Aliyah

This far out, sea air chilled her to the bone. Night had long since fallen; the coast was a line of light in the distance, a world away.

Harker lashed the wrapped body onto a slab of wood. Her helpers donned gloves before dousing it with a dark, pungent liquid—so thick it almost resembled resin. They floated the makeshift raft alongside the boat, allowing it to drift some ways away. Aliyah started to wonder why, before Harker lit a match.

The flame burned white, save for where it tinged green at the edges. Harker murmured a spell under her breath, a cast that sent the match floating over the waves. Fire touched onto fabric and crackled into an all-engulfing blaze. Behind her, one of the helpers popped open a bottle and took a swig.

The bundle burned fast and bright, crumbling along with its makeshift raft. Perhaps ten minutes passed before the fire sputtered out, leaving an oily, chunky film atop the waves. Her stomach turned at what she guessed were bits of charred flesh and bone. They were gone before long, slipping beneath the waves.

“Good tides,” Harker remarked as she retook her place at the wheel. “Good site—reliable. Used to go round the old cove in your mother’s day, but this here’s better. Just don’t come calling too often, my boy—the fish can only eat so quickly.” She chuckled, as if this were a joke she’d told many times before.

Aliyah tuned out Shasta’s jovial reply and wrapped the Healer-shawl tightly around herself. Checking to see no one was looking, she emptied her pockets out into the water—everything except the unlocking charm Kionah had gifted her. Spell-cylinders, tinderbox, broken crest—every piece was heavy enough to sink without a trace. They hadn’t burned when she’d tried. She hoped drowning would be enough.

The boat continued in its journey. Absently, she raised her metabolic rate to compensate for the sea chill. Far from relief at the body being taken care of, she felt only trepidation. The city would probably be swarming with spire witches within the day, searching for Sebile. It was better than them swarming to seek out suspect fleshcrafters, but she still needed a place to hide. Luxon’s home would be a site of interest, and Silas had pretty much kicked them out after the destruction of his workshop. Shasta had all but yelled from the rooftops that he didn’t want her around.

So where to go? She supposed she could ask Kionah, though another issue loomed: how to explain what had happened. Should she? She supposed so—at least, a measure of the truth. Shasta was likely to tell her eventually.

By the time Harker nudged her boat back into its hidden dock, Aliyah was still unsure of what to say.

Shasta exchanged more words with Harker and her helpers—sons, as she’d learned on the awful walk back to her shack, the body in tow—as they stepped off the boat. Backs were patted, hands were shaken.

“Come again,” Harker said. She gave a wry, rasping chuckle. “But best if you don’t.”

“Be going now,” Shasta said. “I’ll send a man along before dawn.”

“Can always count on you, my boy.” Harker waved them off. “Say hello to Evdokia for me.”

Shasta murmured a sound of assent and walked away. She followed him, because what other option was there for now? He didn’t immediately brush her off, but he did slow so that she walked alongside, rather than behind. They strode in silence for several long, minutes, up the trail that led down to Harker’s shack, fringed on all sides by forgotten alleys and industrial decay.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “I gather you’ll be wanting to get back to your lodgings?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure how. Is there any way for you to call Kionah?”

He snorted. “You’re joking, right? Kionah goes wherever she pleases and notifies who she pleases, which is often no one.” Was that a hint of bitterness she heard in his voice? “Where are you staying?”

“Luxon’s. I’m not sure if…” She fumbled for the knot of her shawl, undoing it hastily. “I’m not sure if she’ll want me around for much longer.” Was that hint enough? He didn’t bite.

“No coin for guides?” he asked instead.

“No.”

“I s’pose I could escort you back,” he said begrudgingly. “These parts are hardly safe for a lady at night.”

Hardly safe? She almost laughed—it was a strange impulse; the lingering shock, probably. Perhaps Glister wasn’t safe at night for an ordinary girl, but she was a fleshcrafter now, wasn’t she? Was he worried she might kill someone else on her way back?

“Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”

She juggled her jacket in one hand and her shawl in the other, looping the Healer weave back around her waist in a sash. She tried not to think too hard about the blood on the jacket lining as she shrugged it back on, hiding the sash from view.

