The Song of the Sycamore, page 18
I stiffened, battling the urge to walk away. Dyonne had guessed that Meredith would try to reach me at the shanties; had she guessed that I’d get tricked into this meeting, too? I tried not to care. Surprised and frightened by Meredith’s words, I kept my mouth shut so she could do all the talking.
‘The Shepherd was a Gardener who tended the Great Sycamore at the heart of a graveforest. He was a nurturer, a guide. He shepherded spirits through the gateway to Aktuaht, where the dead sang their last Songs and passed over to the Garden in the Sky. And that gateway lay inside the trunk of the Great Sycamore.’
Meredith spoke with her eyes closed, a faint smile on her lips, as though remembering the sound of her father’s voice. ‘The Sycamore was the smallest tree in the graveforest, as humble as the Shepherd himself, but so mighty. Its boughs were full of green leaves all year round, its bark sparkled with the promise of glory, and its seeds were manna in the afterlife.
‘Now, the Shepherd used to sit on the highest and sturdiest branch of the Great Sycamore, waiting for the spirits who came seeking passage to heaven. He would lead them to Aktuaht, where he listened to their Songs, revealed secrets that soothed their fears of the unknown and gave them seeds as food to sustain them on their final journey to the Garden in the Sky. The Shepherd was a friend to the dead, but he never dealt with the living. He had little time for them. But what he didn’t realise was that the living had all the time in the world for him. Do you know what happened next, Wendal?’
‘It’s just a story,’ I said. My every nerve ending itched.
‘Maybe. Or does it explain why the Salahbeem left?’ Meredith’s face darkened. ‘Humans don’t like unanswered questions. We’re too impatient, too … self-entitled. We wanted to know what the Shepherd knew. Did Aktuaht and the Garden in the Sky truly wait on the other side of the gateway? Why did he share his secrets only with the dead? The living hunted their answers like pack animals, believing that the gateway, heaven, death itself, could be theirs to control. They captured the Shepherd and forced their questions upon him.
‘But the Shepherd gave them nothing. Not even the foulest tortures could loosen his lips. For death was not ours to control. But we wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t learn. We kept demanding, hunting, torturing, until we pushed too far and killed the Shepherd. And that was the day we earned the full displeasure of the Gardeners.
‘They sent three warriors, three knights from the Order of Glass and Words. Truth, Mercy and Wrath were their names, and they came to judge the Shepherd’s murderers. Truth listened to the Shepherd’s Song and saw what the humans had done; Mercy found no redemption in their actions, and so Wrath had little choice but to decide upon a fitting punishment. If these cruel humans were so obsessed with death, then they would see it for themselves. The Order of Glass and Words killed each of the Shepherd’s torturers. Four score and ten of them, as the story goes. Ripped the spirits right out of their bodies and denied them paradise, cursing them instead to walk Urdezha as ghouls, forever lamenting the mistakes they had made.
‘And then the knights returned to Aktuaht, where they remained forevermore as the Judges of the dead. Any spirit seeking the Garden in the Sky would have its worthiness tested by Truth, Mercy and Wrath. Judged upon the life they had lived, for there are no lies in the Song of the Dead. The gateway was hidden from the eyes of the living, and the Great Sycamore was left to wither and die at the heart of the graveforest. As for the Shepherd, some say he returned to Urdezha as the spirit of vengeance, stalking those who hide from Aktuaht’s judgement.’
Meredith raised an eyebrow at me, her expression full of meaning and far too knowing.
‘It’s a fucking story.’ My voice came as a hoarse whisper. My hands were balled into fists.
Meredith pursed her lips. ‘Isn’t it funny how so many tales of the Salahbeem excuse their actions by claiming they were victims of human cruelty?’ She shrugged. ‘Most Magicians believe they were a kind and giving race. The Gardeners, selfless teachers of wisdom and wonder – no evil in them. But I don’t think of the Salahbeem in that way, and I know you don’t believe it, either.’ Face stern, eyelids hooded, Meredith scoured the Garden. ‘The dead call you Sycamore, but I think they should be calling you Shepherd.’
