Ark Mechanicus Zar-Quaesitor, Macragge Orbit
Blue halos spread across Macragge's green-grey surface, whitening at their most extreme. Orange flashes rippled inside the bright clouds at the centre of the blasts. A pale face stared back at Izuru Numerial in the domed viewport. Is this how Cadia ended? Was it a bang or a whimper?
A second face appeared beside Izuru's; bald and scarred. A hand settled on her shoulder. There will not be another Cadia. Not with the Lord Commander spearheading our cause.
So, hand-in-hand with the human, we frolic gaily through the meadows?
Is this not what you fought for? Nemesis Tessera, Cadia. You fought for our future. Be proud, niece-of-mine.
Yet conspiracy turns me to villain shunned by all for that which I had no control over. Evil breeds within me, Uncle. I perverted Ranger tenet.
The only evil is that which the common folk breed themselves. They fear you because they see death personified. Your rejection from beyond the veil bastardises their image of the ideal world; free of want and suffering. The common folk will deny the fatality of death until they themselves leave their living, not with a bang, but with the smallest whimper.
They branded me a war criminal, Uncle. If, by human law, I deserve the death sentence, how will Ynnari law treat me?
You shall not fall by Ynnari or human blade, Izuru. Uncle Sol turned Izuru towards him and planted his other hand on her shoulder. I gave my word you would not fall. That price is mine to pay.
Uncle, don't. I am begging you, do not lay yourself low for me.
I do this for every one of our brothers and sisters in our happy company. Uncle Sol smiled. Now, I remember a little promise I made not so long ago.
I am not going to like this, am I?
That depends. For four-hundred and nine years, you have run from the shadow of your past. Shall we meet it over lunch?
Uncle, you lead me astray.
No. I keep my promise. Whether you agree with what I have to confess is entirely up to you. Will you break bread with me? I would rather we talk in private.
Two trays sat on the floor between the mats Izuru and Uncle Sol kneeled on. "We break laws by meeting in this manner, Uncle. A defendant cannot pass words to another during an ongoing trial."
Uncle Sol dabbed his bread in a soup bowl. "The defendant cannot pass words about the ongoing trial to another. I do not recall discussing the legal proceedings, can you? I would try the bread with the soup. It really is not too awful considering it comes from the hand of a machine."
"Lacking a human's touch…?" Izuru dabbed her own bread and chewed. "If I could make a confession…?"
"Human nature comes altogether more naturally to you, doesn't it?"
"When I walked and fought with them, I was the stranger amidst the foreigner menace. Here, I am trapped in a cage with strangers. My own kind is my enemy now. All I have is you, Father."
"Izuru, I am not—"
"I always knew." Izuru rose from the mat. "Always knew Amonther did not share my blood."
"Izuru, Izuru, please sit down." Uncle Sol reached for Izuru's upturned soup bowl and set it upright. "It killed Amonther to withhold this from you for so long, and he took it with him to his grave."
"Whose am I?" Izuru's chin quivered. "If not yours or Amonther's, what have I to my name?"
"Legitimacy." Uncle Sol lifted a tin mug. "Proud I am to toast the legitimate daughter of two beings join-ed in matrimony."
Izuru sank to the mat. "I am a lie?"
"Pick up your mug."
"Not Amonther's bastard, but a lie?"
"Pick up your mug and toast."
"What—what am I? A—a cult baby?"
"You are a Ranger sworn twice over. I know no other brother or sister that made the Cameleoline twice. Now, let us toast twice. Once for your past life, once for your present. Pick up your mug and meet mine." Uncle Sol picked up Izuru's own mug and held it out. "Face it or run from it. That is your choice."
"I refuse."
"Deny it and you forsake all I, Amonther, and Grego fought for."
"You fought for one another, not for me. Amonther brought me to Iyanden out of obligation to—"
"To Irryn, your mother—"
"The lie Amonther swore you to!"
"For your safety and happiness, we stayed silent. First Gregoire went, then Amon. Now, the pact dies with me. It fell to the last of us alive to tell you. I want this to be a happy moment, niece-of-mine, when you raise your toast and step out of Amonther's shadow."
"As what? My hours are numbered. What does my name matter, where my actions have spoken louder than my name ever could? The court will lay charges on me, no matter how articulate you present case."
"Will you be there?"
"Is it in my power to refuse?"
"Would you refuse the Lord Commander?"
"I have never laid eyes on this Lord Commander. Tell me about him."
Uncle Sol dabbed a cloth at the stained mat. "How can I describe with words what must be witnessed with your own eyes and heard with your ears? Be there. Observe. Listen."
"It will not be a Numerial in attendance." Izuru placed her half-eaten bread next to her soup bowl and stood. "That lie remains on Cadia." Izuru straightened her Cameleoline and brushed crumbs off. "I will look for the Lord Commander in the court this afternoon. Thank you for taking time for me, First Captain."
Ynnari and human faced one another across a chamber bare of carpet or cushion. Chains held on to braziers, dangling from a vaulted ceiling. On the Ynnari side hung white banners displaying the rune of Ynnead. Ultramarine banners hung on the human side. A joint council of Ynnari, human, and Adeptus Mechanicus judges sat at a long table on a higher tier to the speaker's stand. First Captain Yirryl entered the stand, alone in the centre of the chamber and laid out his notes.
Izuru sat in the third row of seats well behind the speaker's stand and among beings she did not know. No other Rangers observed with her. Izuru's eyes settled on an Ultramarine wearing green leaves in his hair and far larger than his cohorts sitting separate from the other humans. He faced the Prophet. Both had entered the chamber together at the heads of their retinues and asked the God-Emperor and Ynnead to bless the honourable tribunal three and a half hours ago. After taking their positions, neither had spoken for the duration.
"Gentlebeings of the Ynnari, the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the human race. It is my duty to testify about the Platform Incident; the most significant mistake I have made in my entire career. What drove us to make wrongful incursion upon the platform, you ask? Was it bad knowledge handed us by the Prophet herself? On a whim perhaps? Long-range insertion is a part of Ranger doctrine. And it would not be the first instance of disposable reconnaissance teams flung away without second thought. It was the promise all leaders make that sent us to that remote platform in the ocean. The triumph over evil and overcoming the fatality of death. This condition is an Eldar flaw as much as it is a human flaw."
"First Captain Yirryl, this is not in line with the question. Your leadership faltered on the platform, causing unnecessary casualties in what should have been a bloodless operation. Do you deny that?"
"I am aware of the lack of command and control, but this is an attack on the brothers and sisters sworn to follow the orders of the First Captain – my orders! Can the Guardian or the Banshee be blamed for the failings of the commanders? Scapegoats! Both Ynnari and human society promise victory over evil and death. This fear of death and reverence of the God-Emperor and Ynnead haunts all present, and we turn it upon any who pervert these sacred figures. Evil itself is the product of human, Ynnari, any society – a paradox! Desperate urges to deny one's own mortality and the need to translate one's own littleness in to meaningfulness are the failings of not just one but every society! My Rangers suffer for these very failings. It is my duty now to relinquish my post as First Captain, along with all privilege such rank brings. May Ynnead grant my successor its favour."
"No!" Dozens leaped to their feet alongside Izuru. Shouts drowned her out.
"SILEEENCE! SILENCE IN THE COURT!" Hammers banged.
