The Heretic (Beyond the Wall Book 1) (14 page)

He kept moving.

As the path straightened out and tracked the perimeter of the Port, he gazed down, searching for Shepherd’s vessel. It was easy enough to spot: there was only one freighter on a landing platform, so that had to be it.

Jordi found the craft to be both beautiful and wild; at once smooth and languid yet aggressive. He longed to be inside it, to soar through the skies above the planet and away into the vast, expansive freedom of space. For a blissful moment, the dream carried him away. For those few seconds, the terror and grief evaporated, and an incredible etherealness lifted him away from the mountain and into a warm place where a gentle breeze stroked his face with comfortable familiarity.

This isn’t the time, Jor
, Ishmael whispered to him gently.

I know, but maybe, just for a minute, could I stay here?

They need you, Jor. They’ve
always
needed you. More than they needed me.

That’s not true. Mother and Father miss you.
I
miss you.

I know they do, but they were always so proud of you. The smart one. I was proud of you, too. I still am.

I can’t do it, Ish. I’m scared to leave this place. I miss you too much.

I’ll always watch out for you. Now go.

The spindrift suddenly tore at his face, and the wind snatched at him and tried to fling him from the mountain. His heart pitched as his body spun, wavered on the thin ledge, and he flailed wildly, grasping for something to hold on to. But the rock was slick and wet and he could find no purchase.

He wheeled, desperately trying to retain his balance.

His leg gave way and slipped downwards.

As he clawed at the mountainside, his fingers at last snagged on stone, tearing his skin. He found a handhold and clutched it with every ounce of his remaining strength. At the same time, with his other leg, he pushed hard and hauled himself up.

He was panting and his stomach weltered.

He glanced downwards. A fall would have done more than kill him. It would have killed all of them.

Concentrate!

He moved slowly along the path until he came to the chimney that led down towards the perimeter of the Port. It was a short scramble, sheltered from the wind, but it was equally sheltered from the sun, so the rock was always greasy. He peered down into the void below, but could see almost nothing. The chimney was draped in shadow. He sat, eased downwards, searching for the first foothold. After a short while, he found it and tested the weight. It held firm. He slid off the path, grabbed for a familiar handhold, and found it. He let muscle memory lead his movements, and pivoted and bent his knee to slowly lower himself to the next foothold. After a few seconds of searching, he felt the firmness of the rock beneath his foot and he lowered himself again.

This is okay. This is fine.

Then the rock gave way and his legs dropped from under him.

Shepherd watched Jordi disappear up the path. He tracked the boy’s steady climb until the snow enveloped him and he was gone.

‘Do you think he can do it?’ he asked.

‘He’s strong,’ the preacher said quietly. ‘But with what he’s been through in the last few hours, I really don’t know.’

‘If he doesn’t, this whole party will be for nothing.’

‘Then we’d best pray he does.’

‘You sure
you
can do this?’

‘I wasn’t always a preacher.’

‘I guessed that. You gonna tell me?’

‘We live through this, maybe I’ll tell you one day.’

‘Can’t wait.’

‘And you? You prepared for this?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘You haven’t given me a whole lot of options.’

‘Only so many times you get to hear me say sorry.’

‘You might well be saying it again,’ Shepherd said. He held out his hand. ‘Good luck.’

The preacher took it and nodded. Then he rose and vanished into the snowstorm.

Shepherd’s heart roiled in his chest as he crept towards the landing platform where he knew Soteria was resting. As he came closer, the shapes around her began to crystallise, and he counted ten Peacekeepers surrounding her. Beside them was a single armoured truck, like the one he had seen in the township. Beyond them, on another landing platform, lay the charred remains of another freighter—the only other vessel left in the port.

Shepherd knelt and watched the Peacekeepers for a moment, his hands trembling. He rested his right hand on his pistol, seeking comfort from its familiar touch.

He found none.

It’s now or never, Shepherd. Let’s go get her back.

He stood and began to run towards Soteria.

Jordi fell. His legs flailed as he tried to find a foothold, but the rock was as slick and wet as the ice on the river when it froze. He snatched at anything he could, but found no grip. White-hot pain exploded through his leg as it snagged on something jagged and sharp and he felt the skin and muscle tear. The collision spun him round. He searched for something to grab, and his hand closed around a solid protrusion of rock. He grabbed it and held.

It halted his fall.

He was hanging from one cold, numb hand, and his fingers were slipping. He searched for another handhold, or somewhere to put a foot, and breathed a shaky sigh of relief when he found both.

But h his breaths came in ragged gasps as pain overwhelmed adrenaline. He bit down on the sleeve of his wool coat and screamed. Tears coated his eyes.

‘You always were a stupid boy,’ a voice shouted from above him.

Who? Who can that be?
‘Help me,’ he shouted back as he looked upwards. He could see nothing through the shadows and swirling snow and mist. ‘Please, help me.’

‘I’ll help you,’ the voice shouted back, barely rising above the wind. ‘Grab the rope.’

Jordi watched as a thick, hemp rope slithered down towards him, a knotted loop tied in the end. He grabbed it, slowly released his hands from the rock, and began to climb. He found himself pulled laboriously upwards.

As he reached the crest of the chimney, he was helped onto the ledge by a figure bathed in shadow. Once Jordi was again on solid ground, the figure reached down and picked up something long and narrow—it looked like some sort of tube—and brought it up to his face. It was pointed straight at Jordi.

Jordi realised it was a rifle.

‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ the figure said, quietly.

Even above the wind, Jordi recognised the voice.

‘Vaarden,’ Jordi said. ‘I don’t understand—’

‘That always been your problem,’ Vaarden hissed. ‘You don’t see
anything
.’

‘See what? You betrayed the whole village! Why?’

