Dear God, we pray for the health of our loved ones. May grandfather swiftly overcome his cough.
We pray for guidance. May Sheryl’s bake sale make enough money to fund the repairs.
We pray for wisdom. May Leon graduate with honors.
As always, we pray that you will smite and rend the Tempest; tear her flesh and crack her false throne; scatter her heretics and purge their filth from existence.
Oh, and please help Susanna recover from her broken leg by the Summer festival.
Amen.
Sorry about that, folks! Last minute substitutions and all that.
Of course, knowing my audience, half of you probably burst into fire just hearing that!
Let’s play some music for everyone who’s still alive
Spring 43 (morning)
Sebastian delivered the final instructions to the loft.
In two days, Oliver and a posse of Azure men would pick Valkyrie up from the loft at seventh bell. They would escort her to a park in Thirdborough for the speech. Alisandra would discretely follow tail them. If all went well, the ceremony would take fifteen minutes.
Then Valkyrie would walk free.
Except she still could not speak.
The girl went through the motions of breakfast, sleep fog heavy like a veil across her forehead. She yawned until her jaw cracked as she cooked some bacon, thinking on last night.
Esmie had volunteered to sing, and Valkyrie had laid on the couch as the clouds swam across the windows and the Maiden repeated the latest in Waves musicals. Apparently, this Spring’s trend was stomp-chants; did the Maiden’s servants notice her stomping about in the dead of the night?
The Maiden can do whatever she wants. God-child incarnate. Must be nice.
Having barely tasted her bacon, she dumped her dirty dishes in the skin and carried her drink onto the balcony. She leaned over the railing, watching the quiet square below where the last lingering drunks of night shuffled towards the abandoned stores where they slept.
She remembered her lectures on ecology.
Drunks, addicts, beggars, and a sandwich shop. An oasis of ill repute in the shade of a towering, noble tree. A Jungle by another name…
Though, after forty days and change of watching Woodhaven, she now frowned against a nagging whisper.
Before Rie, she would have brushed it off with a laugh. Now, she heard the edge to that echo and leaned onto her toes to play spot the difference.
After a minute, she found her mark.
On the south-west corner, there was a shady customer running opium out of the boutique. He hosted a steady stream of customers all day long. His customers darted into and out of the shops in moments, observed by one or two street boys in case of runners.
Those street boys were always underfoot, ready for any manner of odd job. They watched the drug dens, ferried tools, polished shoes, and took messages. Anything for a coin.
Industrious, plentiful, cheap.
In the ecology of Woodhaven, these boys were the squirrels. Like squirrels, they busied themselves in the shadows of the bigger animals.
Today, however, she counted four such squirrels posted at the exits to Woodhaven. Perfectly aligned, in fact, to cover every exit from her very building.
“Something’s stirring, Rie.”
She rushed back to her room and pulled on the same overalls and pageboy cap she wore to meet Lyla’s uncle. The empty loft echoed with her scramble, and her shoulders tingled with tension. Where were her damn shoes?!
The elevator dinged, its cab beginning an ascent.
“S-Sebastian?”
It dinged again.
The angel of Witness only ever arrived directly; neither thunder nor elevator announced his arrival.
She froze, paralyzed in the jaws of dread, and heard the astral echoes with prey’s certainty.
Get off on fifth
Cover the stairs
I’ll take the straight way
Wolves on the prowl.
Ding. Third floor.
How long would the lock on the Mishkan loft’s front door hold against determined men?
By her own recent experience, a minute or two – assuming they bothered to pick it instead of just kicking the frame in.
“Only one truly locked room, and it’s the one I can’t open!”
Ding. Fourth floor.
Valkyrie threw a prayer to the Stormmother and fled the loft for the last refuge she could imagine – Ali’s secret garden. Key in hand, she tore through the wood panel door and yanked it shut just as the elevator reached her floor. She hissed, slowing the final pull into a shaking, gentle tug.
As it quietly clicked, she heard the voices of her hunters on the landing.
“Clean sweep so far…”
“Try not to screw this one up, okay? Easy work for…”
Then Valkyrie ran up the stairs and onto the roof. The bright, beautiful morning dazzled her, and her head swam.
