Chapter Eighteen #4
Zaria said. “And there was me thinking not all sorcerers were twats.”
“We
have a chance,” Isaac replied. “This technology is ancient. It’s
unsanctionable. The Diet doesn’t have anything close to it, and they’re too
hampered by their constituent kingdoms to get away with open study of the
mechanics. They wouldn’t have bothered with this whole conspiracy if they
could. If we destroy this hypothetical device, and release all the souls into
the aether, they will have nothing to work with.”
“Good.
Glad to hear.” She looked down through the pipes. “Gotta get there first.”
“And we
have to kill my uncle, too.”
She
glanced at him.
“It’s
the only way,” Isaac said, standing up beside her.
“Is
that your rage speaking for you?”
He
didn’t answer.
They
were standing by the staircase. Their path was almost returned. Zaria glanced
at the gap they would have to leap before dragging her gaze back to him. “Keep
your focus. You’re better than he is.”
“Yes, I
am.”
“Isaac,”
she said. “You’re better than him, aren’t you?”
He
looked at her, realizing how hard his fists were clenched. He made his fingers
loose and limber again. “Yes. I am. We’re going to smash this tomb to pieces.
Nothing can survive. If the Archons and bearded wizards think they can merely
scheme their way—”
Something
caught his eye. He looked up, peering through the smoke and fog.
Metal glinted
in his direction.
The
only thing that saved his life was the reflexive flinch of his arm. He cocked
it to his chest, like one might recoil from a burning stove, and two out of the
three knives stabbed through his arm instead of his chest. Isaac was so shocked
at the sudden impalement that he didn’t even feel the initial blow. It was only
when he blinked, confused, reeling, looking down at the blades hilted inside
his flesh, that the wound became real, and the pain began to start.
It was
the worst pain of his life.
He
loosed a ragged gasp, falling flat on the pipes. His eyes went wide. He stared
at the knives in shock, losing all capacity for speech. Moments later, a figure
leaped down from the stairs, landing nimbly on the pipes. She had white fur,
tall ears, and a cutlass wrapped tightly in hand.
She
charged across the tower, screaming for battle.
“How
the fuck—” Zaria began.
Captain
Black Eye Soren leaped from the pipes, her dexterous bunny legs carrying her
into a rushing arc through the air. Zaria barely managed to unsheathe her
polearm, blocking the plunging sword with the haft of
her axe. An instant later, the two pirates collided, body to body, the sheer
weight of the impact sending them both tumbling from the pipes. They crashed
into the winding staircase, spilling down the ancient architecture in a ball of
grunts, curses, and fur.
Isaac
did not follow the battle. He was still lying on his back, staring in
breathless shock. The first knife had skewered through his forearm. The second
was sticking from the lateral head of his deltoid, just below the shoulder’s
edge. The third blade, the one that had managed to strike his chest, was
sticking gruesomely from a spot just beneath his collarbone. He tried to bend
the arm, and the pain sent his vision into a nauseous swim.
He
couldn’t use the arm.
He
could no longer cast a spell.
He
wanted to cry like a child.
Distantly,
at the stairs, Zaria was pacing backwards, holding the length of her poleaxe in
a defensive posture. Soren followed her down, twirling her cutlass with a
graceful vengeance. The bunny’s burnt flesh twisted into a snarl.
“Your
magic fucktoy can’t help you now, traitor.”
Zaria
thrusted her spear tip, but Soren sidestepped it easily, slashing down at the
haft. If the hyena hadn’t jerked away, the blow would’ve taken several fingers.
“That’s
fine,” Zaria said. “I’ll follow your lead, capt.”
They
slashed, trading several blows, their shadows leaping over the wall. Steel met
steel in a bone-ringing clang.
Soren
snorted. “Sandy graves?”
“Fuckin’
right.”
Zaria
slashed with the axe, hitting only stone. Soren drew a knife from her
bandolier. Zaria thrusted. The bunny dodged. When Zaria attempted a third
swing, Soren threw the knife. Zaria jerked her head. As the hyena clutched her
face, stumbling back, Soren jumped over the poleaxe, bounced a foot off the
wall, and leaped high into the air, her sword lowered for a plunge.
Isaac
lost them through the pipes and souls.
“Zaria!”
There
was a scream of pain.
“Z!”
Suddenly,
the two pirates appeared again, both of them tumbling out into the nest of
pipes and ducts running down the length of the tower. Their bodies bounced and
clanged. Zaria left a red smear of blood. Further below, Isaac noticed a
growing storm of ice and fire, mixed with the sound of bone clattering against
metal. Caine was unleashing the full brunt of his masses. Berith’s thralls were
launching a barrage of elements. Whatever was happening between the two
brothers, it seemed both desperate and reckless.