‘Your inbred brother,’ Vaarden spat. ‘And my wife.’

‘What—my brother? It was nothing. It didn’t mean
anything
. They were just—playing. He never even kissed her.’

‘Kissed her?’ Vaarden sneered. ‘You’re so blind to who he really is. He
fucked
her. Didn’t you know that? Your brother put his dirty seed inside my wife, and I watched him do it.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I saw them in bed together and I just watched. What did I have left but to watch her? I hated him before that, but then—’

‘
That’s
why? You went to the Praetor! You know how many people they murdered because of you?’

‘’S’no more’n they deserve, harbouring that preacher. Listening to his words. It isn’t natural, what he’s been saying. The Praetor is who we believe in—he’s the one who looks after us.’ As Vaarden spoke, Ishmael’s broken body flashed in front of Jordi’s eyes.
He was no traitor.

‘You know what they did to Ishmael?’ Jordi whispered.

‘Not them,’ Vaarden said, thumping a fist on his chest. ‘
Me
. What
I
did.’

Jordi saw the lie in his eyes.

‘You don’t have it in you,’ he spat. ‘You’re a sad old man with nothing left. He’ll kill you too, and your wife.’

‘No,’ Vaarden said. ‘He won’t. The Praetor will
reward
me for this. An’ Maarie will come back to me when I have coin and fancy clothes. You’ll see. Oh, an’ when the Praetor makes you tell him where they all are—I might like to watch that.’

Shepherd blew through the mist and snow and sprinted towards Soteria, waving his arms in front of him. He saw the Peacekeepers tense and drop into firing stances. Rifles came up to their faces and arced towards him.

‘Help me!’ Shepherd screamed. ‘They’re coming!’
Shit guys, don’t shoot me.
He continued running and flicked a glance over his shoulder.

From behind him, two shots shattered the roar of the wind. Shepherd watched one of the Peacekeepers buck twice like he’d been punched and drop backwards. From his open hand, his rifle pirouetted onto the ground as he fell. Shepherd dived onto snow-laden rock and covered his head with his hands.

Not me,
him
. Shoot
him
.

A deafening cannonade crushed him as the Peacekeepers opened fire. The ground beneath him shook and a blaze of incandescent white erupted, soaking the air so he could hardly see. He crawled towards them, pulling out his pistol and shooting back over his shoulder wildly. He didn’t exactly know where the preacher was, so he aimed high and hoped the horse couldn’t fly.

The truck growled and began to move, bathing the Port in light pouring from its powerful lamps. The Peacekeepers dropped back to the cover of the ramp up to the platform, and continued to pour fire over Shepherd’s head. Two of them sprinted towards the truck and jumped inside.

Seven left. Is that too many?

The truck thundered past him, kicking shards of frozen earth into his face. He turned and watched it sweep into the mist. When he turned back towards Soteria, he saw the Peacekeepers staring at him, weapons ready.

He spat dirt from his mouth.
Game time.

‘Don’t you move,’ a voice growled. One of the Peacekeepers approached him in front of the others. Taller than the rest of the unit; powerful and imperious. Horrifying. He issued another command as he approached, rifle unwavering, ‘discard the pistol.’

Shepherd tossed it to one side and flattened himself on the ground, arms outstretched. ‘They kidnapped me,’ he shouted. ‘This is my freighter. I was trying to get away from them, damn fanatics.’
The best lies are rooted in truth.

‘Shut up and stay down,’ the same dark figure bellowed. Shepherd risked a glance upwards and watched them moving slowly towards him. He could see them clearly now—bodysuits constructed from some dark, fibrous membrane which seemed to mute the light around them, and which was covered by dense, moulded armour. In their hands they wielded rifles unlike anything Shepherd had ever seen before—complex weapons with sights and barrels he couldn’t understand. Heavy and long. Powerful.

Each Peacekeeper wore a sculpted helmet that made them appear ghoulish and alien; and each helmet bore a dark visor above breathing apparatus that hissed as they breathed.
That’s a damn respirator. This isn’t going to work!

One of them appeared to be speaking softly into some sort of radio system, and Shepherd could only just pick out what he was saying.

‘Yes, we have the smuggler ... Are you getting this? ... Two of the squad have moved to intercept the attacker ... Copy that. Understood.’

The tallest one turned to him. ‘Stand slowly, arms out to one side. Anything else, we drop you here. Do you understand?’

Shepherd nodded and rose slowly, stretching his arms out to the side.

Another shot rang out and pinged off Soteria’s hull.

Dammit, preacher! Watch the ship.

Shepherd ducked and watched the Peacekeepers. They turned smoothly as one, knelt and fired again. Shepherd ducked away from the overwhelming thunder that detonated around him, pressed his hands to his ears, and started moving.

‘Inside the ship,’ he shouted as he made for the ramp. ‘Get inside!’

He didn’t stop running, and hoped like hell they didn’t shoot him in the back.

Jordi watched the brilliant flare of the weapons as it shredded the fog. Even up here, the noise was deafening. He knew Vaarden was standing maybe ten yards away from him, the rifle still aimed in his direction.

‘Your friends aren’t going to last long,’ he said. ‘We’ll go down together when the Peacekeepers are finished with them.’

‘How did you do it?’ Jordi said. ‘How did you kill my brother?’

‘He cried, you know,’ Vaarden said, and spat something onto the path. ‘Begged for my forgiveness.’ Jordi didn’t look at him—he couldn’t bring himself to watch the older man smiling, relishing the moment.

You didn’t kill Ishmael—you don’t have it in you—but you led them to the village. You might as well have killed everyone else.

From of the corner of his eye, he glanced sideways towards the edge of the Port, where the chimney came out next to the fence. The fog was so thick, he could hardly see even the top of the fence.

But he saw something else on the ground.