Etherwalker (10 page)

“That’s Babel’s undertown,” replied Rictus, squinting uncomfortably. He nodded up. “Only the very rich are allowed to live inside the tower. The King himself occupies the top thirty floors,” here he pointed to a bulging section of the tower-which-was-almost-a-ship.

“Rumor has it that Nyraud keeps rare and dangerous beasts up there, imported prey which he hunts at his pleasure. And there are some who say that good ole King Nyraud has a few trophies from the two-footed variety, if you know what I mean.”

Enoch nodded slowly, not quite sure he did. Rictus continued.

“But things in the undertown can be even deadlier. Babel was once a lovely city, but times aren’t like they used to be. Stay close to me and don’t look anyone in the eye.”

Enoch grew wary as they neared the guards at the mouth of the gates. There were half a dozen of them lounging around the entrance and inspecting merchandise before it entered the city walls.

I’ve never had to hide myself like this before. I hope I don’t look suspicious.

Two of the guards were having some fun with the Swampmen. The guards, obviously bored, were laughing and poking their clubs through the merchant’s cages. The Swampmen sat silently on their mounts waiting to enter, apparently either unconcerned or accustomed to the abuse that their stock received at the gates.

From the back of one cage came a furious hiss, and the guards again erupted into laughter. Further prodding produced more noise, and soon the guards were slamming their clubs against the sides of the cage as the creature inside howled. Still the Swampmen sat motionless, the long muddy rolls of their hair obscuring any expression on their faces.

Master Gershom’s words came to Enoch.
Men are made for the Law of God . . .

Enoch’s hands curled around the hilt of his
iskeyar,
and he resolutely walked over to confront the guards.

“Enoch!” Rictus hissed.

But Enoch had already marched up next to the scaly side of the Swampmen’s mount. He put his hound out to catch the thick forearm of one of the guards.

Whatever noble sentiment Enoch was about to express was quickly forgotten as another guard grabbed him and knocked him back against the pack animal. The reed-woven rope holding the small cage, already loosened from the recent abuse, parted and the wicker cage fell to the ground. A lithe, shadowy figure writhed free of the bars and ran between the startled guard’s legs and through the gate before anyone could react. The guards paid no mind—now they had new sport.

“Young cur!”

“Nobody ever teach you respect, boy?”

“Learn ‘im, Lev!”

Enoch fumbled for his swords as the guards moved towards him, but the blades were twisted up and tangled with his shroud.

Maybe this wasn’t the best time to make a stand.

The descending club of the first guard was caught in a bony grip. As he turned with a roar, a fleshless death’s head leered at him from the depths of a lifted hood.

“Leave him alone, Lev, or you’re next on my lisssst.”

The guard staggered back into the arms of his cronies and bowled them over long enough for Rictus to grab Enoch up in a thin arm and in three massive strides, they were in the city. Behind them cries of “specter!” and “demon!” dwindled away under the muffled roar of humanity rumbling from the busy crowd. The guards were loud, but obviously too afraid to give chase.

“That was a stupid thing to do!”

The specters’ accusation was lost to Enoch amid the buzz of voices. That had been dangerous, but . . . he felt good about his courage at the gate. After so many days of feeling helpless, it had been wonderful to
act
upon the world and defend something that had seemed so defenseless. His cheek still ached where the guard had landed his blow, but he felt strangely peaceful.

Chapter 9

“You can take your shiny tek and ride it back to Tenocht, sir. I spent two years potty training Sal, and another teaching him the difference between a whiskey sour and a Rob Roy. I can deal with the fleas.”

              — Calvin Jie, Disgruntled Bartender

The city was a spectacle.

Everything seemed to be in motion. From the motley crowds of people to the vendors to the very buildings themselves—Enoch felt as though his eyes were going to vibrate out of his head trying to follow the surrounding motion.

How could so many people live together in one place like this?

A group of tall armored women stomped past, their shields decorated with red scales the size of dinner plates. From the other direction, Enoch noticed two men with pale white skin and black robes pushing a bulky object through the crowd. They leaned it into place against a nearby wall and then set to work bolting its chassis to the stone. Enoch thought he recognized that shape—

It’s a Unit!

The machine was taller and sturdier-looking than the one Enoch had grown up with, and the keypad seemed designed for various sizes and types of fingers. But it was definitely a Unit.

Enoch looked down the length of the wall and noticed several other Units installed for public use. A few were occupied by merchants, but most stood alone.

And Master Gershom had said that our Unit was a rare treasure. I wonder if he ever passed through Babel . . . 

Enoch’s thoughts were interrupted as a piece of rotten fruit flew through the air to splatter against the wall above the nearby Unit. The two pale men stood, nervously scanning the crowd for the source of the hostility.

Enoch could sense tension in the air, noticed that several passers-by eyed the Unit with anger. Distrust. Fear.