I was on the cusp of leaving. Or fleeing. I was too perturbed to decide which. ‘You say you’re helping me, but this feels like you’re playing a game.’
‘No games. I’m sick and tired of the Quantum and the Salem leading people to their deaths to achieve – what? More secrets. More lies. I’ve too many regrets, Wendal.’ She was looking at the storm again. ‘In you, I feel a chance to give this city a little redemption.’
‘Then tell me what you know about my wife.’
‘Yes, the root of the Great Sycamore.’ Meredith’s face softened, and her old, glassy eyes met mine. ‘There’s a Magician, goes by the name Ghan Hathor. Rumour is, he had an apprentice named Eden Finn.’
The strength left my legs and I sat down next to Meredith. ‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to be an oracle?’
‘I have insights, intuition, but no one can really see the future. And not all my information comes from visions and dreams, Wendal. There’s a network of dormice at my disposal.’ Meredith patted my hand, encouraging me to find patience I didn’t have. ‘Seems that Hathor pissed off the Salem as much as I have. They ordered his execution three or four months back, and as far as they’re concerned that execution was carried out. But my network has heard whispers that he’s still alive, living in exile somewhere outside Old Castle.’
‘Outside?’ My hopes flagged. ‘On the wasteland?’
‘No, I don’t think he’s that far out, but … I’m searching for him, Wendal, and I will find him for you.’
‘When?’ The word came as a breathless growl. ‘The Magicians are coming for you, Meredith.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about me. One way or another, whatever the Salem does next, I promise I’ll lead you to Eden’s master.’ Meredith leaned towards me, her stare harsh and unblinking. ‘Heed my warning, Wendal. If you truly love Eden, you must never mention the name Ghan Hathor to Dyonne Obor. She’s the one who was ordered to execute him, and right now she’s this close to being in as much trouble as me—’
Meredith and I flinched, startled by a sudden and brilliant flash of orange. The storm had succeeded in penetrating the shield. A single bolt of lightning speared down and struck somewhere far off in the city with a distant roar.
‘Shit!’ I held my breath, terrified that the shield was about to collapse and let the storm rush down on Old Castle. But it held, and no more lightning made it through. For now. I flinched again as the shrill blasts of whistles came from outside the Garden.
‘The storm isn’t our only concern,’ Meredith said, her eyes dropping. ‘I was hoping it wouldn’t happen this way.’
The whistles were answered by shrill replies, along with shouts and orders. The city watch was answering an emergency call. Surely it was too soon to be because of the lightning strike.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Wendal, you should follow the whistles. They’ll lead you to Nel.’
‘Nel?’
‘You’ll find her up in the main forge. She’s in trouble.’
I jumped to my feet and Meredith grabbed my hand.
‘The end begins for you now, Wendal. Sycamore’s time is coming.’ With a sad, tired gesture, she shooed me away. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what comes next. Go, follow the whistles.’
Chapter Thirty-One
I stood over a dead city watch officer. With one arm missing, his face bitten away, he lay in his own blood and filth, and he wasn’t the only one. Two more corpses, just as mauled and broken, lay close by; a reduction-house worker and another city watch officer. I hadn’t yet seen what had killed them, but I could hear it: a light, hollow tattoo like someone tapping wood against stone coming from further down the tunnel.
Picking up the baton of the dead officer at my feet, I prised the short sword from the other’s hand, practically breaking her rigid fingers in the process, and slid into the shadows of a recess.
The shouts and whistles of the city watch had led me to a reduction house just outside the Tinman District, where, according to Meredith, I would find Nel. If she was in trouble, it must have something to do with Mutley, but I didn’t have a clue why it had brought Nel to this place. What I did know was that when the storm had first arrived over Old Castle, the city watch hadn’t dealt with everything the cannons had missed.