The rest of the return passed by in silence. When they arrived at Fructuous Charms Emporium, the shopfront was dark, like every other one along the street. The dim little light above the doorway illuminated a crack in the window that hadn’t been there before—sitting about chest-height, circular in shape, radiating out like a drunken cobweb. It looked as though it had been caused by the impact of a stone. Or a fist.

Shasta rapped on the door as she finished that thought. A minute passed without response.

Aliyah eyed the crack in the window. A finger of ice crept its way up her back.

“You sure she’s home?” Shasta asked.

“She said she’d wait here for Kionah.”

“Hm,” Shasta said. He knocked again. No response, once again.

Aliyah swallowed. “You don’t think…” she trailed off, shaking her head.

“Don’t think what?”

“Don’t think anyone could’ve taken her? There were a couple of witches—Cribellums—who were bothering her, earlier.”

“No,” Shasta said. “She’s a part of that Hive up there?” He jerked a hand vaguely over his shoulder, not so much indicating a direction as a concept. “Not a chance.”

Anxiety bubbled in the pit of her stomach. “They dislike faeries, don’t they?” Just like Magicians did.

He snorted. “Yeah, but they’re not suicidal. Don’t know how it is where you’re from, but the weight of the Hive counts for something round these parts.”

“Then why isn’t she answering? She should be expecting me.” A thought occurred to her. “Kionah should be back by now, too. She went somewhere else to pick up ingredients for Luxon, but she was supposed to come back before sunset…”

“Like I said, Kionah keeps her own schedule. Wouldn’t be surprised if she ditched the errands and took off for some party somewhere. As for Luxon—could be not hearing us. Could be asleep. Not a problem.” He fished around in his vest pocket and withdrew a slim leather case, vaguely resembling a pocketbook in shape.

“What’s that?” she asked warily.

He shot her a look. “Lockpicks. Won’t work so well if the wards are good—which, hell, they probably are—but pinging the wards’ll get her to pay attention.”

Shasta knelt and fed a slender stick of metal into the keyhole, and then a slightly different metal stick, even thinner and more ridged. Runelight skittered over the door, and he let go of the picks a moment before they sparked with spellfire. They flared with false-flame for several moments, before clattering to the floor; the lock had expelled them with some internal mechanism.

“Right,” he said, scooping them off the ground. “That should do it.”

They waited. Nothing happened; there came no sound of footsteps clattering from within.

“I don’t know if she’s home,” Aliyah said uneasily.

“Hm,” Shasta said, glancing over the shopfront. “Let’s circle round, then. See if the lights are on.”

“Okay,” she said. “Though I don’t know how helpful that’ll be. Her house is strange on the inside. Dimensional.”

“Won’t hurt to take a look.”

She followed as he led the way into the alley hugging the back wall of Luxon’s building; there was one small window set close to the eaves behind, and no light emanating from within.

“Well,” he said, crossing his arms. “Looks a bit of squeeze. That’s unfortunate.”

“We’re not breaking into her house, are we?” she asked, alarmed. “Because I don’t know what wards she keeps, but—”

“No,” Shasta said. “Relax. I’ll knock again, give it a few more minutes. Wouldn’t want to run the way of City Watch up here.”

They circled back to the front of the house. Aliyah frowned, glancing up and down the nearly empty street. She froze as a figure limped round the corner: a bedraggled-looking young woman in a black and white uniform. She had a basket hooked around one arm. It took a moment for the recognition to set in.

“Kionah?” she called out.

Shasta’s head whipped round at the name. Kionah raised her hand in silent greeting and picked up her pace.

“Hello,” she said on approach, her voice weary. Aliyah squinted. Was her hair meant to look like that? It was practically shedding pins as she walked. “You would not believe the day I had.”

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Shasta snorted, very quietly. “I’ll bet.”

“What are you doing here?” Kionah asked, frowning.

Aliyah cleared her throat. “Luxon’s not answering the door. We’re not sure she’s home. We ran into some Cribellums at the market…” the words dried up in her throat.

Kionah’s frown deepened, her gaze flicking from between her and Shasta. “Weren’t you meant to be with her the whole time?” she asked. “Why’s Shasta here? Surely you didn’t get lost? Luxon dresses brighter than a bloody beacon.”

