Danie Ware - Ecko Rising

He turned away.

The young man’s eyes flicked open. Cool, grey. He couldn’t – or didn’t dare – move, but his gaze caught Amethea’s and his plea needed no words. Her heart convulsed in her chest, she swallowed tears. She couldn’t leave him like this... it was pure horror, way beyond Heal and Harm, beyond the ethics of the hospice that had raised her. Somewhere in her soul settled flakes of revulsion.

But – !

Maugrim pushed a dirty fingernail under one of the plates buried in the blistered, skinless mess of the young man’s face and tore it free. Blood welled in the hole, then ran down the myriad cracks to his jaw.

Under the horrific metal smile, his upper lip tried to curl, tugging bloodily at his bared muscle. His look was pure insolence – skinned alive he may be, but he was still fighting.

“This is crazed,” Amethea said softly. She was torn, she ached to help. Words tumbled from her. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fix this. His skin can’t heal. You have to take them off. And... I don’t know how he’s even alive, blood loss, shock...” She heard herself sob. “How did you do this? It’s madness – how did you – ?”

“I call it ‘magic’,” Maugrim said quietly. He held the tiny metal scale out to her but she shrank back. “A little psychology, a little craftsmanship, a little luck.” He chuckled, took her wrist, pressed the plate into the skin of her palm. “This world has forgotten many things, little priestess, but they can be found – the elements and the Powerflux can be awakened. And then they can be channelled and moulded; a new might wrought from power that’s vast and ancient and screaming for release.” His voice thrummed with heat. “And that power is mine , it was given to me. It lives in my skin, in my very heart.” She blinked at him, not really understanding but carried by the force of his belief. “Look, ’Thea, this one’s a fighter. Pain, loss, terror, defiance – they’re teaching him strength, perception. He should be dead, but I can channel the very Powerflux through his flesh, just as I can channel it through myself, through you – down here, the elements are alive .” For a moment, they were eyes on eyes, then Maugrim closed her fingers over the metal. “You’ll heal him, sweetheart. A fusion of flesh and metal – a new creature that will save your world, that will bring to light the lore you have left to rot. You know you have to!”

Firelight. Scorching. Stone blackening. Her home was burning. But she was freed – from the sheltered life of the hospice and its rules and its ethics and its litanies and its moral restrictions. Her past crumbled. For the first time, she was free to make her own choice.

Maugrim had freed her.

The young man watched them, his grey eyes an overspill of plea, pain and defiance. She opened her hand and looked down at the metal.

We can make this world a new and better place.

As she surrendered, the young man slumped, almost imperceptibly, his moment of hope burned away. I’m sorry , she mouthed at him, helplessly, I’m sorry.

Beside her, she felt Maugrim glow, expand. As the young man watched, he slid a hand round the back of her neck, pulled her to him and kissed her with a passion and skill that burned everything else away. Impossibly pliant, she wrapped herself around him, lost herself to his touch, his mouth, his hands.

The grey eyes of Maugrim’s victim watched them as they tumbled to the bloodstained floor.

7: MYTH

VANKSRAAT

Cold and silent, Ecko was crouched on the roof.

About him, the night air was clear, sharp enough to cut his lungs like splinters of glass. The sky was starless black and the batshit moons were slowly sinking. Under him, the building was silent, still sleeping blissful and content. He’d been up here a while, curled against the chimney like a street cat, waiting.

Below him, scuttlings of critter-warmth crossed the tavern’s backyard and vanished into the walls’ creeper and moon shadow. Occasionally, people scurried past along the cobbled street.

They didn’t look up.

Far away, hopefully to the east, he’d watched the growing sliver of light along the horizon – the hint of grey and pink and silver that heralded the rising sun. The night’s stillness had not calmed his thoughts nor offered him answers – and frankly, if this building was going to fucking teleport , then he was going to ride the damn thing all the way.

Now, that time had almost come.

The roof was slate, the chimney still faintly warm. As the sky paled above him and the very first light crept along the narrow, stone streets of Roviarath, his skin shifted softly as if to welcome the dawn.

He sat up.

His adrenaline was poised, beginning to shimmer with anticipation. He pitched his cynicism against it – surely there was no way this building was just gonna vanish.

Come on then, I dare ya, I double dare ya –

And then – whoosh – it all went horribly wrong.

That first, soft light was suddenly slewing sideways, smudging abruptly out of focus – it was smearing across his vision into a sparkling grey blur –

Shit!

He barely had time for the thought. Suddenly, his adrenals were fired and he was clinging to the chimney stack, his heart pounding.

What the hell...?

The light convulsed, heaved. It knotted about itself; it swallowed its own tail and spiralled away down the plughole. There was a nanosecond of scrabbling, of wild-eyed panic, as the chimney and the roof were both gone and he was sucked helplessly back into...

Nothing.

No bricks under his fingers, no sky, no sunrise, no biting chill of air. He was not alone, nor afraid – he was just gone.

He’d never been.

Then there was ripping, like flesh; a thin, harsh scream. Falling, he tumbled through the tear. He was breathing, moving. He was Ecko.

There was slate, scraping beneath his fingers, dawn light on his skin. Dimly, he became aware that the thin scream was his own.

“Holy fucking mother of god...” He controlled his vocals with an effort. “What the...?”

Incredible, impossible, it’d all happened way too fast – he was there and he was gone and he was back and now he was trembling, skidding down the roofside and clinging to the tiles like a half-dead rat. He reached for breath, shaking. Around him, the world spun gently, winding down – the building was still, the jump, transition, whatever , was over.

The world slowed, sighed and stopped.

So what the hell was that? A bad trip? Fucking hyperspace...?

He skidded to a tangled halt by the guttering. He lay there for a moment, breathing hard and blinking as his sight and mind cleared. Around him, the air was pale and cool, a faint breeze tightened his chest and made him cough. He curled over the noise, smothering it. His hands at his mouth tasted of blood where they’d scraped on the roof tiles.

...Translocation? FTL travel?

How the fuck did it just do that?

He’d been half expecting to be free. To come out facing Lugan, or a cryo tank, or a nest of otaku wiring and Eliza in a lab coat. Maybe he’d find himself in one of Grey’s shit-holes – or in some other champion-needing world. Hey, howdja fancy Ecko as High King of Narnia? Part of him had even expected to not come out at all – but no, the quantum roller coaster had dumped him at the station and the sissy bar was rising on cue.

Carefully, his heart rate slowing, Ecko raised his gaze to look round.

The stone streets, the narrow buildings, the crepuscular light – all gone. Instead, the sky was high and clear and pale. Ahead of him, there was the metallic sheen of sunlight on water and on its far side, some sort of town, still misty with the early hour.