He
hoped his father was winning.
He knew
Zaria was not.
When he
tried to stand, the pain made him gasp. He collapsed onto his back, breathing,
swimming in agony, feeling his own blood soaking his tattered robes, the sound
of spells and steel and bones blurring together into a cacophony of noise, like
the swirling voices of the souls.
He was
supposed to be aiding his father. He needed to help Zaria.
Get up.
He
tried to stand, only to fall back again.
He
remembered the days in the yard, when Berith would strike him for failing a
cast, or misremembering the mnemonics, or any other reason he could find. Isaac
had mastered all of his spells while covered in welts and bruises and tears. He
had picked himself up thousands of times before. He could do it now, when it
mattered more than any time in his life.
He
pictured Berith’s face again, eyes alight with the glow of parasitic magic.
He
clenched his fist.
He
gained a knee.
He
lurched.
He
rose.
Isaac
stood, wobbling, his teeth clenched in rage and pain.
Through
the haze of souls, he saw the two pirates a short distance below. They had
fallen onto a gnarled tangle of blast gates and broken residue filters,
something that now looked like a forest of jagged metal. Soren clutched her
shoulder, squeezing her small body from the depths of a cooling fan. Beside
her, Zaria was dangling by the tenuous grip of a pipe, her feet dangling over
naked air. The duct was visibly bending beneath her weight, and every swipe of
her hand was leaving a visible streak of blood.
Isaac
raced down the stairway, drawing the dagger from his pocket.
Zaria
tried to pull herself up. Soren sauntered forward. Casually, she kicked the
hyena’s poleaxe off the pipework, sending the weapon clattering down the tower.
Zaria slipped back down the pipe, dangling on bloody fingers. Soren turned her
dislocated shoulder towards a hard junction of valves and bashed it against the
metal, snarling as the bone returned to the socket. Finally, with a sneer of
burnt flesh, she pointed her cutlass down at Zaria’s struggling face. Isaac
only now noticed that a knife was sticking from the hyena’s eye.
“Take
it with honor,” Soren said.
“Fuck
that!”
Zaria
grabbed the bunny’s leg, trying to pull her toward the edge. Soren raised her
cutlass.
“Hey!”
The two
pirates stopped as Isaac leaped onto the pipework. He almost collapsed, the
impact lurching his balance enough that he had to lean against a blast gate for
support. His bloody robes smeared over metal. His face sweaty, his blond hair
hanging loose above his eye, he raised his head and pointed his dagger directly
at Soren.
“I’m
still her champion,” he said.
“That
so?” the bunny replied.
“You
have to go through me.”
Soren
barked out a laugh. A grin split through her burns. She kicked Zaria’s hand
from her leg, taking a generous step across the metal cage beneath their feet.
“Oh, you woulda made a fine cabin boy. All spit and pecker.” She twirled her
sword. “I like you, love. Shame it’s gotta be this way.”
Isaac
did not reply.
Zaria
grunted and hissed, trying desperately not to fall.
“You
ever held one of those before?” Soren asked, gesturing to his dagger.
Isaac
panted for breath. Every pull of his lungs pressed on the knife in his chest.
Below, the battle of bones and fire had fallen silent, the elements
disappearing within the distance and gloom. He did not need to look to know his
father had lost.
“All
yours, then,” Soren said, twirling her sword. “Let’s dance.”
Isaac
gritted his teeth.
Suddenly,
the screaming of the souls erupted around them. Plumes of energy gushed from
the broken power grid, swirling in the air. Soren stepped back, avoiding the
grasping fog. Isaac let the souls wash over his body, watching as they wrapped
a dozen ethereal hands across his chest and neck and limbs. Purple light drank
through his skin.
The
pain faded away.
He felt
new energy surge inside him. He felt his arms regain their strength. He felt
all the confidence of a thousand loving voices.
The
souls whispered again.
“Save
us.”
He put
the dagger back in its sheath and began to cast a spell.
The
swirling light reflected from Soren’s black eye. Seeing the danger, her fingers
raced across the sheaths of throwing knives. She found them all empty. When her
hand fell to her belt, there were no more grenades.
Isaac
forced his arms to the second position.
Soren
dashed forward, her bare feet pounding across pipes and metal.
Isaac
wrenched into the third.
By now,
more souls were spewing from the broken machinery, filling the air with a
bright, sparkling nebula, and Soren found herself continually blocked by the
grasping hands, the moaning voices, the smoky plume of ethereal limbs. She
dodged around the worst of the fog, weaving and sprinting, her sword glinting
bright.
Isaac
achieved the fourth and final position.
When