Oh, Uncle, what have you done? Izuru pressed her fingertips to her lips. Gods, it should be me up there. It should be me. Around her, Ynnari bawled. Fists shook at the joint council and the humans. Ultramarine bodyguards descended from the stands and formed a line facing the seated humans. Then, the Lord Commander himself took to the floor. Fists lowered. Tongues slackened and the Ynnari stooped and returned to their seats.
"The Lord Commander is not part of the First Captain's defence," said the AdMech judge.
"Meaning lies behind First Captain Yirryl's words, your honour. Let me help him convey it to the court." The Lord Commander began to pace. "I shed tears when my loyalists spoke of the Imperium of Man as they would the Emperor; a withered husk fed by tubes, teetering on the edge of existence. I asked for the truth and they told it. The image of the Emperor, my father, my donor, is a false projection!" The Lord Commander lifted a finger. "And with it endures the lie of the Primarch. Upon a cold mountaintop, within a temple's sanctum, they painted me with a halo and the light shining from my body; a religious fantasy and a promise of victory over evil, vanquishing the finality of death. Are my brothers worshipped in their own resting places in the same manner? Does the humble baker on the street corner, his wife, and their children pray to us every night? Is it out of love? Is familial love triumphed only by their devotion to the Emperor and his angels? Or is it fear? Could hero worship be a catharsis of our own fears, fears that are hidden, fears that are denied?" The Lord Commander's gauntlet closed tight around the pommel of his sheathed sword. He turned to the Prophet.
"Lady Prophet. The plinths they place us on, the image conjured in their minds ennobles us. We are the ideal figures in their fantasies of immortality; corrupted caricatures imagined by the ignorant and the fearful who deny that they are insignificant, trembling animals destined to decay and die. We have been corrupted by their love for their deity. Ynnead, the Emperor, either being promises victory over evil and death." The Lord Commander whirled on First Captain Yirryl. "A paradox, First Captain, a paradox! The people's urgent desire for the final victory over the Greenskin, the Insurrectionist, over the God that holds your spirits hostage, misdirects their anger at those who do not deserve it. Injustice and prejudice brought you and your warriors to shame. Of that I have no doubt." The Lord Commander's gauntlet left the pommel of his sword.
"But who is really responsible for the state of the Imperium? Or the fracturing of your Craftworld, Lady Prophet? Why have our races – age-old enemies – been driven together? Can the baker be blamed? Is the mason or the cobbler at fault? Your tradesmen, Ynnari, the Bone-singers? Could the blame be placed squarely upon you and your Rangers, First Captain?" The Lord Commander's eyes flickered over to Izuru. She flinched and looked down at her warm hands. "How dangerously easy it is to condemn the man standing in the dock. The First Captain feels his guilt. Of that I have no doubt. His guilt is your guilt." The Lord Commander swung his arm at the Prophet. "It is yours, Lady Prophet, Archmagos, Chief Librarian. The guilt and the shame of conformity to organised religion rests on the galaxy's shoulders – on all of you! It is an advocate of war and of hate. Your need for a beyond has corrupted, defiled, everything my brothers and I died for. Your urge to implement a desperate lie, achieve individual magnificence, and deny your insignificant extinction will be yours and the galaxy's undoing." The Lord Commander's gaze swept across the silent watchers. "Thank you, your honour."
Hooded Rangers backed away from the parting doors and made a corridor. The Lord Commander, his bodyguards, and his retinue were the first to depart. The Archmagos then left at the head of his own people. Humans and Ynnari filed out in droves. An empty bench behind Izuru and to her right creaked. Your uncle?
Of no common blood. Izuru remained facing forwards, her spine rigid. He and my father bled together, bringing them closer than brothers. Not that you would know anything of those bonds, up on your plinth.
I bled. I passed beyond the realm of the living as you have. Ynnead smiled and bestowed its kiss upon my brow.
Izuru's nails dug in to her thigh and her fingers pinched the skin. Care to preach sermon to a being willing to listen? There are millions of yours out there all to willing to carry your word.
No, no it is not like that. The Prophet leaned on the back of the bench Izuru sat on and folded her arms. Must we jab and fling barbs at one another so readily? I want for us to be friends, Izuru.
Want! Izuru's teeth grated. There is no familiarity between us, Prophet. My time and my uncle's is over. You have nothing left to take from us. Izuru twisted her neck and sneered at the Prophet. At her shoulder stood the Visarch. Dark red scars criss-crossed his face and a blood-shot, half-closed eye pointed outwards in a direction entirely different to his good eye. Speak ill of me but not of the First Captain. The shame of standing in that dock. Of casting rank and respect aside. The shame of it.
He is there because he loves you. You and every brother and sister in your little family. Families are our world. There is no other world.
Chewing the Lord Commander's words up and regurgitating. What else has the human whispered in your ear?
I confess I am wholly ignorant of the bonds between warriors, between family. I can never love, Ranger. Not in the sense that you have loved and been loved. The plinth the people place the Prophet on forever damns her to chastity.
You have won, Prophet. Join-ed is Ynnari and human cause. All the better, you brought down these little embarrassments in Cameleoline. You and the Lord Commander are free to revel in your excellence. What more do you want of me but my head?
I want you as human liaison to the Lord Commander.
You have never asked for anything in your life, have you? Never had to say sorry or admit wrongdoing.
I am sorry. Caustic was I. Bitter and prejudiced at the favour Ynnead granted you.
Favour? Only evil and loathing followed me back from the veil, Prophet.
Fear, not evil. Let me help you face it. The Prophet offered Izuru her hand. With a kiss, you may call the Ynnari family. Please do not damn yourself to insignificance outside our family, my human liaison. Ynnead watches over you.
May you and the Lord Commander conceive hundreds of fruitful strategies. Izuru stood up and sidled along to the end of the row.
Ranger!
Follow me and I will knock you flat this time.
Sol left the dock and came over to Izuru. I have reached the end of my competence.
I will not ask forgiveness for what I have done. I do not deserve it. I only ask to leave these strangers with you.
Sol gave his arm to Izuru and she linked her arm through his. Let us pass out with honour. Look straight ahead.
It should have been my sacrifice. My blood, not yours.
Raise chin, shoulders back. Be proud to have taken the Cameleoline twice. Are you proud?
Izuru swallowed and lifted her chin. I am.
And so are they. The Cameleoline-clad bowed before their First Captain. Swords flew from sheaths and Rangers saluted. We are Alaitoc's sword. Peerless of sight and ne'er matched in tenacity. One Ranger, one rifle. Say it.
One, one, one.
Izuru and Sol reached the end of the saluting Rangers and turned down a flight of steps. At the corner, Izuru threw herself at Sol and hugged him. "I am so sorry." Izuru drove her fist in to Sol's shoulder. "It should have been me."
"Business in the past, have you? Are we to wallow in self-pity now?" Sol peeled Izuru's arms away. "Or has one portal closed, only for another four to unseal?"
Izuru sniffed and dragged the back of her hand down her cheeks. "Ugh, forgive me. No good comes of tears."
"Take sup with me." Sol rubbed Izuru's shoulder. "Worry not for the morrow."
Cobwebs hung in the corners of the musty room. Skulls – half-mechanical, half organic – snarled at Izuru from their housings in the wall. Sol stood in front of a work surface where two trays sat. A buzzing dispenser delivered pale grey soup in to steel bowls. Dry bread and hard biscuits were stacked next to the bowls. "After AdMech cuisine, there will nothing left to challenge you." Sol balanced the two trays on his arms and brought them over to Izuru. "Here is yours."