Rictus grabbed Enoch by the shoulder.

“Let’s not stick around here, kid. People are still jumpy about the king’s attempt to modernize. This could get ugly.”

One of the pale men turned and went back to work, while the other signaled for some nearby soldiers to approach. The soldiers had green and gold livery, and they pushed through the crowd with an air of official authority. Rictus squeezed his shoulder again.

“Come on, Enoch.”

But Enoch had something he wanted to do first. He had never had a chance to
pause
and use his new powers to look inside of a Unit before—the one back at Rewn’s Fork had gone and melted itself before Enoch ever got the chance to. And maybe he could see if these public machines could read his disc? Enoch
paused
—

“No!”

Rictus’s shout yanked him right out of the trance and attracted the stare of one of the pale men setting up the machine. Rictus pulled his face-wrap a little bit tighter and laughed.

“No, you may not have any more of those sugar meats, son! Not until we have the livestock unloaded!” He turned Enoch swiftly by the shoulder and marched him in the other direction. Enoch was confused.

“I was just going to look inside the—”

“I could tell what you were going to do, boy. You get that empty look on your face—what do you call it? The scary-carey?”

“
Ferrocara,”
said Enoch impatiently.

“Whatever. Just keep your brain out of the local Units. They are all networked together, and probably set to let off all sorts of noise if a Pensanden dips in.”

Enoch supposed that he should probably trust Rictus in cases like this.

Maybe . . . maybe later I can try and see. Just a dip into the Unit there. Nobody will know.

Rictus was laughing, said something about never dreaming of having to baby-sit an etherwalker. Enoch didn’t care. Babel was incredible! He decided to let his mind rest and just take in the sights and sounds.

Hawkers called out their various bargains in counter-rhythm to the whistle and bang of the machinists’ scrap shop. A slender, deer-eyed creature draped in butterfly silks danced to the pan flute and tambour, her short, dappled fur changing color as the music switched keys.

To his left, Enoch saw a trio of tall winged men arguing over prices with a gnomish scrapmonger. The little man had complex goggles of metal and held a wrench almost as tall as he was. His customers were angry, but he seemed untroubled by their intimidating gestures. He shrugged and turned away from the trio, evoking a surrendering gesture from the tallest of them. The gnome turned and smiled—he had obviously just made a sale.

A little guy who knows that he’s smarter than his opponents. I like him already.

Above his head, cables strung from building to building like cobwebs. Craning his neck, Enoch could see a limber creature leaping along the cables effortlessly hundreds of feet above the ground.

“It’s a gabbon,” Rictus said. “A word-ape. The rich families use them as messengers. The hairy little guys are perfect mimics, and they can repeat a message word-for-word even years after it has been given. With the constant power-outages, they are the most reliable form of communication in the city right now, but the king is trying to connect a faster form of electronic messaging.”

The gabbon halted just above the fruit vendor in front of them and wiggled its body in a curious way. Enoch was about to ask what it was doing when all of a sudden the ape defecated, dropping filth onto the poor man’s shoulder with amazing accuracy. Rictus shook his head and pulled Enoch along, chuckling as the soiled vendor shouted curses at the retreating ape.

“Reliable but dirty. And stop looking around like a yokel shepherd boy. These streets eat Midianites for breakfast.”

Enoch caught sight of the three-winged men he’d seen earlier. They were tall and stately, with coppery wings that shone in the morning sun. They looked nervous and wary, with one of them constantly watching the streets around them, but Enoch wondered how they could even dream of hiding. They were vibrant even in their canvas cloaks. Their skin shone with gilded edges, some sort of odd bronze jewelry at their elbows and wrists. Their hair ranged in color from green to a deep aqua blue, and they wore it long and braided, with bronze and copper wire woven through the strands. One of them noticed Enoch staring and turned to confront him.

“What is it, boy? Has this worm overcharged you for his rusting junk as well?”

Enoch shook his head no, and the gnome winked before pushing his cart away with a wave. But the gesture was quickly forgotten by the shepherd, who could not look away from the beautiful beings in front of him. He
paused
to see if their feathers were actually metal, and what he saw was unbelievable. The winged men had metal woven throughout their entire bodies! The jewelry on their arms were actually elements of their metallic skeleton which extended beyond their flesh.

But this was
nothing
like the platabruja, the silverwitch. Her exterior form had been a shell of beauty, but the underlying machinery was pure functionality. Reflecting back on what he had seen, Enoch realized that much of the platabruja
design was built around redundancy—something which made sense if they were going to be doing battle with a “mind-wrench.” But these winged creatures, this design was something else entirely. The melding of natural form and synthetic materials apparent here was appealing in ways both deep and powerful to Enoch.

