Mark Newton: City of Ruin

She ran up to him and hugged him and whispered, 'I'm so sorry for everything.' Then she stepped away, but he could still feel her intense gaze.

'You're a different man now,' she observed. 'You don't care even if you die, do you?'

'Look after yourself, Beami.' Malum chucked the remains of his roll-up out of the broken window. And as she left, she took all that was left of his being human. There was no need to hide from it any more. Embrace what you are.

*

The kid couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen, with blond hair slicked down in a modern style, his mask a parody of anger. Beami followed him through part of the underground over which Malum had ruled, cast-iron structures that she could barely see. Beami guessed that they now propped up the roof. Nothing human had designed these passageways, she suspected. Walking though elaborate designs, they kept veering off at odd angles, till she thought they must be heading back the way she came. Now and then they'd come to some subterranean settlement, a nexus of decayed shopfronts and bars, broken chairs littering the open spaces, though a few seemed just recently used. Given the war, they became, like the other quarters, mere ghosts of settlement.

This was how Malum genuinely existed. They had always been a spurious cover, his trading contracts, his networking, these important business operations that he couldn't talk about. He had always consorted with devious men, but she'd never fully grasped the extent of his underlife existence.

The boy said little, just grunting occasionally to indicate a change of direction. He held up a torch, forcing shadows across her path. She asked him questions, to get a better understanding of Malum's other life. 'Who are you?' 'Where are you from?' 'How old are you?'

To the one 'Where are your family?' the kid eventually spoke: 'Bloods is my family, woman.'

He carried a short blade in his other hand, clearly afraid at accompanying this cultist. With shifty glances, nervous steps, the boy led her towards the vault.

'What are all these crates?' Wooden boxes were piled haphazardly in the tunnel all around.

'Drugs, sort of. Alcohol. Nothing fancy.' It was the most he had said during their journey.

'Is that a body?' She gestured to one half-open crate that looked like a human arm was hanging out of it.

'Just a golem – you know, for sex and stuff. This is the vault you want.' A cave-like opening barred by a sturdy wooden door. The kid unlocked it and, with surprising strength, pushed it open.

As he stepped aside, he handed her the torch so she could go in first. It was an unremarkable chamber, filled with the contents of their past life together. She wasn't even that old, so how was it possible to have accrued so much junk? Vases, rugs, brass figures, paintings, all these things were infused with memories, but she shoved them aside and searched for the better part of half an hour, while the kid stood sighing and tutting outside.

'You gonna be much longer?' he asked finally.

'Nearly done.'

He had kept all her relics together in a box at the far end, untouched. She'd half expected them to be smashed up out of anger.

As soon as she found the Brotna relic, the cone she'd spent days working on, all her tension ebbed away. There was nothing else in the box she needed, so she grabbed it and exited the vault.

' 'Bout fucking time,' the kid muttered.

*

Night, as Beami placed the relic in her small room at the Citadel. Due to the proximity of the military lines, she'd had to trek the long way around to get there. Everywhere she went, a figure from the Dragoons or Regiment of Foot would redirect her path. The invasion force had penetrated deep, had seized one half of the city, but it was still relatively safe on that side.

There were fewer than ten thousand Imperial soldiers left. A staggering number had died. Exhausted men and women, lined up time and time again to resist the incursion, their faces haunted and determined and frightened. The citizen units were now few and far between, and Beami wondered if most had been slaughtered or were stationed elsewhere. Some streets had become bloodbaths, lined with human and rumel remains, and in one road she came across the bodies of several Dragoons who had been lined up against a wall and decapitated. She forced herself to look upon this carnage, to remember what was happening here.

Safely in the Citadel, as she lay back in a chair by the fire, mentally exhausted, she forced herself to think that Lupus might still be alive somewhere on his secret mission. He was a Night Guard, for Bohr's sake, and one of the best, but that didn't alleviate her fears. She promised herself that the two of them would get out of this mess as soon as possible. For him the priority was his job as a soldier and, if he survived, they would leave together and find peace.

There was a knock at the door and a soldier entered.

Beami bolted up straight. 'Have the Night Guard returned?'

'No miss, not yet,' the young man answered. 'There's a new cultist who's just arrived, and she needs some help in finding someone. The others are all asleep, I'm afraid, so would you mind seeing to her?'

'Who is it?' Beami demanded, her heart sinking.

'She said her name was Bellis, and she's quite old.'

'Tell her I'll be out in a moment.'

*

Out in a dingy corridor, with soldiers rushing past them, Bellixplained carefully who she was and what she wanted. 'I'm lookinor the boys, they're called Ramon and Abaris, and it's been so lonince I've seen either of them.'

'I remember them.' Beami's voice was soothing. 'They came to offeheir services, but I'm afraid they're thought to have passed away in the fighting. They made an incredibly impressive golem of body parts which hampered the invasion… They really were very brave…'

'The silly buggers,' Bellis whispered, trying hard not to sob.

Beami came to her side and held her. 'I'm sorry. Were you very close to them?'

'How can I explain that bond of companionship in a world where no one regarded us of any use?' Tears filled her eyes, and she closed them tight.

'Come on,' Beami soothed. 'Let's get you somewhere warm.'

They went back to Beami's room, where Beami poured them each a whisky. 'This might not solve the trauma, but it'll ease the pain. So, tell me, what were you doing here?'

Bellis carefully explained what she and the Grey Hairs were doing in Villiren all this time, what they had been seeking, and how she needed someone's help to raise it. Intrigued, and without hesitation, Beami found herself volunteering her services.

'You do realize that this will be big?' Bellis warned. 'There may well be widespread destruction.'

'If you think it will help sway things in our favour – then it will ultimately save many lives. Though I'm not sure I quite comprehend the scale of it.'

Bellis nodded. 'Then, my dear, I will show you.'

*

Across the city, across the night, the two female cultists slippeuietly past soldiers and blockades and mourners gathered at pyres.

They cloaked themselves in darkness as they approached the firsocation.

There, Bellis produced a crowbar and turned to Beami. 'My back isn't what it used to be. Could you help me with this flagstone.'

She indicated one in particular that had an unusual symbol painted on it, one that Beami wasn't familiar with. Possibly a hex sign? Together they prised it open and shifted the stone to one side… and underneath, embedded in the soil, lay a relic. Only the top of the orb was visible.

'A Hefja,' Bellis explained.

By the way Bellis looked at her, Beami felt that she was expected to understand. She thought the antique word meant 'lift' or 'raise', and suggested this.

'That's absolutely right, in the most literal sense. Pretty and bright – how wondrous!'