"My gratitude." Izuru laid the tray on the bare floor between her mat and Sol's. Little flecks of mould coated the crust of her bread.
"Mmm, gristle." Sol tipped his spoon sideways.
"Leaves and moss. Berries or heppring if we were lucky." Izuru steered her spoon through the lumps. A maggot squirmed out from the biscuits.
"No substitute for protein though. Unless you had the…"
"Those damned tubes." Izuru flicked the maggot away. "Whomever crafted the recipe can never have tasted it once. No living, breathing being has ever said – after consuming a portion – yes, yes this is what we should issue our warriors with." Izuru's spoon clattered against the rim of the bowl. "Bloody…"
"Whose blood, may I ask…?"
"A steak – bloody. Roasted vegetables. Tubers, crispy outside, creamy within. Everything in a rich, apple sauce."
"Human?"
"Father—er, Amonther. He always insisted I try foreign food young. I hated it. Grew in to it after I made adulthood."
"What about Ilic and—?" Sol pushed his knuckles against his lips. "I apologise. That was improper."
"All those things I wanted to introduce them to, to involve them in." Izuru propped up an elbow and cupped her chin in her hand. "Of course, now he has all those things he would introduce them to. The price of flesh." Izuru's eyes narrowed to slits.
Dregs and gristle gathered in the bottom of Sol's bowl. He picked Izuru's full bowl up and placed it inside his bowl and scraped the dry bread and biscuits over to his tray.
"The Prophet sings the Lord Commander's tune now." Izuru raised a knee and hooked an arm around it. "An unholy matrimony."
"He impressed me understanding the meaning behind my words. A being of another age, untainted by prejudice."
"So, ten-thousand years ago, the human feared not the heretic and the xenos. What did he fear?"
"Feared letting the Emperor down, I assume. Only the great Ulthranwé remembers now."
"Great. Ulthranwé." Izuru's breath seeped through her locked teeth. "Does he truly deserve the high plinth? He conspired with the Prophet and ripped my sons from my arms. I spent not one waking moment in their company. Is this the fate of homecoming veterans all?"
"They were afraid of you. The influence their deity had in the manner of your return upended their view of it. Only the necromancer received such blessing. With your return, her splendid uniqueness sputtered and died."
"They should be." Izuru curled her fingers and ran her thumb along the bitten-down ends of her nails. "Nought remains in this vessel but malice. He never looked me in the eye, did the seer. His strength failed that day when he could not let me lie in the crypt."
Sol's eyes found Izuru's. "The candle burns within you still." He smiled. "Of the blood you may not be, but I can think of no being worthier to sail in the company of, sister-of-mine. Let us look forward to the future of the field together."
"The future…" Izuru rubbed her thumb in her warm palm. "I have seen it. Moments not yet come to pass."
A set of tubes running along the ceiling and down the wall clunked. At the base, a hatch slid across and a bound scroll hit the end of the tube. A white ribbon bound it.
"Ahh, news." Sol got up and plucked the scroll from the tube. "Marked with the Prophet's seal…"
Izuru's shoulders sunk. "Couldn't be rid of us quick enough."
"I see it as a fresh plate of opportunities. Released from rigid tenet, we are free to express ourselves in any manner we wish." Sol slid the tight ribbon off the end of the scroll and unfurled it. "For you." Sol let go of the ends and handed it to Izuru.
"For me?" Izuru held the scroll open and ran her eyes along the runes. "…Medical discharge?"
"With honour. That is honourable departure, Izuru." A second scroll thudded down the tube. "This… Will be for me." Sol broke the Prophet's seal. "Our marching orders."
"Ours…?" Izuru dropped her scroll and kicked it away.
"Keep it. Proof you did not desert."
"Would the assassin in the shadows care?"
"The Prophet would never—"
"The Prophet has a long memory. Who would care if two former Rangers disappeared during the night?"
"Do you wish knowledge of this or not?" Sol closed the scroll. Izuru's hand shot at the scroll. Sol swung it away. "At the third hour of the evening cycle, we, along with all our worldly possessions, are to board AdMech tender for our corvette. Once disembarked, we await the arrival of a charter. They will convey us to our new posting. No further detail after that."
"Your discharge, was it with honour?"
Sol closed the scroll and tightened it. "Pick yours up."
"Was there honour in your discharge, Uncle?"
Sol tucked his scroll inside his robes and picked up the trays. "Take your scroll."
Izuru squatted over her scroll and shook dust from the parchment. "Already we are cast to the winds. Doubt never turned the Prophet's mind, not with the Lord Commander's influence."
Sol slammed the trays against the worktop. "The Lord Commander's influence carried us to a fair court; to justice. You and I would have swung from a rope!"
"To justice?"
"Were you listening? Did you not search between the Lord Commander's words? No, everything, every being is conspiring against you, and has been from your birth. My life and yours belong to the Prophet and the Lord Commander." Sol tipped the remains of the food in to a waste dispenser. "Now, with or without grace, you are leaving tonight. Gather possessions and bid farewells."
Izuru spread her arms. "My rifle, my Cameleoline, are all I possess. Without, I am naked."
"Better stripped and honourable than swinging from the end of the rope, resplendent in Cameleoline."
Seven hours later, Izuru lay amongst Sol's belongings outside the corvette's hangar bay. Rangers had come and spoken to Sol, clasped his arm, congratulated him, and wished him the best. None had spoken to Izuru.
A red light flicked on above the hangar's blast door. Izuru opened her eyes. The rounded edges of the containers dug in to her neck and her spine. Sol sat opposite her reading from a slate. "Almost," he said. "They are decompressing the hangar."
"What is the time?"
"Early." Sol locked his slate and slipped it in to a compartment on a satchel. "Maybe late. Trust not what your body says. It lies to the rest of you."
Izuru wiped dust clinging to her eyelashes and sat up. "Like the politicians on their plinths. Is honesty no longer a quality observed in the forty-first millennium?"
"We are forty-second now. Why use the Imperial date?"
"Did I—did I lose a thousand years? I have awoken in strange company. Company practising deceit to one another." Izuru bit her thumbnail. "Slipping knives in to spines and denouncing those they call kin."
The decompression warning light turned green. Sol stretched out his leg and worked his thumbs in to the thigh. "Wake up."
"Hurting?" Izuru twisted her neck side to side.
"…Dead. It is every few hours or so now. The leg falls asleep and will not awaken."
"Here." Izuru gripped Sol's hand and helped him upright.
"Eurgh." Sol clasped Izuru's arm and hobbled over to his cases. "I miss my leg, Izuru. Fallen in battle, so it was. I can only dream now of such an honour."
"The myth of honourable death is exactly that; a myth for the unblooded." Izuru shouldered Sol's satchel and lifted a case and set it on a hover-dray. "Pass to me."
Hangar crew passed Izuru and Sol stacking the dray. "Grant us a moment please, First Captain Yirryl, and you can enter."
"Private Citizen Yirryl now I am afraid, dear Limara. My niece Izuru Numerial and I are taking leave of our family."
"Very sorry to see you go, First Captain." The crewman's hand froze on the palm-press. "Ah, apologies."
"Not at all. I enjoyed my tenure as First Captain. We look forward to treading the undiscovered paths together."
"My Lady." Limara nodded at Izuru and led the crew in to the hangar.
"Do you know all their names?"
Sol smiled at the deck. "Easy to remember. Impossible to forget."