Aliyah eyed the empty street, pushing her night vision into the shadows of the alleys. No visible lurkers, but…

“We should talk about this somewhere else.”

“Oh, alright,” Kionah said. Her eyes narrowed as they fell onto the crack across the window; perhaps she came to similar conclusions. “I see. Where, then?” Her gaze moved to Shasta. “I don’t suppose you’d care to act the part of a gracious host?”

He muttered what sounded like a few choice words under his breath and cast a lingering glance over the silent shopfront. “Yes, alright, fine. We can…have a chat in one of the spare House rooms.”

They followed as he turned his back on them. Kionah grumbled as she readjusted her hold on her basket, piled high with paper-wrapped packages.

“Do you need, um, help?” Aliyah asked. If her own basket had been anything to go by, it was no easy weight. She supposed she could strengthen her own muscles better than Kionah could persist in dragging the basket around.

“I’ve got it,” Kionah said, blowing a strand of hair from her face.

“Where were you?” Aliyah blurted out.

“Long story,” Kionah said, sounding sullen. “Maia, uh, roped me into a job. All very short notice. She got stabbed for her trouble and almost arrested, so I suppose it all evens out. Oh, and I saw your schismatists, I think. Academy Library.”

“What?” Aliyah blinked. Kionah had said that all in a very plain-faced tone, with not the slightest hint of jesting. Still, her thoughts latched onto one word: ‘schismatists’. “Do you know where they went? And—are you alright?”

“No idea, sorry. Too busy running away. They seemed busy. Though I expect they’ll, you know,” she gestured to Aliyah’s arm. “You’ll find them. They had that false-Magician there. And I’m fine, thank you. Just tired. This close to burning out. Bloody well hope they have soup or something at Whistle House.”

“We do not cook at this time of night,” Shasta said from up ahead.

Kionah swore under her breath. A weary silence descended: Kionah, sulking in all her exhaustion, and Shasta, no doubt gloomy at the prospect of bringing trouble to his home. Aliyah huddled in the silt-sludge of her own thoughts, shying away when she drifted too close to anything resembling dark alleys or still waters or Calamistrums.

They made their way down clambered onto a shuttlebus station, nearly empty at this time of night. A couple of late-night goers stood at the end of the platform, clutching shopping and smoking cigarettes. Shasta punched out three tickets, handing them out wordlessly.

They waited.

The shuttlebus ride down into the Undercity was uneasy and otherwise uneventful. Aliyah took the window seat, staring out at the lights, thoughts hazy and adrift. Kionah sat beside her, basket balanced awkwardly on her knees. Shasta had chosen a seat opposite; she sensed his gaze passing over the both of them now and again.

They exited at a station—not Falsewater. Relief sparked in her chest at the realisation that she wouldn’t have to pass the place where she’d—where the Calamistrum had died.

Shasta led them through the larger streets when he could, well-lit. It was more walking than the route from Falsewater had been, and they had to duck through a couple of smaller alleys now and then, but it wasn’t so bad. The forayers they passed paid them no mind, and there wasn’t a witch in sight.

Ianis wasn’t at Whistle House when they arrived; another man had taken his posting. Shasta nodded wordlessly to him as they drew close, and he opened the doorway without flair.

The House was, to her surprise, still at work. Forayers huddled around their tea tables, cracking low jokes amongst themselves. There were less of them—about a third of the usual number, she estimated, but the place was far from empty.

Shasta headed down to the far side of the main room. Instead of heading upstairs to his quarters, he twitched a curtain aside—one she hadn’t noticed before, assuming them to be part of the warded drapes decorating the place.

“After you,” he said dryly. “The left room should be empty.”

The corridor beyond was so short that it could barely be called one. Dingy runelight illuminated the wood paneling, casting harsh shadows. A door was set into the wall on both sides. When she pushed at the handle on the left, ward-runes flickered beneath its surface.

The room was windowless. Muted wallpaper coated the walls, scrawled with a pale floral motif. Cheap-looking runelight highlighted the starkness of the furniture: a tea-cart in the corner, a wooden table, and plain chairs to match. A large woven mat sat on the table, presumably to prevent a hot plate or teapot from scalding its surface.

