The Heretic Land Part 34

The snow he crawled through changed from red and muddy, to pure white, trodden only by the heavy boots of stampeding Kolts.

He left his own trail of blood, but a Kolt did not look back, not unless- Sol heard the voices and shuffled around, half hidden by the deep snow. If he'd had feet, he would have stood and run at the voices. Something emerged from his mouth that might have been a chuckle. But he felt no mirth.

He saw them emerge from the snow shower to his right. They carried something bright, an object that might burn, but he would not turn away. Somewhere deep down he recognised the woman's face. It was a kill that he must make.

The pair paused close to the slew of dead people, and Sol seethed at the disgust on their faces. His daemon urged him to crawl at them, take them down, slash them apart. But something of his human nature remained as well, and that told him that he would never reach them as he was.

So he slumped down amongst the torn bodies and waited until one of them drew closer. Then he lifted himself on his left arm, plucked a throwing knife from his belt with his right hand, and flung it. His aim was true, and the woman fell with the handle protruding from the side of her head.

Sol screeched in delight and started crawling, hand over hand, ignoring what his hands sank into, and dragged his body across. Some of it was still warm. But he was focused on the woman he had dropped and the man running to her aid, because they were still fresh and alive. The thing she had been carrying had fallen into the mud. Its brightness forced against him, but his determination blinded and numbed him to its pain, his daemon madder and hungrier than ever.

The running man reached her first, glancing nervously at Sol as he went. But Sol did not pause to a.n.a.lyse threat or intent. He dragged what was left of himself forwards, and as he reached them he brought his sword around in a killing stroke.

The man stepped in front of the woman and lashed out with his spear. It connected with the sword and knocked it aside, but Sol's grip was solid. He struck the ground and rolled, then he threw himself at the man again. Sword and hardwood clashed, then the man's foot followed through, aimed at Sol's chin.

Sol dipped his head and felt the boot shatter one of his front teeth as it entered his mouth. Then he bit down hard, tasting mud and blood and snow in the boot's grip. He thrust up with the sword and heard a grunt, then started slas.h.i.+ng left and right, his view blocked by the man's foreleg before his face.

Something hit his arm and drove it down against the ground. Sol bit harder, and the man screamed. Glancing to the left, Sol saw the spear through his hand, his arm pinned like a collector's insect.

He let go and rolled, hoping that the momentum would pull the spear free. But he felt and heard the crackle of breaking bones in his hand.

Lying on his back, Sol reached for the short knife he kept in his belt.

Gasping, foot and thigh wet with blood and hot with pain, Bon staggered against Leki and tripped backwards over her p.r.o.ne body. He fell hard and heard her grunt, relieved at least that she was still alive.

But the knife is in her head!

He had little time, no time, because the legless monster that had been her husband was even now trying to rip himself free from the spear, mutilating his hand even more as he lunged towards Leki.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d!' Bon shouted. He was shaking from the pain and fear, and now anger added to the rush that heightened his senses, pulsed through his muscles. He stood and looked around for a weapon, seeing a wide-bladed pike covered in blood and muck. Leaping for it, Bon was already swinging it as he turned back, bringing it around in a wide arc just above Leki's body.

The blade whispered through flesh and growled across bone as it opened Sol's throat to the elements.

His mouth fell open as he slumped down, but no sound emerged. Blood spurted from Sol's wound. He dropped the knife and tugged at the spear pinning his hand again, but his strength seemed to be leaving him. Each gout of blood made him weaker. He writhed, kicking with the ragged stumps of his legs, and Bon smashed the pike once more across his face.

Leki groaned, started shaking, hands and feet kicking against the snow-covered ground. Her groan went on and on, and Bon knew he needed to tend to her. But Sol was still alive, and still struggling.

Bon stepped past Leki and kicked Sol down. As he lifted the pike he felt a warm touch against his knee. Sol, weakened, was gripping him there, pulling himself upright and trying to bite his way into Bon's thigh.