Then how did I forget the names of my company with such ease? Izuru bit her lip. Did I ever have a company?
"First Captain?" A crewman came to the doorway. "They are ready to receive."
"Thank you, Perisia."
"Will you allow me to convey your belongings aboard, First Captain?"
"We can take our belongings from here." Sol clasped Perisia's forearm. "Give my love to your mate and your firstborn. Is it a…?"
"Female, First Captain."
"Any names on your mind?" Sol pushed the dray in to the hangar. Shenae sat in rows facing a lander, all-black, and swollen with opaque bulges. Spindly legs held it up. A thin ramp extended from a portal in the curving belly.
"After the birth. One commitment at a time, First Captain."
"Well, I wish you and Sera the best, Perisia."
"Likewise, First Captain."
"Who are they?" Izuru said.
Sol halted the dray. "Privateers. Why?"
Izuru placed a hand on Sol's shoulder and leaned close to his ear. "Corsairs?"
"Maybe. I cannot say for certain. You take issue with the commerce raiders?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Just for this voyage, I beseech, set aside prejudice. Think of your own, and the day of reunion and reconciliation."
"There is no reconciling with a flesh-peddler. That day will be marked in his blood."
"Give it time." Sol steered the dray over to the ramp. "Will you grant an old warrior aid?"
"Old!"
"Beyond my years, I know. Combat put the wrinkles on your face and circles beneath your eyes long before your time."
"…I know. I feel it too."
"Age?"
"Mmm." Izuru moved next to Sol and pushed the dray up the ramp. "Let's go."
The ever-present humming of the lander's engines filled Izuru's ears. A harness criss-crossed her body. Her chin sat on her breast. "Izuru? Izuru…?" Izuru's head snapped up. She balled her fist and jerked it back. "Izuru, it is Sol—Uncle Sol!" Sol sat on opposite row of seating in the lander's passenger bay. He did not wear a harness. "A dream?"
Izuru relaxed her hand and laid the back of her head on the bulkhead. "The waking ones are the worst."
"You are very pale." Sol opened a compartment on his satchel and tossed Izuru a shiny packet. "Drink this."
Izuru broke the carrier's seal and sucked on the nipple. "How long did I sleep?"
"Eighteen minutes."
The water packet fell from Izuru's fingers. "There I go again." Her lips puckered and she pressed her thumb and forefinger against her tear ducts. "I miss them so much. I want to hold them in my arms and sing to them. Just let me have a family. A life-partner. A future."
"Izuru…"
"I convinced myself it was for them. Murdering the humans, punishing them for having that which was stolen from me."
"Izuru." Sol fished a clean rag from his satchel and gave it to Izuru. "You did wrong. All that is left is the lesson to be learned. There are bigger things than you and yours out there. The galaxy does not – should not – bend its knee to the whim of a single being. You decide – now – whether you improve yourself or let the fear consume all that is Izuru Numerial; the headstrong, stubborn, passionate, caring, mother and warrior. You decide."
Izuru blew her nose. "Qualities I no longer observe nor value in the forty-second millennium."
"Qualities a former Ranger swears by. Now, I dare you to make better than that."
"The Ranger would have accepted. The hot-headed fool."
"Then be better than the worn-out Ranger. Make an old man proud."
Izuru parted the halves of her harness, drew her legs under her, and bundled her hood between her head and her shoulder. "Wake me when we land."
A jostle stirred Izuru in her seat. "Uncle?"
"Just touching down." Sol lifted the last of his cases on to the dray and manoeuvred it towards the hatch.
"Are you carrying?" Izuru pulled her legs free and stretched them. She reached out and brushed her toes.
"Carrying? No. Why, do you sense…?"
"Trouble."
"Then let us hope Ynnead still looks on you favourably."
"No more Ynnead, Prophet, Lord Commander, any of it!" Izuru rolled her shoulders and dumped Sol's satchel next to his cases. "If the Gods choose to spit on me, I return in kind."
"Izuru!" Sol tutted. "No, this is definitely for the better. Too much human in you."
"Not sure whether to take that as derogatory or complimentary." Izuru tripped a sensor on a case's seal. The compartment slid outwards. Izuru dug beneath folded clothing. "You must have something hidden away. Sidearm, knife, fibre-wire…"
"Look, I have a holdout in the blue case with no power cells. But I do not—"
"Humour me."
"Very well." Sol opened the case and handed Izuru a palm-sized lasblaster.
"Turn around."
"Really, Izuru!" Sol turned around and held his cloak to one side. Izuru tucked the holdout in to Sol's belt and left the handgrip protruding. "Finished?"
"Proceed, sir." Izuru wound a pale blue scarf around her neck and pulled her hood up. Sol sighed and hit the portal release.
Human vessels crowded the privateer's tall landing bay. Single-seat fighters, dual-seat bombers, shuttles, and boxy landers. Some sat in individual berths, others hung from chains, their bodies little more than skeletons. Hunks of armour-plating, engines, whole sections sat to one side. Clawed arms heaved the salvage in to hovering skips. Eldar in black body-gloves and shielded masks perched on the arms of cranes and hung upside down on the hulls. Sparks cascaded down to the hangar floor.
Stinks in here.
A refuge of the unclean, that is for certain.
Company. Standby.
Standby? Izuru, I do apologise, but this is sheer paranoia.
Beings in black swept through the hangar. Purple-faced sashes ran down from their shoulders and chains clasped cloaks around their necks. Smooth, glossy helmets covered every face. A standard-bearer in the pack's midst held aloft a banner. Bared claws, a curving tongue, and spread wings were splayed upon the black fabric.
Recognise any of them?
Neither them nor their colours. Izuru's eyes flitted to the holdout in Sol's belt. On my command, run back to the shuttle. Leave your belongings.
Izuru…
Listen to me! A muscle in Izuru's cheek twitched.
"Salutations, noble Ranger cousins!" The bearer planted his standard on the deck. "We of the Void Dragons welcome you aboard Vermora."
Run.
Stand your ground.
Run!
"My prince wishes to extend his hospitality to the both of you."
A corsair in a golden mask stepped around the standard. A sword and a dagger were sheathed on his hips. He wore no finery, just a simple brooch in the shape of a leaf over his heart. "Salutations, Followers of the Seventh Path. I am Captain Ulthyr—"
Izuru yanked the holdout from Sol's belt and charged at the corsair.
"Izuru, no!"
"You—?"
Izuru jammed the holdout's muzzle beneath Ulthyr's chin. "Back off! BACK OFF!" Laspistols whipped from holsters. Swords and daggers flew free of sheathes and aimed at Izuru. She spun Ulthyr around and dragged him backwards. "Uncle, go!" The bodyguards moved in to a semi-circle. One dragged the standard-bearer out of the line of fire. Sol raised his hands. "RUN!"
"Lady Numerial…?" Ulthyr trembled. "I swear I—"
"Shuddup!" Izuru punched the holdout's muzzle in to Ulthyr's neck. "Uncle!"
"…Did not know it was you."
"Drop it, Ranger! You have nowhere to flee to." The bodyguards edged forwards.
"WAIT!" Ulthyr's arm flew out. "Lower your weapons. Lady Numerial, if they lower theirs and place them on the deck, will you lower yours?"
"The word of a pillager and a child-abductor." Izuru's forearm squeezed Ulthyr's windpipe and she pointed the holdout at the bodyguards stalking towards her. "Uncle, will you move!"
