that morning. By late afternoon Mildra's fears were realised and the first drops of rain started to fall.

  Never having seen rain before, Tom thought this was wonderful, holding his face up to feel the heavy drops splatter against his cheeks and forehead. Mildra seemed less impressed.

  "You won't be so cheerful when your clothes are sodden through and everything's damp and cold," she assured him.

  At her urging they searched for somewhere to shelter, settling on a small cave – little more than a hollow in the rock beneath an overhang, really, but enough to keep them dry. By now the rain had started to fall more heavily and Tom's fascination with the stuff had rapidly faded.

  They huddled together for warmth, glad to be under cover as the rain lashed the mountainside in pitiless torrents. Tom was astonished at the ferocity, never having imagined that the sky could hurl down so much water with such vehemence. The path they'd been following now resembled a stream rather than anywhere a person could hope to walk along. The rain stopped as quickly as it had started, but by then darkness had already fallen and they decided to stay where they were until morning, which suited Tom just fine. When they first cuddled, Tom felt awkward, not knowing where to rest his hand. Then, once that hand found a comfortable position somewhere around her stomach, he'd tried hard not to move his fingers, afraid that Mildra might read intent into any slight flexing or involuntary twitch. It took a while for him to relax, but eventually he fell asleep with the warm presence of Mildra's body resting against his side and the smell of her rain-damp hair in his nostrils.

Come morning, everything seemed fresh and new in the wake of the previous day's rain. The clouds had withdrawn and they both felt cheered by the sun's return. It was hard to believe that anything could possibly be wrong in such a bright and beautiful world; apart from the slight crick in Tom's neck where he'd slept awkwardly.

  A single great bird soared above them as they set out, splayed wings and strange tail held motionless, giving the impression that its flight required no effort at all. The tail was shaped like the blade of an oar, broad and rounded. An eagle, or so Tom assumed. Despite being high up, the bird was obviously huge, reminding Tom of the Kite Guard who had caught him in Thaiburley's Residences. That made him think of his ill-judged attempt to escape the razzer's clutches which led to his toppling over the wall; the horror of that sickening fall past Row after Row of the city's walls. Not his most distinguished moment, he had to admit.

  "Are you all right?" Mildra asked from beside him.

  "Yes," He smiled. "I'm fine."

  The bird disappeared behind a craggy peak and they walked on, having to press close to the rock face as they walked beneath a waterfall – a cascade that produced a brief curtain of shifting obscurity as the waters tumbled into the Thair. They'd walked for perhaps half the day when a bird far smaller than the eagle caught Mildra's attention; a songbird, all black and yellow stripes with a red flash above each eye. The bird alighted for a second in one of the stunted, thorny trees that bordered the path at this point, trilled a few sweet notes and then took off again, to land in another tree a little higher up.

  Mildra impulsively set off in pursuit, leaving the path to clamber over the moss-stained rocks. Despite her urging him to follow, Tom hesitated, strangely reluctant to leave the path. Then, with a shake of his head and a sense that, of the two of them, he was probably supposed to be the reckless one, he went after her. Tom didn't see the bird again though presumably Mildra did, because she kept climbing, and Tom followed.

  There was no real path here, and the footing seemed treacherous enough to demand concentration. Tom was therefore taken completely unawares as he crested a rise and came to stand where Mildra had stopped. He could hardly believe the view that opened up before him. For long seconds the two of them stood in silence and simply stared.

  They stood at the edge of a high meadow bursting with colour; a vast open area completely carpeted in flowers.

  Nearest them were large and small blooms, pinks and purples predominant, though there were broad swathes of red as well, and here and there a splash of yellow, as if some exuberant artist had been let loose with a palette of vibrant colours and allowed to toss them freely in every direction.

  "To think we nearly walked right past this without even knowing it was here," Mildra said quietly.

  Tom could only nod. He'd never seen anything so bright, so vivid, so joyful, and on top of all this visual wonder there was the intoxicating scent. The air seemed saturated with sweet perfumes which made him want to sing and dance and laugh for sheer joy.

  Whereas he merely felt such urges, Mildra acted on them. One moment she was beside him, the next she was ahead once more, arms outstretched like wings, skipping among the flowers, her laughter ringing out over the meadow.

  Watching her, Tom felt a grin spread across his face. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this happy, this unburdened. He ran after her. Then something caught his eye which brought him up short. Off-white and regular, bones poked out from a matt of foliage. He bent down and tugged away creepers and vines and small white flowers, to reveal part of the ribcage from what had been a reasonably large animal of some sort.