“Don’t panic! Just call for Alisandra.”
Her tongue worked her teeth for a moment as her thoughts caught up on the true magnitude of her current predicament.
Downstairs, heavy tools hit the Mishkan loft’s front door, and the entire floor shuddered.
“No, no, no, no…”
Noble woodwork would hold a couple extra hits at most.
Valkyrie squeezed her eyes shut and prayed.
Let Alisandra hear.
But she was voiceless; her guardian’s curse quite complete; and she could not sound the drums.
She surveyed the quiet garden, the greenery still wet from the fancy, automated sprinklers. Maybe she could hide in the grass? If they found this place, she might…
‘Cover the stairs.’ No way. I can’t fight thugs twice my size.
Instead, she leaped off the back of the bench and listened over the edge of the building.
Sure enough, she heard the bounty hunters.
“Not out here.”
“Course not, you retard!”
“Sod off. Grease in the pan is still hot. Brat won’t be far. You check the closets?”
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Yes, I checked the damned closets, and the pantries, and the bathroom!”
“What about that hall door?”
“Still won’t open.”
“Amateur? That’s what the mallet is for!”
“I’m telling you it won’t budge!”
“Wuss.”
“You wanna give it a go, big boy? Be my guest!”
Right bosom buddies, aren’t they?
A few moments later the building vibrated again, and a man swore in pain. “The hells is that thing made of?!”
“Makes sense they think I’m in there. Buys me some time…”
She dropped back down, weighing options. She could hide up here until help arrived, or she could break for safe harbor.
If she ran, to whom?
Oliver could not be trusted – not after his little stunt with the handcuffs well.
Alisandra would save her – if she could be found. But where might an angel be? She could be halfway across the world killing monsters right now! How many hours would it take for the bounty hunters to give up on the one door and discover the hidden way up here?
Locks and doors won’t stop the truly determined, she decided. And if angelic wards prove the exception? Great. Except I can’t get in there either!
She needed distance from the hunters, and that meant escaping Woodhaven.
Taking a deep breath, she leaped once more onto the wall and peered over. There, twenty feet below, waited the fire escape. Twenty feet of decorative crenellations…
Checking exits, she spotted the nearest squirrel and groaned at his fantastic view of the fire escape!
“I hope they paid you cheap,” she prayed.
Gathering her courage, she slipped to the other side of the fence.
The gentle Spring breeze rose, tugging at her hat and her nerves.
Biting her lip, she felt for the ledge beneath her. By outstretched toe and dancer’s stretch, she prodded for a lip. Even stretched by her fingertips from the fence, she dangled.
“Stormmother light my way…” she prayed harder, forcing her clenched fingers to let go.
A three-inch drop to an inch-wide ledge.
The longest fall in her young life.
Her toes hit the plaster, and she mashed herself against the building. Heart pounding, she bit back a whimper and lowered herself again.
One more time. One more time!
Pretending desperately that she balanced on a gymnastics beam, she shifted on her toes and lowered herself to dangle once more.
This drop was several feet onto bare metal. She hit ankle-first and let herself collapse, soaking the blow up into her belly. The impact rang like a bell, and two screws popped loose from the fire escape’s struts.
Hells, I’m probably the first person on here since construction finished!
She leaped up and raced down, each metal ladder rattling louder than the last. With one final leap, she dropped five feet to the concrete and freedom.
Unfortunately, her nearest squirrel approached. He squinted in confusion and called, “Moron! What the hells possessed you to crawl off the side of the building!”
Valkyrie struck away from him, walking fast.
Angling to intercept, he took a better look and sucked in a breath. “You!”
Greed in his eyes, he lunged. He expected to seize her easy as a prize; after all, he was a head and a half taller, and the payout for this would–
Shifting onto her left heel with a yelp, Valkyrie swung her calf flat into his unguarded belly.
He doubled over in shock.
Valkyrie, first time victor in fisticuffs, squeaked, Holy hells!”
Observe strength born of one’s own being, whispered a voice in her ear.