"It is empty," Sol said. "Captain Ulthyr, Lady Numerial's sidearm is empty. Izuru, will you let the corsair go? Not a being aboard this ship wishes bloodshed."
"Can I…?" Ulthyr's hand closed around his mask and pulled it free. "There. No masks. No deceit."
"Izuru, let him go." Sol drew Izuru's wrist away from Ulthyr. "Finger off the trigger. That's it." Sol pried the holdout out of Izuru's hand and placed it on the dray.
"I know, I know, I know." Ulthyr let his mask fall. "We do not follow in the Princess' footsteps." Ulthyr's bodyguards rushed at Izuru. "Hold, hold! Lady Numerial, let us set right misunderstanding before any further calamity."
"You answer to the Prophet, plundering bastard!" Spittle sprayed Ulthyr. Izuru headbutted Ulthyr and he collapsed on to the deck. Sol wrenched Izuru away from the incoming swords.
"NO!" Blood crystals poured from Ulthyr's nostrils. "Raise your swords!" Ulthyr pinched his nose shut. "Eurgh. Damned were we by severing the bonds between mother and offspring. Saarania paid with her life. She would have sailed Gorynych and the whole fleet to destruction." Izuru snarled and squirmed in Sol's grip. "You have every right to strike me down for what we did to you, Ranger."
"No, she does not!" Sol snapped. "Apologise, niece-of-mine. Apologise to the master of this ship."
"It is mine to give, not hers." Ulthyr's lips clamped together. Pink crystals shone on pale skin. "For all we put you through, noble lady of the rifle."
"Apologise to my sons."
"I apologise to you, Lady Numerial, and to your sons. I only wish they stood by your side to see it."
"As do I, brigand."
Ulthyr's mask flew to his hand. "No right have I to make request, but would you and your uncle dine with me this coming evening cycle?"
"You can shove your request—"
"Accepted with gratitude, Captain. We accept wholeheartedly." Sol let go of Izuru's arms. Izuru threw her elbow out and stumbled away, air hissing from between her teeth.
Bastard. Flesh-dealer. Izuru loosened her scarf and tugged her cloak back over her shoulder.
"Very well. Will you follow my major-domo?"
"Where do you lead us? Cells?"
"Decontamination, my lady. I look forward to dining with you and your uncle tonight." Ulthyr replaced his mask and strode away with his bodyguards and the standard-bearer.
"Sir and Lady Numerial, if you would follow me…" Ulthyr's major-domo clasped his hands behind his back and spun on his heel. "Your luggage will be ferried to your rooms in the meantime."
Tell me everything, Izuru. Sol fell in at Izuru's shoulder. I would know if these barbarians did hurt to you.
Izuru scratched an itch on her nape. Don't worry, I will.
The major-domo, after fetching Izuru and Sol from their quarters later on, led them through the ship to a dilating hatch surrounded by thick ivy. "Sir and Lady, I would ask you remove your feet and cleanse them before entering."
Izuru and Sol glanced at one another. It seems the savages have discovered fire.
Not just. Cleanliness too. Sol kneeled and undid the buckles on his boots. This is really quite different to what you described to me.
I was a prisoner before, Uncle. Izuru felt inside the mouth of her own boot and loosened the strap. At least until the Princess could figure out a way to exploit me.
Most distasteful, that affair on Grendel. Sol placed his heeled boots together and dabbled his feet in a bath filled with water pouring from a stone mouth hidden in the ivy.
Never to be spoken of again. Izuru stood her own boots, brown leather and flat-soled, next to Sol's and bathed her own feet.
Sol's eyes flew to Izuru. Did you bathe before leaving your chamber?
Never let your guard down. Most of all in solitude. You of all should know that, Uncle.
Our host will take note of that.
Do I look like I give a damn? Is it a fussy, old matron in my company or blooded veteran of the Azimi Wars?
"Sir and lady, the Captain awaits you." The hatch dilated and the major-domo stepped through.
There is nothing we could have done about your attire I know, but you could have cleansed yourself from the journey. Curry a favourable first impression, Izuru. This is not a time for the warrior. Present yourself to our host with the grace of a lady.
Shut up, Uncle.
And you can stop calling me uncle.
A blond-haired being sat cross-legged upon a mat beneath a nest of floating orbs. Dragon tails ensnared the feet of Wraithbone supporting interlocked branches. White leaves clung to them. Vapor rose from a slim teapot sitting on a tray with two empty cups.
"Tai." Ulthyr poured green liquid in to the cups. "Made from th—"
"The Verna plant. Long is my memory, pirate."
"The finest leaf, sir." Ulthyr offered the cup to Sol.
"After you, sir." Sol bowed and took the mat to Ulthyr's right.
Izuru sat on the mat to Ulthyr's left. She hooked her legs under her and rested clenched hands on her thighs. "Gone has the prince? Fallen to intoxication, never to awaken?"
Ulthyr tilted his cup and sipped. "A courtier to the bottle and a plaything no longer. Saarania had me under her thumb the moment she invited me to her solar. The promise of intense physical affection and power over others dragged my youthful, lustful mind down in to stupor. Release from her was to our collective benefit." Ulthyr poured Izuru and Sol tea and held up the full cups. "From the very same pot."
"Drink it."
"Had the Prophet intended your destruction you would never have set foot aboard my ship. Nor would I have granted an enemy of the Prophet sanctuary."
"The Prophet is a politician, brigand. Why dirty her own hands when dozens fall over themselves to preach her will and carry it to others? Any pirate, any mercenary with functioning mind would leap at a chance of prestige in the aid of the Prophet's holy goal." Izuru pursed her lips. "Or was it wealth you sought?"
Ulthyr took a sip from Izuru's cup and laid it on its saucer before her. "While you tread these decks, your lives are my responsibility." Ulthyr tasted Sol's tea and passed it to him. "Sacred hospitality was not broken for them, and will not be broken for you."
"Them?" Izuru glared at Ulthyr over the rim of her cup.
"Let us first dine." Ulthyr clapped his hands. "Was your journey not a long and uncomfortable affair?"
"No more uncomfortable than present company."
"Captain, I must ask you pardon. My niece did not mean offence."
"No, no, I understand," Ulthyr said.
"You understand…?" Izuru's cup rattled on its saucer. "You understand?"
"I…" Ulthyr hung his head. "…I understand why you feel the way you do, Lady Numerial."
"Gratitude for sanctuary nonetheless, Captain. Now, let us look ahead to less trying times, if you permit me calling premature toast, Captain," said Sol.
"Of course." Ulthyr's brows lifted. "Ah, the main. I do hope you have appetite for foreign food."
Green leaves – chopped in to tiny clumps – covered floppy, pale yellow tubes dotted with brown seeds; all of it soaked in a white sauce. Izuru stiffened. Human food?
"Sarecco and kale." Ulthyr exchanged his tea for an unadorned goblet brimming with orange liquid. "Orange juice or my special. Mint, honey, avocado."
Take from them nothing, Uncle.
Do not offend our host any further, Izuru. You come to his dining chamber unwashed and of foul temperament. A lesser being would have banished you without second thought.
You think I made it here by placing unconditional trust in every kindly being at the wayside? This one is no better than a foul slaver.
There is nought foul about a being that shelters and feeds the hungry.
Human food, Uncle? Do you not think that is out of character?
Ask him. Sol swirled his orange juice and smiled at Ulthyr. "Captain."