He lifted the pike with both hands and brought it down hard onto Sol's shoulder. It entered at the base of his neck and Bon leaned with all his weight, driving the point down through the Kolt's chest and out of his stomach. Bon let go and stepped back, and Sol tipped onto his face in the snow.

His twitching decreased, and eventually he grew still.

Bon stepped around Leki and knelt by her side so that he could keep Sol in view. Then he saw for the first time the extent of what had happened to her, and all the breath went from him. Winded by confusion and grief, Bon cried out loud when Leki's hand found his, and squeezed.

'Bon!' she said. 'Get me to the Engine!'

The knife had entered her head just above her left ear. Only the handle and a finger's width of blade protruded. She still shook, and her left eye was filled with blood. But she was talking to him.

'Leki ...' he said.

'Engine.'

'I'll help you,' he said, and he could not hold back the blurring of his vision.

'Bon ... Engine.' She squeezed harder, insistent. 'Help me up. Guide me. And the heart ...'

Bon picked it up from where it had melted a pool of snow, wincing at the heat against his hand.

'Tell me what to do,' he said. He eased her up and Leki stood, holding onto his shoulder but supporting her own weight. She raised her hand towards her head, and Bon held it, forced it gently back down.

'I can't feel.'

'Don't touch,' he said. 'We can't touch. We mustn't.'

Leki turned to look at the Engine, and the movement made her unsteady.

'There's a way in,' Leki said. 'Help me find it.'

You should be dead, Bon thought. Your brains should be ruined, your skull shattered, your eye is full of blood. But to say any of this might invite the inevitable, so he helped her walk cautiously across to the machine.

It sang and growled, its voice almost too deep to hear. If it weren't for Leki's courage, Bon would have turned and fled, running from this place until he dropped. Everything wrong with the world was here, and here stood the woman he loved with a knife in her head. He knew that Leki could drop at any moment.

Close to the Engine, she let go of Bon's hand. She stumbled only a little as she went forward, leaning against the metal construct for support. She nursed Aeon's element against her breast like a baby, then turned slowly to look back at Bon, her left eyelid drooping to hide her blindness.

'A way ... in,' she said.

Bon nodded and circled the Engine. He stepped over bodies, picking up another spear in case some of them were still alive and ready to fight. But they were motionless and dead. Twenty steps later he had circled the Engine, and Leki looked even worse.

She leaned against the construct with her head tilted to one side by the weight of the knife. Her left eye was swollen with blood pressure, the lid almost completely closed, and her mouth hung open at an angle. She was shaking. But she was still alive.

'I can't find anything,' Bon said. The Engine had contours and seams and attachments and sockets, but nothing that resembled any sort of access. Each step he took, he'd felt that it was watching him. 'Is it initiated?'

Leki started to shake her head, then swayed. 'No ... but ...'

'But?' Bon prompted. How long until she can't talk? How long until she falls?

'Crex Wry ... is pus.h.i.+ng.' Leki leaned her forehead against the Engine. 'I think magic might ... come through ... soon ...'

Bon stared at the Engine. It sees me, he thought, and compared to Aeon's glare this thing's scrutiny felt deep and dark.

'Top,' Leki breathed.

Bon climbed up, hating the feel of the thing a the metal was warm, and gave the impression of giving, like a fleshy body a yet fighting against it. With each handhold or foothold he cursed what it might contain. Muttering old Fade curses under his breath felt good, and in a strange way invoking the names of G.o.ds he did not believe in gave him comfort. Perhaps it took him back to his childhood, when there were no dangers and he always felt safe.

On top of the Engine he had to crawl carefully, avoiding short spikes and longer antennae that seemed to thrum as if recently struck with something metallic. At the Engine's curved apex he found what he was looking for. Snow melted the moment it landed there, and the metal was slippery and warm, like something just born. The hatch bubbled at the edges.