Using his new sight, he looked deeper into the man nearest him and saw a delicate lace of alloyed metals which supported bones, protected organs, and balanced the wings growing from his back. Subtle projections from his cheekbones and brow held mounts for a series of lenses and rings which could flip down to magnify and protect his eyesight.

Magnificent!

The man stepped up to Enoch, his hands on his waist. His eyes darted left and right, obviously not appreciating the attention.

“Alright, move on.”

A delicate hand rested on the winged man’s shoulder.

“Oh leave him alone, Beyn. He’s obviously never seen an Alaphim before.”

Enoch looked up and froze. He hadn’t noticed the girl standing between these
Alaphim,
and he stumbled backwards in surprise. This was a different sort of wonder.

She’s beautiful.

She leaned forward and grabbed Enoch’s arm to steady him. Her grip was firm but careful.

“Are you from around here?”

Enoch didn’t know what to say, and he found himself answering by instinct.

“N . . . no, Milady. I’m from Midian. Rewn’s Fork. It’s south of here.”

The angel smiled and tucked an errant strand of sky-blue hair behind her ear.

“Well, welcome to Babel, young shepherd. The livestock market is just through the eastern ramp over there.”

Enoch furrowed his brow, then laughed.

“Oh! Oh no, you see. I’m not a shepherd, or . . . at least, I’m not a shepherd anymore. I’m—”

A bony hand closed on Enoch’s shoulder and pulled him backwards.

“Let’s
go,
son. The sheep are getting hungry or something. Say goodbye to the nice lady.”

Enoch didn’t even look at Rictus as the exasperated specter practically carried him back into the bustling crowd. He couldn’t pull his gaze from the girl. She gave him a parting smile and then returned to conversation with her companion. Enoch gave her a feeble wave.

Goodbye.

Rictus scowled unconvincingly.

Grabbing a skinny arm, he pulled Enoch along towards the end of the market. The connecting street spilled into another large, open pavilion where rows of booths were set up haphazardly against the walls of great domed temples.

The Swampmen they had seen earlier at the gate had apparently made it through and were at a large stall unloading cages. Their steed stamped nervously and snorted at the surrounding cacophony.

Rictus released his arm and gave the boy a light cuff behind the ear.

“For the last time, close your mouth, shepherd. Keep your eyes down. And follow me closely.”

The specter’s voice was uncharacteristically stern, and Enoch tried to focus.

Enoch followed Rictus into a narrow alley, shaded by the multitude of ramparts, cables, walkways, and drying laundry strung between the two buildings which seemed as tall as the Edrei. His head still spun with thoughts of the angel, but even those were soon drowned out by the enormity of Babel.

This place is endless!

The alley narrowed, and the bustle of the crowd began to dim.

“Where are we going?” His voice sounded small echoing in the dark alley.

The specter looked up and down the alley to be sure they were alone and then shot him a long-toothed grin.

“With this face of mine it might be hard to believe, but even old Rictus has friends amongst the true music lovers of Babel. I can pull some favors and keep us safe for a while, but we’ll have to be heading out in a day or two. With the kind of attention you’re sure to have stirred up, we needn’t make easy targets of ourselves.

“You almost spilled our disguise to that pretty bird back there. From here on out it is best you understand, kid. The forces after you are strong. They are smart, they are quick, and they will not hesitate to do nasty things to you. Even with your training and abilities, you are no match for them. These snakes were killing Pensanden Blood Dukes before you were even a concept. I’ve been trying to teach you some less . . . orthodox . . . fighting styles to give you an edge. The skills your master taught you are useful, but you lack
savvy
. You’ll need to know how and when to fight dirty. Luckily—” and here Rictus extended his hand with an odd elegance, and bowed “—that’s my specialty.”

Rictus straightened and patted the long, gaunt weapon hanging at an angle on his back, then cocked his head.

“Oh, and you’re gonna have to sharpen up your listening skills here in the city. You can’t listen for snapping twigs and crunching leaves, but I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

With that cryptic remark, Rictus winked a leathery lid at Enoch and returned to his long-legged gait down the slowly descending alley. Enoch recognized the challenge and slipped into the
pensa spada
, commanding his senses to come alive.

Hear.

Rictus was right—he had been trained to listen for the bending of grass under a heavy foot, the whistling of the country wind around the shape of a man. All the rules were changed here. Sounds bounced and giggled off of the high walls, shadows moved unexpectedly, and smells were born, matured, and died in a matter of seconds. So Enoch listened for
city
sounds.

There was a pattern within the greater boil of noises in the city—a pattern which syncopated with his footsteps. A pattern which was whisper-quiet, but that had stayed
constant
while all others waxed and waned. Eyes closed, Enoch turned towards the pattern. There was a muffled splash as something leapt from a nearby puddle and into the surrounding refuse.

Rictus saw Enoch’s expression and chuckled. “It’s been following us since the gates. I think you may have started something back there.”