"To your enjoyment, sir? The white sauce is particularly well done, this eve."
"Call me Sol, and yes, the white sauce is exquisite."
"My lady?"
"You may not." Izuru's cutlery sat beside her platter. "What you may, is tell us why."
"You will know, Lady Numerial. You have my word, I withhold nothing."
"…Well?"
"Once we are satiated."
I do not recognise the word of the Corsair. It, and you, are worse than excrement.
Izuru's cutlery remained clean. Solid lumps appeared in the white sauce. Chin lowered, Izuru stared down Ulthyr for the duration of the meal.
"Would you follow me, Sol? Lady Numerial?" Ulthyr rose from his mat and went to a carving of a dragon's maw. Water flowed from its gullet and pooled inside its mouth. Teeth surrounded the basin. "First, let the dragon cleanse you." Ulthyr dipped his hands. "Your sins."
"My sins, I carry to my second grave."
"Izuru…" Sol cleansed his hands.
Really? Can a pool of water absolve my entire existence?
Please. Humour him.
Numbness ran up Izuru's wrists. She grimaced and withdrew and shook her wrists. There. Entirely cleansed of sin. How could I have waited so long before washing every last sin away?
Pay respect to our host, Izuru. Please.
You know a few good deeds cannot redeem a Corsair sworn to a lifetime of wickedness. I have known evil beings to maintain a gregarious illusion. They smile, laugh, jest, place their arm on your shoulder, all the while gripping the knife behind their backs. When you smile, they…
Out of a portal Ulthyr, Sol, and Izuru blinked. Before them stretched a long landing bordered by waist-high barriers. Far below the landing, energy barriers trapped beings in pens. Wickedness. Izuru gripped a curving nub of wraithbone and leaned over the barrier. "No, you are no different than before Grendel, Corsair. You just answer to yourself now."
"Look again."
"Humans. So?"
"No manacles mark their flesh. They are loose and free to roam."
"And you play spectator to their antics?"
"Izuru…" Sol shifted between Izuru and Ulthyr and took hold of Izuru's shoulder. "Let me—"
"Let me—Sol, let me explain! Let me explain."
Izuru flung her arm out and aimed a finger at the humans below. "The moment you place four walls and a roof around humans, they scramble for the door. Walls cannot hold them. You cannot keep them."
"Come, let me—let me offer explanation." Ulthyr beckoned.
Izuru moved out of Ulthyr's reach. "Do you expect me to listen?"
Listen anyway. Sol glowered behind Izuru.
"The shadow of our raiding days hangs over us all, and will do so as long as there is a Dragon to raise our colours. Those human vessels in the hangar are not just spoils. We approach our quarry, declare ourselves affiliated with a local authority using a fluent Gothic-tongue, and board. Anything of value is ours. We bleed the quarry's fuel, leave sufficient provisions for the crew and passengers, and leave their distress beacon running."
"No slaves?"
"No slaves."
"Then what are they?"
"I… I confess. It was not the departure of my bond-mate."
"You kept the slaves…" Izuru closed and opened her hand behind her back. "Uncle, I this is no concern of ours—"
"No, please!" Ulthyr flicked a palm-sized disk in to the air. "Observe." A pale, blue image showed a corridor of a human starship. "This is feed from a merchantman we boarded; the Emalaume-Redeker. She was ninety-four cycles out from Corinthe, a civilised world. We were not the first." Humans, old, young, male, and female, trudged in to the field of view. Rags hung from half-naked bodies. In their hands were short blades, hammers, shivs, tongs, and picks.
"Those are not tattoos." Sol pinched his chin. "That which turns family, friends, lovers to animals."
An elderly human woman lifted a sickle up to the feed. Split lips peeled back from gums. Thin thread sewed her eyelids shut.
Ulthyr killed the feed. "We took the collars off after that."
"Those down there…"
"Neither prisoners nor guests. Every last human we found untainted, we brought aboard. Clothing, provisions, everything we could spare. Now, you understand why we eat what they eat."
"You could have just killed them."
"We are raiders, not butchers! Leave that to the enemy." Ulthyr scratched his scalp. "If they are not safe here with us, they are out there, prey for the foul."
"No refugee camps willing to take them?" Sol said.
"We tried Schindelgheist. Their camps were full. Ichar Four, full. Kosin, full. Macragge was too hotly contested to bring Vermora in." Ulthyr rested his elbows on the barrier and linked his fingers.
Izuru, a little behind and to Ulthyr's left, lifted her foot and eased herself closer. Terrible if an accident befell the Captain. Sol's hand shot at Izuru's wrist.
If you choose to walk this path, you do so alone. Through my eyes, Amonther watches.
I'm doing us all a favour.
"Captain Ulthyr, a name flitted many a time across the tongue of my niece." Sol went to Ulthyr's shoulder. "Gorynych. Your flagship, was it not?"
"Was and is, sir. These very halls you tread once played host to plunder and debauchery."
Izuru moved around a partition separating her from Ulthyr and Sol and leaned on the parapet on folded arms. A human woman below her balanced a toddler on one knee and supported it inside her arms. She held a long, blunt needle in one hand and worked a length of yarn attached to a half-made garment around it.
"I know everything but hers and the child's name." Ulthyr came around the partition.
"A widow?"
"Of a Cadian warrior."
"There are soldiers aboard?"
"None of the violet-eyed."
"Any others…?"
"No."
"Um, we would know our destination, Corsair."
"The Prophet request I withhold knowledge until we are in-system." Izuru's knuckles turned white. "My word is hers. I am sorry. Please invoke request if you so wish. I am at your disposal."
Izuru peered down at the mother and the needle she worked. "Might I observe?"
Narrow aisles separated the containment pens. The mother, a thin, wrinkled lady with wispy, brown hair, kept her child in the crook of her arm and balanced on her knee. Another, older child, played with chewed, wooden squares in the centre of the pen. Neatly folded sheets covered a double-tiered bed. Books and a lamp holding swirling bubbles sat on a table.
Izuru sunk to the deck and folded her skirts beneath her. The mother played the blue yarn around the needle. It was attached to a tiny infant-sized garment. Izuru's hand closed around her scarf and lifted it to her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her other hand sent ripples across the barrier's surface. The older child looked up from his blocks, got up, and stumbled over. A pair of large, violet eyes latched on to the source of the ripples above his head. Izuru's hand slid down to the child's height. The ripples moved with it. Mouth agape, the child touched the barrier. Izuru's lips puckered and her chest began shaking. Little sobs jumped in her throat.
Unlined bucket seats numbed Izuru's backside and dug in to her spine. She sat alone in the troop bay of a captured human shuttle. A small pack lay open at her feet. Her thumbs ran over blue yarn looped tightly together in to an infant-sized top.
"Two minutes before we breach atmosphere, Izuru." Sol climbed through a hatch leading up to the cockpit. "Almost home." Sol limped over to a seat opposite Izuru and lowered a frame over his shoulders.
"Leg trouble?"
"Gods, yes." Sol stretched his artificial leg out and squeezed his thigh. "Who is that for?"
"I made it months ago for a human family. Their youngest. Not yet parted from their mother's teat." Izuru tucked the garment away and closed her pack. "The words deserted me when I needed them most. Funny how you learn so much by simple observation, yet so little by not even knowing their names. I cannot lip-read for the life of me." Izuru pulled the frame down and locked it. A buzz ran up her arms and chattered her teeth. Her fingers tingled.