Something escaping from inside, Bon thought. He tried not to breathe in. Edged back. Looked for a handle on the hatch.

'Bon?' Leki called.

'Yes,' he said. 'Wait.' He turned to slide back down, but Leki was not waiting. She was climbing without care, head still tilted and left eye bleeding b.l.o.o.d.y tears. He wanted to hold her and care for her wounds, but there was no time for that. He knew there never would be again.

He reached out and grabbed her offered hand, helping her up onto the Engine's top and relis.h.i.+ng her warmth. It was natural and sweet compared to the construct's heat. That was the warmth of something diseased.

'If we open the hatch and drop that inside-' Bon said, almost touching the thing Leki held against her chest. But he knew he was clutching, trying to grasp something that could keep him here, with her, for longer. What she said next settled things, and moved everything on towards a future neither of them could know.

'You need to open the hatch and then leave me,' Leki said. Her voice was soft, unhindered by the hard blade buried in her skull. Head on one side, still she managed to give him a smile. Her last.

'I don't want to leave you,' Bon said. 'I've only just found you.'

'But I don't want you to die,' she said.

Bon turned away and attacked the hatch, biting back tears. Still they fell, splas.h.i.+ng in the melted snow and merging with the water bubbling gently around the hatch's edges. The handle turned easily, and he lifted the metal cover open on soft hinges.

A warm breath wafted out, carrying the smell of something unknown. Bon closed his eyes, but none of the complex scents were familiar. The mystery of it was terrible.

He looked inside but it was dark.

Leki was s.h.i.+fting past him, gently but firmly shouldering him out of the way.

'Wait,' Bon said.

'No time.' Her voice broke, growing weaker. She sat on the edge of the hole, legs dangling inside. Then she looked at Bon one last time, left hand coming up and almost touching the knife's shaft. 'No time,' she whispered.

Bon was about to say something more, but Leki shuffled herself from the edge and dropped into darkness.

'Leki!' he gasped. He did not hear her strike the bottom. Neither did he hear her voice, crying out in pain, or surprise, or horror. He heard nothing. It was as if Lechmy Borle had been plucked from the world, and the only evidence that remained of her was the confusion of Bon's heart.

As he sat there bereft, and alone, something changed.

The Engine ceased its subtle vibrations. The scrutiny he had felt before faded, abandoning Bon to this blood-and body-strewn landscape. A moment of utter loneliness followed, in which the losses he had felt hit home afresh a Milian, tumbling from the tower with the truth still close to her heart; Venden, an awkward boy fleeing and becoming something else; and now Leki.

He sighed and it turned into a cry. It seemed a fitting theme to the scene before him.

But this moment of Bon alone was brief, because then the Engine began to a.s.sert its presence again. Rage gushed from it, so deep and profound that Bon tumbled from the Engine and struck the wet ground in his efforts to escape it. He was on his feet and running, leaping between the dead to begin with, then tramping through trodden snow, and finally sprinting across a glade of virgin snow, running, running, from the horrible thing behind him and knowing that he had only a short time before Leki's actions struck home.

Whatever she knew about the Engines, and whatever use Aeon had intended for that part of its heart, it seemed she had already made her move.

Bon had never known he could run so fast, and the thought of what he was leaving behind ironically sent him faster. He mourned Leki, the lover he had never made love with. And his good son Venden, lost to him years ago, and lost again to Aeon. Both were behind him, and his need to survive in their honour drove him on.

Snow fell more heavily. The ground began to shake, as though something huge chased him. Bon did not look back. Creatures were fleeing with him; flying, running, crawling, squirming. Most were small, but he heard larger animals thundering through the undergrowth and, once, a huge shadow pa.s.sed overhead, a winged thing the likes of which he had never seen made ambiguous by the snow. A tadcat sprang past him, hissing and growling and swinging its spined tail, but not pausing to attack. Bon watched it go and ran on, not knowing what else to do.