Aliyah took the nearest seat—the one closest to the door. It would probably be a harmless discussion, she told herself. Kionah was here, and Shasta wasn’t likely inclined to bribe or hurt her, not after what she’d revealed. Still, there was an opportunity here, wasn’t there? It was parley enough. The trouble was, she didn’t feel intelligent enough to take best advantage of it. Borrowed magic swirled in her veins, weighing like a favour owed. If only she were more adept at court things, more like Rana…

She brushed the thought away. Rana was safe, she told herself. Rana had been cocooned in anti-haemolytic. Rana was not being held captive by faeries. And truthfully, her thoughts couldn’t take the extra weight right now, couldn’t care about worries that were a Killing Field away—couldn’t afford to.

Kionah sat next to Aliyah and dumped her basket onto the next chair along. Shasta entered last, flicking the lock as he shut the door behind him. Aliyah jerked her head round at the click.

“Easy there,” he said, voice tinged with wariness. Was he recalling the last time he’d backed her into a corner? “It’s only for privacy.”

She eyed the mechanism: a simple lever, finger-sized. No key required. Openable from this side.

“Alright,” she said, clearing her throat.

Shasta strode around the table and lifted a pitcher from the cart. “Water?” he asked.

“Please,” Kionah said.

He poured three glasses. When he sat, he was the first to take a sip.

“So,” he said. “You want to tell her, or shall I?”

Aliyah realised, with a jolt, that he was addressing her. Blood-fresh anxiety purled at the back of her throat. She reached for her magic and stilled the physiological rush. Her thoughts ran counter to her workings; agitation thrashed fear-chemicals to life, told her to run, run, hide—perhaps if she did not see it, it would not see her.

She forced her jaw to move. Lips, larynx, vocal folds. Teeth, tongue, thoughts split open—she curled her hands into fists. She shouldn’t need this nudging. She already knew the words.

“Luxon and I were at the market. Some spire-witches noticed us. Cribellums.” She looked at Kionah. “You told me it’d be a good idea to avoid those sorts of people, right?” At her nod, she continued. “So Luxon said I should come down here, because they know where she lives.” She paused, swallowing. Short sentences would be best. “I hired a guide from Crowfire to get here. We were almost…we almost made it. He started having a seizure. I tried—I tried to help, but brains are…difficult. Everything else, too—the muscle spasms, moving at that speed—he died. It was…messy.”

Kionah frowned, eyes sharp with appraisal. She gripped her glass, silent for what felt like several moments too long. Then she turned to Shasta, voice accusatory.

“Is this true?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I had nothing to do with it, until she came knocking.”

“When?” Kionah demanded, still glaring at him. “Where?”

Shasta scowled. “Some hours ago. Four streets away, back alley. I had Harker take care of it. Are we even, yet?”

Kionah set down her glass with a sharp clack—almost, but not quite—spilling her water. Aliyah’s stomach curdled at her gaze.

“I thought you couldn’t,” Kionah started, and shook her head. “How? Explain.”

Aliyah placed her hands into her lap, forcing the fingers to unclench. She took a deep breath. “Remember what I told you about what happened in the Higher Library? The…excision, and the blood? It doesn’t look natural. Those Cribellums know what I look like. If they could connect the dots…”

A glimmer of understanding dawned over Kionah’s features. “So you had Shasta call in favours.”

“Yes,” Aliyah said. She dropped the Healer weave onto the table and forced herself to think, to see how she could angle her words. “Zahir’s a real Healer. If these witches are going to be everywhere looking for people like us—”

“You still want to find him?” Kionah sipped carefully at the last dregs of her water and exhaled.

Aliyah nodded jerkily. “Yes—I have to. Find him, break whatever binding they have, and get out.”

“It isn’t so simple,” Kionah said, and tried to run a hand through her hair. Her fingers stopped short against the unfamiliar styling. Pins dislodged at the motion, and Aliyah tracked them absently as they fell.

“I know. But neither is this.” She pulled up her sleeve, baring the tracker-mark to the light.

“You’re making excuses,” Kionah snapped. “Luxon can take care of that.”

