Col Buchanan - Stands a Shadow

Ash had come so far. In his revenge he had climbed a high pinnacle into the rarefied sky, forsaking the Roshun order as he did so, the only home left to him, the only way of life where his anger had remained leashed by their code and by the better part of himself.

He felt as though all this time he’d been climbing upwards without a single glance behind him; and now, turning back to look, all he could see were corpses heaped along the steep track he’d been following; and past them all, Nico with his boyish laughter and a mother’s fierce love for him, and far beyond his apprentice, way down at the dim beginnings of the trail, his son Lin, throat-singing with the other battlesquires, and close by a whitewashed homestead struck by sunlight, his wife waiting for a husband and son who would never return.

The summit was almost within his reach. All he had to do was cut the fuse.

Sasheen deserved to die. All of her kind deserved to die.

With trembling fingers, Ash reached for the knife and plucked it free.

When Sasheen woke, the first thing that she saw was Lucian staring at her intently, and for the briefest of moments she thought they were lovers again, wrapped in each other’s arms.

But then she saw that he was only a severed head perched on the bedside table. She remembered how he had betrayed her, and her heart sank into bleakness.

‘I never wanted this, you know,’ she told him now.

His lips parted, spilling a dribble of Royal Milk down his chin. But he said nothing, only watched her.

‘I never even wanted to be Matriarch. It was my mother’s desire, not my own.’

‘ I. Know,’ came his wet belching voice, and he glared with hatred in his eyes.

How to make him understand? The pain he had caused her, the loss of faith in the one person she’d thought she could finally trust. Sasheen had wanted this man like she had wanted no other, and he had cast her aside for the sake of his foolish insurgency and the fame that went with it.

‘I’m dying, Lucian,’ she told him.

He seemed pleased at that, for he smiled.

Even now he could hurt her.

‘Do you remember the time we spent together in Brule?’

‘ No.’

‘Of course you do. You hardly stopped talking about it. You said we should retire there. Grow olives, like simple peasants.’

‘ I. Was. A. Fool.’

‘You were anything but a fool, Lucian. That was one of things I was attracted to, most of all.’ Wistfully, she said, ‘We were a good match, you and I.’

Sasheen could see it now, her life as it might have been, had she only found the courage to spite her mother’s wishes, to renounce her position as Matriarch, to live a simple life of luxury with her lover. What had it gained her, any of this? Only a lonely death in the damp innards of a rock; a few scratches in the memory of Mann.

‘I only wish… I only wish…’ and she closed her eyes, and felt a wetness on her cheeks, and an ache in her chest as if the whole awful world was standing upon it.

She fought for a breath, wheezing hard until sweat beaded her skin. She gasped, blinked to focus on Lucian again. Beyond him, through the glass of the window, the waters of the lake were a black nothingness waiting to engulf her.

‘What do I do?’ she panted, lost in herself. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

His stare possessed all the force of a thrust knife.

‘ You. Die.’

A sudden flare lit the night sky over Ash’s head. Of their own volition his eyes were drawn to the brightly lit ground.

Ash saw, stretching out from the base of his feet, how he ended in shadow. He faltered.

For long heartbeats, he stared down at the knife and the fuse wire held in his shaking hands. A strange fellow, came the words in his head. Nico had said that once, about the Roshun Seer.

Why did that come to his mind now?

The Seer had cast the sticks for them before they had set forth on vendetta to Q’os. He had told of a great shock in store for him, and of the paths that would face him beyond it.

After shock, you will have two paths facing you. On one path, you will fail in your task, though with no blame and much still to do.. . On the other, you will win through in the end with great blame, and nothing that would further you.

Great blame, Ash reflected. Nothing that would further you.

He blinked. Tears stung his eyes. His hand dropped to his side, and the knife clattered to the ground.

The flare faded, taking his shadow with it.

Rendezvous

Curl stood on the rooftop of the warehouse while men scrambled up the rope-ladders onto the waiting skyship. The vessel was badly damaged, its hull scorched by fire and its rigging in tatters. Another ship was already climbing into the air in a sluggish lift-off, turning in a long curve towards the south with its deck crammed with soldiers.

It was the second run the ships had made since she had arrived there. Greyjackets and archers manned the edges of the roof, firing down at the imperial forces moving in on their position. More enemy forces were converging along the marina. It was clear it would be the last trip out before the building was overrun.

‘Who are you waiting for?’ asked a passing Volunteer, a man so haggard in appearance he could have been twenty years old or forty.

‘A friend!’ she shouted over the noise of the gunfire.

‘Girl, we have to go now – there isn’t time to wait.’ And he tried to pull her towards the ship.

‘Let go of me!’ she yelled in his face, breaking free from his grip. He looked startled for a moment, but then he gave up and ran for the ship.

Curl scanned the skies and could still see no sign of enemy skyships. She took a few steps closer to the edge, to look down at the surrounding streets and the marina, at the Imperials closing in. Some Khosian troops were still filtering towards the warehouse, many sprinting for it, others in squads performing fighting retreats.

Where are you, you idiot?

Curl didn’t know what to make of this man whom she had only just met, yet he seemed to pluck all the right strings within her. Certainly their lovemaking had been memorable in the long hours they had shared together, free-spirited and playful when not intensely passionate. Beyond that, though, who was he?

He was a mystery, and a dangerous one at that, she sensed.

Curl was well aware of how she’d fallen twice already for such men in her life. She was beginning to suspect that it was a trait not entirely good for her, for in hindsight they had both been selfish bastards.

Yet this was war, and she found that it was true what the soldiers said. War created exceptional circumstances. You felt a responsibility to live recklessly and fully, only too aware that you might never see another sunrise.

As though proof of this, her heart suddenly leapt when she glimpsed his face on the edge of the roof. Che was being helped along by a female Volunteer.

‘Che!’ she yelled as she ran to meet him. He was drenched in blood, and barely conscious. ‘Che?’ He lifted his head and tried to focus on her.

Get me out of here, his expression said.

Curl threw his free arm over her shoulder and helped the Volunteer drag him towards the ship.

One of the small scuds took off from the roof. Another fired its tubes, manoeuvring into the empty position. Men backed away to give it room.

‘Any sign of the old farlander?’ he croaked.

Curl shook her head. ‘He’d better hurry, wherever he is, if he wants to get off this island.’

The young man wheezed as though in laughter. ‘That old bastard? He’ll have a way out of this. He’s likely gone already.’

Ash charged the war-zel straight towards the front door of the house, slapping its rump hard with his sheathed sword.