If you’re going to tease me, Rie, at least help out!
Spitting, the squirrel growled, “You…”
Time to go!
Flipping a sailor’s salute, Valkyrie bolted for the north.
Behind her, the boy recovered enough to whistle. The sound rattled through the square, spurring Valkyrie to put on speed.
As soon as she dropped out of sight from the square, she swerved at the nearest alley and doubled back to the south. Her bare heels cracked against the concrete, but adrenaline dulled the growing pain. In two minutes, she reached Main – well ahead of the shouts spreading across Woodhaven.
Crossing Main, she wove madcap through ten turns of the alleys before she slowed. Panting, she searched the unfamiliar block for a bridge into Sevensborough. Finding none, she silently cursed and forded the muddy creek, soaking her overalls to the thigh.
South Sevensborough groaned at her entry. While the shops on Main pretended to pleasantries, here the windows lay broken and the buildings rotted. Cracks and rotted grass riddled the streets, and a stagnant reek filled the air.
Okay. East a bit, then north onto Main. Straight shot into the diner like a lightning strike. Oliver may be a jerk, but a jerk’s better than the hounds!
An easy enough plan, right?
With a deep breath, she set off into the worst slums of Sevensborough.
***
Around this time, a parade of Penitents entered the north edge of Sevensborough. The foremost among them struck a whip over his shoulder on every third step, and the second called out grim Catechisms. Behind them, a score proceeded, each carrying a heavy wicker basket.
In each basket, beneath a shroud, a black scale. A quiet bounty, hoarded far from watchful eyes, in the name of the end for a sullied world.
Chanting in the name of Fire, they made for Aldersman Lee’s mansion on schedule.
***
A thousand-strong stampede rattled the high plains, the herd a shadow across the grass that trampled everything in its path.
Dimly, over thundering hooves, Alisandra heard, “By the high heavens, Tempest, don’t hurt them!”
The Archangel snorted. “I do not need to hurt them.”
Mere horses for once. A pleasant change of pace.
The leading edge of the wave thundered straight for her. Only the angel stood between the stampede and the growing fields behind. This Whistler tribe had only claimed this spot for their harvest a few weeks past, the crops still buds peeking from freshly tilled dirt. The stampede would plow through the hasty fences and grind their Spring food under hoof.
“Cover your ears,” she warned the Whistlers, miming the action.
They hunkered back, and she raised the sheathed Hand of God.
It thrummed in her hands petulantly – an artifact worthy of heaven turned shepherd’s crook.
Ignoring her underwhelmed Blade, she struck a heel into the dirt hard enough to peel back the loam and reveal rock. Then she struck the Blade across the rocks, willing its sheathed tip to glance away.
Chunks of rock flew; fireworks of spark rained outward; and the nearest horses charged on, deaf to any direction but forward.
A little harder.
She struck again, and this time her thunder exceeded the stampede’s. The lead horses flinched away, and the stampede turned away from the fields.
“Easy enough,” she murmured, dusting her hands. Turning to the Whistlers, she cleared her throat. “Now then, might I inquire who started–”
The drums sounded weakly from the Bones.
“Hells! Booze and fighting – do they know aught else?!” she growled.
Alisandra leaped away.
***
A dozen black gemstones lay arranged in a circle across Lee’s dance hall, ready for the matching priest.
Scowling, Lee watched the Penitents with their lunatic paints and their flippant chants. As a Lord, he had hosted a small army of witches, each promising miracles. He had turned them away one and all. Now, he found the God of Fire’s priests swirling the same balderdash symbols across his floor!
“Phoenix, serpent, and cragbear. Beasts. Mere beasts,” he muttered, absently petting his own gemstone. “How far my House sinks!”
Wait for the second batch, kick them out, and keep the trove, suggested the black scale from the rafters of his mind. Teach them how the world really works.
The idea appealed; Lee smirked to himself. Leaning over, he asked his Livery man, “How many more shipments?”
“They have not said, sir.”
“Then find out.”
The lead Penitent approached a few moments later. The man still stank of the mines. “There shall be twenty-four exactly; an auspicious number. You see, in the Catechisms–”
“Spare me,” Lee sighed. “Twenty-four. Why didn’t you bring them all at once?!”