“Luxon isn’t here. Who knows if the spire witches have got her, or if the schismatists also—”

“Who knows?” Kionah cut her off, her words hard-edged. “No one knows. Certainly not you. She’s likely just out on Hive business—she complains the Lieutenants keep her busy enough. Don’t run full-tilt into trouble fancying yourself some sort of hero, Aliyah.” Her voice rose. “You were lucky to get out of Saltstone with all your limbs attached, and now you’ve gone an offed some poor guide—”

It occurred to her that she ought to seem more distraught about having killed someone who wasn’t Calamistrum Sebile. She forced tears to well and run over. “I—I know. It’s—yeah, I’m an idiot, a coward, I know.”

They were both looking at her as though she’d grown thorns. Perhaps an edge of madness had slipped into her words, just then. Perhaps the shock was finally wearing off. The tears kept flowing; they felt more real now she’d started. She sniffed and wiped them away.

“Did anyone else see?” Kionah asked sharply.

“Wh-what?”

“The body. The unnatural-ness of the wounds, or whatever.” She waved a hand. “Anyone else see, aside from Shasta?”

“Tomas,” Shasta offered.

Kionah swore under her breath. “He doesn’t talk much, does he? Can’t have Spire folks noticing. Aliyah’ll have to—”

“No,” she broke in. “I’m not running away to Kraedia, or whatever it is you’re about to say. You don’t want me near you in case faeries or witches come—fine.” She braced her hands on the table and stood up, pulse pounding in her ears. “I can go. But I’m not leaving this city until I find those schismatists. And I will. The silver one, Saiphenora, you heard what she said about her…employers. They’ll find me within the week, I bet. Do you want my help in the meantime, or not?”

“A clever speech,” Shasta remarked. “But not a fair exchange. You killed that guide with the best of intentions, I’m sure.”

She steeled herself. “So send me after an enemy.” The words came out flat and all wrong. She wasn’t sure she intended on following through, but it was a start.

He sneered faintly. “Still not a fair exchange. Besides, you don’t want to drag Crow Ear into this. We’re couriers, mostly—you understand? And before you ask: no, my spare forayers can’t help you here. I won’t allow it.”

“What kind of help were you talking about, before?” Kionah broke in. “Not the part about killing people. I doubt you’d make a good assassin. But what else can you do?”

Aliyah swallowed. “Healing. No brains, maybe not spines. I’ll see what I can do—for you now, and for anyone you care about before I go. I have limits, but…if Zahir flees the schismatists, he could do a lot better.”

Shasta spoke before Kionah could. “Tempting,” he said. “But not useful to me. You told me yourself—you can’t fix serious conditions, or health for the long run. The best either of us gets out of this is being patched up following whatever faery fight you lead us into—and that’s without the possibility of spires crawling up our arses.”

At least neither of them seemed to suspect the body was anything other than what she’d said it was.

“Then there’s nothing else I can bribe you with,” she said, even as relief flowered down her back in a cold, dark wave. “Fine. Are there Magicians in the city? I know they send diplomats. If I have to, I can—”

“No Magicians,” Kionah said quickly. “Not unless you’re counting that false one. Even if there were, you wouldn’t want to go to them.”

Remember Alhena? Her eyes seemed to say. Remember me?

Aliyah placed a hand over the tracker-mark and thought of practical matters: food, rest, hammocks fastened to an upside-down tree. Maybe even asking the Hive…Shasta had said they protected Luxon from spire witches, hadn’t he? It might be a stretch, but she was running out of places to go.

“Then I suppose there’s nothing I can do but wait. Perhaps I’ll try to find Luxon in the meantime—her Hive might want to help, if she hates schismatists so much. Is there a shuttlebus leading there?”

“No,” Shasta said. “There’s not much in way of faery outreach here. They’re too established to need it. But you’ll find a Lieutenant on most main streets.”

“I’ll help with Luxon,” Kionah broke in. “Help talk with the faeries, at least.”

Aliyah blinked. “Okay—thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Kionah said with a scowl. “All of our luggage is still locked in her house.”

It was a strange reason to help. Kionah held a tension in her shoulders, creases at her brow—was that worry? Aliyah opened her mouth, then shut it again. Kionah wanted something from her, she reminded herself. This was a good sign. Kionah seemed to have known Luxon a while, too. If she could leverage a history of friendship to her own cause…

…Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.