"Well, tell me about them then!" Sol raised his voice over the growing roar. "Were they happy?" Izuru, her eyes tight shut, bobbed her head. "See! One can find happiness in confinement."
"I never knew how the mother could work her yarn and care for the youngest simultaneously. It took two of us to control my sons."
"Certainly spun your own yarn there…"
"Early days, Uncle!"
"Do not call me Uncle!" Sol grinned.
The roaring faded to a dull hum. Izuru unlocked her frame and pushed it up. "Shall we make the bridge then? See our new home?"
Two Corsairs occupied the pilot and co-pilot's seat in the wide cockpit. Dried cup stains covered the flat surfaces. A model rocket dangled from a thin chain in the ceiling. Wide cracks lined the seats and revealed the worn upholstery inside. Izuru stooped and stepped sideways through the hatch. "Status, pilots?"
Shutters slid back from the forward viewport. Grey clouds surrounded the shuttle. An altimeter beside the pilot's right elbow counted steadily downwards.
"Lady Numerial. Sir. Forty-one thousand feet and descending."
"Very good, pilot." Izuru swivelled a chair behind the pilot's seat around.
"Temperature external reads 221.15. Readings are nominal across the board."
"Miraculous for a ship this old not to have lost anything on the way in." Sol took the seat behind the co-pilot.
"Human vessels are built to last, sir." The co-pilot switched on a curving, green monitor. "All vital systems require human input – everything manual I mean." Sharp peaks rose to meet the shuttle's current vector. Sheer slopes dropped thousands of feet to valley floors. "My lady? Once clear of these mountains, we correct to a southerly heading for the plains. Then, it will be a two and three-quarter-hour flight before we are on the deck. If you would pardon the extreme detour."
"No bother, pilot. Now we are in atmo, you may enlighten us as to our destination."
"Of course. You must excuse the Captain's silence on the matter. The Prophet's instructions were strict. We have just broken—"
A red light blinked on the co-pilot's console. "Whispering One…"
"What is it?"
"We are being painted."
"Painted, what does that—?"
"Missile lock, Uncle." Izuru took a headset from a shelf and sat them over her ears. "How is your Gothic?"
"Rough. Accented."
"Comms are there." The pilot jabbed his finger at Sol's seat.
"Switch over." Izuru rushed to Sol's seat. "Uncle, out!"
"Time to impact?" The pilot pushed his control yoke forwards and opened the throttle.
"Fifty seconds… Now!"
Izuru's fingers passed over the blank switches and buttons on the comms station. Which one?
"Second row. Third from the right."
Izuru snapped headphones on and flicked the transmit button. "This is… What is our name? Our serial designation?"
The co-pilot swiped a set of bound sheets in a laminated covering and passed them back to Izuru. "Forty seconds."
Sol's knee jiggled. "What can I do?"
"You can be quiet, Uncle." Izuru whipped through the pages.
"There are parachutes stored in the lockers in the hold."
"What about you?"
"Never mind us." The pilot's yoke shook. "I will level out if you wish to jump."
"This is Imperial Naval Shuttle TX-491-234 to any Imperial outpost listening. We have been painted and engaged by unknown hostiles. Missile in the air and closing. Time to impact—"
"Twenty-five—"
"Twenty-five seconds!" Izuru lifted her finger from the transmit. "Uncle, parachutes! Pilot, pop the hatch."
"I can have us inside the peaks if we hold course."
"Do it!" The pilot heaved his yoke back in to his chest.
"It's gone."
"Gone?"
"Mid-air detonation," the co-pilot said. "That or this human scanner gives false readings."
Gothic buzzed in Izuru's ears. "…Shuttle TX… present clearance codes… we will fire again. Over."
"Clearance codes…" Izuru licked her fingertips and flicked through the pages.
"Levelling out." The pilot straightened his yoke. "Altitude seven-thousand."
"The skies are clear."
"Where would the humans keep their clearance codes?" Izuru's hand swept beneath the comm station. "Physical? Could it be on a note?"
"…234, you have thirty seconds to provide your codes…"
"Would not know. We removed all human material beforehand."
"Pilot, bring us inside the peaks but keep us high enough to jump safely." Izuru tore the headset off. "And get yourselves out too!"
Sol kneeled in the troop bay beneath open lockers. Bulging packs lay on the deck around him. "Ever jumped with one of these?" Sol thrust a parachute at Izuru.
"Never with a human model." Izuru tugged the straps over her shoulders and fastened the clip across her chest. "Count to three then pull?"
"Tight. Tight as possible." Sol yanked the ends of the straps. "Honestly, I have not the faintest."
"Now you. Sit down first." Izuru sat Sol down and heaved his parachute on.
"What about my gear? Yours too."
"No, leave it. You'll break your legs on landing."
"Second missile in the air—no third! Two missiles. Impact, twenty-five seconds!"
"Open the hatch!" Izuru staggered to the shuttle's stern. "Pilot, the hatch!"
Air shot from a widening gap in the bulkhead. The ramp inched down in to the howling wind. Izuru turned her head away from the bright sunlight peeping through the clouds. Fifteen seconds. Sol crouched next to Izuru with his head bowed and arm around her shoulders. Ten, nine, eight, seven.
Sol slapped Izuru's shoulder and gripped her hand. Now. Izuru rose with Sol and bounded down the ramp. Izuru's arms and legs jerked backwards. Sol's fingers slipped from her hand. "UNC—"
An explosion punched Izuru and spun her body around. Bright orange stained the clouds. Izuru's flailing arm pattered at the ripcord. Four, five, six, seven, eight. Izuru's fingers found tension and pulled. Fabric shrieked and flew outwards. Izuru felt a jerk behind her navel. Her arms swung up and she grasped the webbing. Wind seared her eyes. Drops froze to her skin.
A peak shot past Izuru's feet. She kicked her legs and hauled on the webbing. Uncle? Izuru wrenched her head around. A canopy ballooned above her head. Uncle? Jagged rock protruded from snowy ridges. Pine trees crowded steep slopes stretching far down in to the valley. Leaves snatched at Izuru's feet. Branches smacked her chest. Snow flew in her face. Uncle! Izuru squeezed her eyes shut and bent her knees. Sharp ends pierced her skin. The harness jerked her to a stop and she dangled, her chin resting upon her breast.
Blood crystals gummed Izuru's right eye shut. Dried tracks ran down her from her nose and glued her lips together. Hairs, sprung loose from her bun, stuck to her cheeks.
Uncle. Izuru lifted her head. Taught webbing cut in to her shoulders. "Mmph." Izuru lifted numb arms and tugged at the straps. Branches held the torn canopy tightly. Snow cascaded from the branches and trickled inside Izuru's scarf. Izuru spat out snow and muck. She felt for the clasp cutting in to her chest and pried it open. Izuru's arms slipped from the straps and she plummeted downwards.
Snow engulfed Izuru. "Aahh…" The plate on Izuru's middle fingernail had peeled back and clung to the skin by threads. Izuru opened her mouth and closed her teeth around the loose nail. Hot air warmed the numb fingertip. It trembled. Izuru bit down and spat out the nail. She whimpered through locked teeth and clutched her hand to her chest. A single tear oozed through the dried crystals. Fresh crystals wept from her fist.
Knee-deep snow soaked through Izuru's boots and wet her toes. Wind stole inside the scarf tied around her head and tickled her bare skin. Uncle, I'm coming.