Some thirty or more officers had converged on the reduction house, most rushing inside. But those who remained behind to guard the entrances and clear the area had been talking about the emergency when I sneaked by into the building’s delivery tunnel. A skarab had managed to secrete itself inside the reduction house, probably drawn to the heat of its forge, and make a nest in which to lay its eggs. Skarab eggs gestated with alarming speed, their hatchlings growing to adulthood at a supernatural rate. And one was heading my way.
In the dim glow of the tunnel’s ether-lights, a bulky, insectile form made its way towards the dead bodies. Clutching my weapons, remaining in shadow, I took a calming breath. No one who survived the wasteland forgot how to be a soldier, though I wished I was inside my old tank-suit. The skarab reached the first dead body, lifted it and fed with wet, angry gnawing sounds.
It was the same nightmare creature I remembered from the wasteland. Four thick, strong legs sprang from the bulbous oval of its abdomen. Its thorax rose vertically, with two wiry arms springing from muscular shoulders. It looked almost half-human, if you ignored its dark carapace, shell-like eyes, huge mouth and the long, serrated horn standing proud on the top of its head. I watched, sickened, as it cradled the dead body in its arms, biting off mouthfuls of fresh carrion with sharp teeth.
I’m sorry for what comes next, Meredith had said. Nel never left home without her satchel of tricks, and she’d need it now. Who knew how many more skarabs waited ahead? The only way past this one was through it – strike while its attention was diverted. My muscles bunched as I prepared to attack. This was going to hurt.
Shuffling footsteps and a groan of pain stopped me. The skarab dropped its meal and looked up.
‘Keep moving,’ a woman said, her voice echoing.
‘I’m trying,’ another woman replied. ‘I’m losing a lot of blood here.’
‘Just keep moving.’
A city watch officer was practically dragging a reduction-house employee down the delivery tunnel. The employee wore the white coat of a supervisor, which was soaked red, and there was obviously little strength left in her legs. Neither of them had noticed the skarab which had skittered around to face them.
‘I need to stop,’ the supervisor said, sounding on the cusp of fainting or vomiting or both.
‘Come on! You can make it.’ The officer’s voice was strained with effort. ‘Not far to go now—’ She stopped, finally seeing the monster blocking the way. ‘Fuck …’
My heart thumped in my ears.
In the war, you quickly learned that there were two types of soldier: those who fought for their platoon and those who fought to save themselves. The city watch officer was the latter.
With a shriek, the skarab charged them, its sharp horn lowered. The officer made a noise of primal fear and shoved the injured supervisor in front of her. She died instantly as the horn skewered her body and the skarab hoisted her into the air. Blood splashed the walls and ceiling lights, raining down on the monster. The officer ran past me towards the exit, whimpering; and while the skarab lifted the supervisor off its head and busied itself gnawing through clothes to reach tender flesh, I slipped from the shadows.
I’d known skarabs’ carapaces to be strong and hard enough to withstand a rockfall, but there was little it could do about a stealthy blade slid between the plates of its shell. While the monster fed, I lined the short sword up with a gap between its backplates and drove it in, hard, down to the hilt.
I jumped aside as the skarab screeched and spun around, spattering me with blood, releasing a pungent chemical reek. I wasted no time and swung the baton two-handed and as hard as I could into its head. The blow knocked the monster down but didn’t kill it. I struck again as it tried to rise, and again, and again, until its head was mulch.
Breathing hard, I waited, listening for any new sounds of danger. The skarab’s bulbous body shuddered, its legs twitched, and when it lay still silence rang in my ears. With the smell of blood and a chemical reek in my nose, I retrieved the sword and made my way down the tunnel towards the heart of the reduction house.
After a short time, the floor sloped up and led me into a cold-storage facility. The room was large, octagonal, and there was another skarab in it.
The monster had broken open one of the seven freezer doors in the room and was trying to bite through a thick layer of ice that covered one of the cadavers which had been frozen and stored, waiting to be reduced to Dust. The skarab had made good progress through the ice, and bloody slush dripped to the floor as it bit and tore. It had its back to me, and I fancied my chances of sneaking across the room to the doorway on the other side, which led up to the main forge. But once again, my plan was disrupted by citizens trying to escape. The skarab heard them approaching, too.