“Discretion is the better part of valor, and each must be carried individually…”
“Are they holy relics?” the aldersman scoffed.
“Exactly!” answered the priest somberly. “Perhaps you have heard of a mystic named Donovan?”
Lee shrugged. He heard of many mystics.
“Donovan was a sworn enemy of the Stormmother,” the Penitent preached. “A convert to Fire, pursued by the Tempest across the breadth of creation!”
Or something like that. Who can keep it all straight? chuckled the gemstone.
“T’was Donovan that summoned the Purifier against Wave’s Lament!”
Lee nodded, planning when to have the servants dispossess them of the horde.
“Armed with a gemstone and a holy Will, he bid the Serpent to cleanse this foul planet of…”
Though the priest continued, Lee stopped on the first bit. “Bid the Serpent?”
The gemstones flickered together, sensing a rich vein of opportunity.
The Penitent cleared his throat, expression distant with reverence. “Bid the Serpent. The Purifier is a servant of the Lord Above…”
“Oh, we’re all servants of the Lord,” Lee assured. “This Donovan, though. He, ah…”
Called, and was answered.
“Called, and was answered?”
The Penitent’s gaze cleared, accepting that interpretation. “Yes, exactly! His prayer was answered!”
Just then, the doorbell rang. The Penitent turned to tend to the next batch.
A moment later, Lee’s Livery butler returned. “We are ready to seize the materials. Anything else, my Lord?”
Lee chewed his thoughts a moment. “Let them finish their little demonstration.”
The gemstone noted, Purification sounds so nice, doesn’t it? Summoning a Purifier, not a Wyrm. A welcoming committee, not a war. Not the kind of thing to set off any drums…
“As you wish, my Lord.”
Are you sure? chuckled the gemstone. Could be dangerous. You never can trust these kinds of things.
A voice every bit as unheeded as Lee’s own conscience.
Good point. You’re smarter than these idiots, after all.
***
Valkyrie was lost.
She rather resented this!
Sevensborough is a postage stamp compared to Waves! How can I be lost?!
But then, Waves had named roads, tramways, and massive landmarks like the Azure temple, the Dragon, the bridge, and the shell to tower above everything.
Here there was nothing but mud, sudden stops, dead ends, flimsy fences, teetering shacks, and the ever-present reek of sewage. North Sevensborough was a slum made defiant home by Azure outcasts; south was just a slum.
An open-air prison for the unwanted to rot.
She used the sun to try and forge her way north, questing for the slum’s end at Main, and inevitably stumbled into a gathering of wolves. With a hurried step and a tight turn, she suddenly burst into a derelict lot full of Tommy’s boys!
They all perked from their idle amusements.
“Oh, what have we–”
“Sod this!”
She spun on a heel and bolted back the way she’d come.
Behind her, the boys laughed and gave chase.
She heard them in pursuit, fast as a blink on familiar territory, and she ran blind through the narrow twists and bends of a maze.
We become the hare, whispered Rie in her ear.
Blind and scared, easily chased into waiting jaws.
Shaking her head, she fought down blind panic, spun, and raced back the way she’d come.
Right into one of her pursuers.
She ducked the boy, burst back into the square of their squalid kingdom, and bolted straight out the northernish exit.
Then, after three sharp bends, she slowed to a jog.
Immediately, her feet shrieked in pain.
Wincing, she leaned against a shanty wall long enough to pull several small chunks of broken asphault from her feet with shaking fingers.
It bled an awful lot for such small holes.
“I saw her head back this way!” someone called.
Then, from the north, she heard a new set of voices.
“Something’s going down!”
A rival gang responding to the noise, ready to steal the best pickings…
“Let them fight!” she prayed.
She hurried away from the brewing confrontation – southeast. The north of this slum was too well-guarded; she would have to break out the south and circle around the longest way.
“Stormmother watch over me,” the girl prayed, wiping blood from her heels and limping away.
Behind, the wolves howled louder, turning their attention on each other for want of a hare.