Are you though?
She is in denial.
She will not face it.
Go the other way.
Stop running.
Children's laughter drifted through the trees. My sons. I've found you. Izuru blundered through the snow. Her heel slipped on ice and Izuru tumbled in to a drift. The voices faded. No, don't go! Izuru floundered, kicking snow out. She clawed at a buried branch and dragged her body up and hobbled on.
Water came up to Izuru's knees. She slogged through the current, hit a patch of ice, and wriggled up on to it. "Fancy a stroll?" A hooded figure in Cameleoline walked beside Izuru. "Are you sure your uncle is up on that ridge? I think it is the one you left behind, or maybe the one before that."
"Ssh—shh—sshuddup." Izuru clamped her hands inside her armpits. Water ran from her robes. Dripping mucus froze to her skin. I'm coming, Uncle.
"He is not your uncle. You have no more right to name him uncle as you had to name Amonther father."
Cracks spread beneath Izuru's feet. Ice surrounded her and stretched away in to mist. Groans shot through the ice. Izuru stood still, raised her foot, and took a step forwards. Ice crunched around her feet and caved in. Water rushed up Izuru's legs and seeped inside her clothes. Izuru's chin cracked against the ice. She scrabbled at the smooth surface.
"Give us your hand." A shadow squatted and thrust out its arm. "Give us your hand." Water splashed Izuru's chin. She lunged and seized the wrist. Ice ground away beneath her. "C'mon, help yourself!"
Izuru kicked out and surged from the water. She slithered on to the ice and lay shivering. "I know your voice."
"Help yourself. No use to anyone lying there feeling sorry."
Izuru dug her fingers in to the ice and pushed. "H-h-help me."
"Help yourself."
Izuru peeled her cheek away from the ice and pushed herself up. Skin tore and remained stuck there. Dripping from chin to toe, Izuru shuffled across the ice. Snow swallowed her thighs. Branches dumped snow on her head. Clouds rushed over the swaying treetops. Wind rolled in Izuru's ears.
Hours faded in to each other. Crusts solidified on Izuru's cheeks and chin. Tears froze before they could fall. Her fingertips turned a harsh red. Shadows grew tall and the light left the forest. I'll find you. I will find you.
"Mama!" Voices echoed through the trees.
"I'm co—I'm co—I'm co—" Izuru collapsed upon a clump of yellow grasp poking out of the snow. Her head lolled. Saliva leaked from her mouth.
A wail jerked Izuru's head up. A star rocketed in to the sky and exploded. Two more, each wailing, flew upwards and burst. The three hung in place for a moment before trembling and beginning their descent. Izuru flattened and scrunched up the grass in her quivering fingers. The hissing star shells meandered down to the ground and fizzled out. Izuru picked herself up and slogged on.
Star shells illuminated the night sky at sporadic intervals. Come sun-up, snow dripped from tree branches and bushes. Broken twigs protruded from chunks of ice. Low cloud dampened the air and bare tree stumps lining a deforested slope. Twisted thorns tore at Izuru's robes and sliced red lines in her hands. Thin, metal wire cut in to her stomach. Izuru pushed at the wire. Wooden posts held the wire in place. Izuru lay down and rolled under the gap. Beneath the deforested slope, a metalled road ran up the valley. Across it, trees lined the lower slopes, all the way down to the valley floor where the last traces of snow hid in the shaded areas.
Dot-sized vehicles crept along a switchback road on the far side of the valley running up to a suspension bridge. Izuru bellied down to the road and crawled across it and dug herself in to the bushes and waited.
Tyres crunched on loose grit. Gearshifts screeched. Izuru flinched and buried her head in the mud. Enormous, six-wheeled, military lorries pondered up the road beneath Izuru, turned the sharp corner, and climbed the stretch in front of her. Izuru cupped her hand over her mouth and bit down on her lower lip. As the tail-end lorry drove past Izuru, she wormed from the bushes and bounded at the raised tailgate, climbed up on to the step, and dived headfirst inside the covered cargo bed. Taut rope held tarpaulin over green containers. Izuru flopped over the nearest container and lay down in a gap and curled up. Sleep took her.
Thunder rocked the lorry. Izuru's body tensed and her elbow struck a container. Needles ran up and down her arm. Izuru winced and propped her body up on her other elbow. Damp robes clung to her skin. Pops and chatters reached her ears. Izuru squinted through the gap in the flap. Muddy tyre tracks cut down a wide street with single-storey hovels on both sides. Faded graffiti covered bare walls. Sagging cables were suspended between buildings. A curving dam wedged in a cliff-face loomed over the slum. Giant, white letters painted on the face spelt Agravarda. Above everything hung an unclean, yellow haze.
Sore, reddened fingers wrung the mud-caked scarf and tied it around Izuru's head. She nudged the flap up and dropped over the tailgate. Muddy water splashed her face. Izuru spat and darted around a mobile home and down an alley. A human in a painted rocking chair, smoking a fat pipe, watched her from the other side of a chainlink fence.
Flies buzzed around rubbish bags overflowing wheeled bins. Izuru hid behind a bin and snatched at flattened boxes and damp sacks. Rainwater spilled from the bags and trickled in to her lap. Izuru sneezed in to her sleeve. A pile of bags opposite her shook and a wrinkled head stuck up from the rubbish. Izuru shied back from a pair of yellowed eyes. A frizzy, grey beard bristled. Wooden crutches clacked and the human hoisted himself from his pile and balanced on a single boot. A sock poked through the worn leather. Beneath a holed jerkin hung two medals. Izuru crawled back against the wall and drew a sack up to her chin. The human crossed the alley and put a leathery hand inside his jerkin.
A water bottle in a felt-lined carrier clunked at Izuru's feet. Water sloshed inside. She reached for the bottle and pulled it away from the human and bit in to the cork stopper. The human spun and parked himself back in his spot. He tugged on the frayed hem of a woollen cap. Wrinkles deepened in the corners of his eyes. A rifle cracked. Izuru jumped. Water dribbled down her chin. She laid the bottle in the mud and retreated inside the layers of waste. An explosion rattled the bins. The bottle shook and tipped over. Humans sprinted past the end of the alley. Aircraft roared overhead.
With the weak sunlight diminishing came a tap-tap-tap. The human grunted and swung on to his foot. He dangled his water bottle by a string in front of Izuru and beckoned. Then, he leaned on his crutch, moved his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and mimed taking a bite. Izuru's stomach gurgled.
A thin groundsheet tied around her shoulders, Izuru followed the human deeper in to the slum towards rising smoke and a growing stench. Barefoot, ragged humans popped up from cubby holes and shanties. Longhaired, and many limbless, they joined a growing mass of homeless queuing before an open kitchen set up inside a bombed-out building. Toes pokes out of holed combat boots. Nametags sewn to the breasts of torn, faded combats clung by threads. Identity tags hung around bony necks. Ribcages showed through dirty skin.
A podgy, pox-scarred human stirred a giant ladle in a steaming vat. Three other vats sat alongside, stirred by others in grey aprons. A smaller, side-kitchen passed out shallow bowls to those queuing. The grey human took his and gave it to Izuru. Izuru drew her scarf tighter around her head and focused on the cracked leather on the human's heel. When the grey human took a second bowl and left the side-kitchen, Izuru latched on and trudged in his wake. Leery eyes followed her all the way over to the ends of the queues and did not let go.
- Act II -