I could see a clutch of people through the doorway, hurrying down the slope to the cold-storage room. And leading them was Lana Khem. She carried the long, fat tube of an ether-cannon in her hands and a determined expression on her face. The skarab crept towards the doorway but stopped, waiting. Lana had no idea it was there.
I stepped into the room. ‘Wait!’
The skarab turned, hissing, and came for me. Four legs drummed on the floor like wood knocking on stone. I raised the baton. Lana’s ether-cannon whumped and my attacker skidded to a heap before it reached me. Dead, the skarab lay twitching, sparks of energy crackling over its carapace.
Ordering the group to remain where it was, Lana approached me, the obvious question half-formed on her lips.
‘No time to explain,’ I said. ‘The way behind me is clear.’
Lana’s eyes lingered on me for a second before she beckoned to the doorway. Five reduction-house workers emerged, terrified and skittish, ushered by two more city watch.
‘Get them out,’ Lana ordered her officers; then, to me, ‘You can go with them.’
I shook my head.
Lana glared at me until the rest of the group left the cold-storage room and headed down the delivery tunnel.
‘I don’t know what you’re doing here, Wendal, but you need to leave. A few skarabs are still hiding in the forge, and I haven’t got everyone out yet.’
‘I know. My friend is up there. I’m coming with you.’
Lana’s gaze drifted to the dead skarab and the frozen corpse it had been mauling. ‘I don’t think so, Wendal.’
‘Please,’ I said. ‘Nel’s in trouble.’
‘Nel? Janelle Memphis?’
‘Let me help, Lana. I’ll follow you anyway.’
‘Come on,’ she growled. ‘Stay behind me.’
We ran up the sloping tunnel, Lana leading. The path curved around to the right before opening out on the reduction house’s gigantic forge.
Five behemoth cauldrons sat in a circle on huge struts in a hall so large it would have taken five minutes to walk from one side to the other. There was no ceiling; the walls tapered up into a great chimney, filled with darkness. The air was powdery, bitter with the familiar scent of unrefined Dust. Close to the entrance, a few citizens had been unfortunate enough to meet skarabs. I scanned their bloody remains, relieved that Nel wasn’t among them.
‘This way,’ Lana whispered.
We crept further into the forge, circling the centre cauldron until two skarabs came into view. They were trying to get at something underneath the cauldron’s domed bottom. I saw movement there, heard a panicked curse. Nel. Trapped. Close to becoming food for monsters.
Perhaps sensing that I was about to rush foolishly to my friend’s aid, Lana jabbed a finger at me with an order to remain still. Even as she aimed the ether-cannon at one skarab, the metal ball of a grenade rolled out from under the cauldron and stopped beneath the abdomen of the other.
‘What the fuck—’
Lana jumped back as the grenade detonated. Barbed coils of red magic wrapped around the skarab, choking off its shrieks, squeezing the life from it. Lana fired at its partner. The ether-blast punched the monster into the air and it slammed into the cauldron with a dull clang. Dead and twitching, it fell to the ground.
Nel’s grenade reduced the other to a pile of jelly-smeared shell plates. I didn’t notice the third skarab until it was on me.
It came from behind, crashing me to the floor, seeking to give me a death which already belonged to Dyonne Obor. Its big mouth clamped over my face, but its teeth couldn’t pierce my skin. The attempt still caused me agony. The weight crushed the air from my lungs. I stared into the void of its foul-smelling throat, seeing the wasteland there, and did my best to scream.
Whump.
Lana’s cannon smashed the monster away from me, and it skidded along the forge floor in a dead heap. Gulping breaths of powdery air, I got to my feet, coughing, spitting, rubbing my face.
‘Wendal!’ Nel crawled out from under the cauldron. ‘Are you hurt?’ She tried to run to me, but Lana grabbed her arm and yanked her back. ‘Hey!’
‘You’re coming with me,’ Lana told Nel, nothing like as stunned as my friend that I was still alive. ‘Wendal, you need to leave.’