Each time he thought of slowing, Leki's image appeared in his mind's eye a head tilted, knife protruding, the truth of her demise sparkling in her one good eye. She knew that to die now was her fate, but there were greater fates at work here. If he let himself die also, he would be failing her.

Something was building behind him. He felt its terrible weight and repulsion, shoving him onward through the snow, beyond the limits of his stamina, through the barriers erected by his doubts and fears. He ran and ran and then, way behind him, the Engine exploded.

A great hand lifted him and shoved him forward, up through the leaning and s.h.i.+vering tree canopy, and this time when he fell he was accompanied by other falling things, both living and dead.

The snow will deaden my fall, he thought, and then he struck the ground.

Bon Ugane felt nothing else but blackness.

Chapter 22.

wise Wake, Venden thought. Wake ... wake ... wake ... And then he realised that Aeon was awake, and that its inactivity was due to something else.

Aeon was remembering those old things with which it had once wandered the land. Its memories were vague and diluted through unimaginable time, yet there was a pride and contentment that felt shockingly human. There were also aspirations and fears, most of them old but some still relevant, and strong. There was sadness. And there was hope.

Hope that what it had done would suffice.

And then, behind this staggering ma.s.s of history and memory, Venden sensed the brutal power of Aeon's heart in sudden turmoil. Disgust flooded his mind, a sickening sensation that he was surrounded by all that might be bad or rotten in the world, and Aeon's consciousness writhed where it lay. Its body and mind were both repulsed by what it sensed and felt. Far away, that part it had given became a loaded point of rapidly growing energy, its power shocking, and it sat at the centre of Crex Wry's burgeoning, pitch-black soul.

Ready to explode, and cleanse.

With a sigh, Aeon calmed and settled, and somewhere south of them a ma.s.sive detonation rocked the land. Two more followed soon after, further away but even more impactful. The three blasts plunged seismic fingers deep down to the icy core of Skythe's heart and stirred it, rupturing connections, erupting pressured ice and giving violence, for once, to the land itself.

A distance grew around Venden, as if everything that Aeon had once been was expanding to fill an endless void.

What's happening? Venden asked. The distance threatened to consume.

Fading, Aeon said.

Dying? Venden wondered. But he was not afraid.

Only as much as we can ever die.

As Aeon drifted away, so did Venden, swallowed by the void and settled into nothing. But he knew that sometime a soon, or far into the future a they might wake again.

Following initiation, the Engine pushes them further and further along the beach. General Cove does not call it a retreat, but there is no other way to view the Spike's progress along the sh.o.r.e, then inland away from the Engine's spreading influence. The priest is dead, the rackers are dead, sand is melting, and to the north a snowstorm rages like a beast waiting to strike.

Cove sent scouts along the coast to contact the other Blades, and more scouts north, and north-west, to make contact with the other Engine and Sol Merry's Blade. None of them have returned. The Spike do not dig in, because they always have to be ready to move again.

There have been skirmishes with Skythians all along the coast. The forces are not large, and they are disorganised and easily fought off. But the small combats mean that no one can rest. The soldiers are tired, and the expanding influence of the Engines has started to inspire rumblings of discontent among the ranks. Magic rises for us, the voices protest, so why must we retreat before it?

Cove has many of the same concerns, but he is their general and cannot voice his worries. All is going to plan, he says. This was all antic.i.p.ated, and soon magic will be our tool in destroying Aeon, and returning the world to the rightful hands of the Fade. He speaks these words with confidence, but his stomach does turns and jumps as he watches the Engine's influence scorch its way along the sh.o.r.eline. He can only a.s.sume that the Engine further along the coast is doing the same, and the one to the north ...

But when his scouts do not return, and his suspicions grow, and the discontent amongst his troops turns in some cases to outright questioning of their cause and method, Cove makes a stand. He calls an audience of the Bladers, and as they wait before him the ground begins to shake.

They look to the north.