Night Witches Part 10

The only sign of life is the sudden swoop of a solitary corvil. It settles on the roof of a half-ruined house at the far end of the street and begins preening.

Black feathers drift through my mind. I shake them away. They won't be s.h.i.+fted.

We walk on, wafted by eddies of spring spores. Hyper-aware, I can count each one, well into the tens of thousands. Most will fall and die. Some will root and thrive; some will root and be weeded. That's the way it goes. We survived the night; Rill and Henke didn't. Life is life.

Rain . . .

My name comes blowing over the burned fields. I twist round, scaring a whole flock of corvils now lined up on the guttering of the end house. Who's there? Who's calling me? It's an ancient voice a" the tremor of an old woman.

Rain . . .

I seem to hear footsteps running along Sorrowdale's streets. Prayers from a G.o.d-house. Mama's voice reading the bedtime screen a" Look, Rain, look at the wicked wolves waiting in the forest . . . Always be a good girl, Rain.

Reaching the end house I imagine Mama's here, in the open doorway, with me wrapped tightly in her arms a" Welcome back, my baby, my precious sweeting. I promise I'll never lose you again. She takes me into the kitchen where I smell a fresh batch of spring cakes, hot from the oven. On the tree branches in the yard yellow paper suns are smiling and turning on their strings.

There, that's where Papi sat, looking at me with a mixture of joy and confusion once I'd been rescued. Rescued from what? There, that's where I was set once, in a beautiful bioweave cradle with a blanket that smelled of some other baby. Who? Over there, that's the window where Mama watched me as I played in the yard at the back of the house . . . making sure that the forest didn't come to steal her child again.

All illusions, of course.

There's a shed at the end of the yard. I yank the door open and yelp as a rustle of furry rablets run for darker corners. I spot a spade a" made for gardens, not graves.

*Pip?'

I almost leap out of my skin. *Zoya! You nearly gave me a heart attack.'

*You went off without me and didn't answer when I called.'

She's standing outside what would have been a kitchen, looking through the gap where a yard door would have been. Crux soldiers have obviously scoured the place for food or fine things. Cupboard doors swing open on to emptiness. A hateful white G.o.d-cross has been slashed on one wall, like an obscene kiss.

*Sorry, I was . . . looking for a spade. I got one.'

Zoya scuffs her boots in the mess on the floor. *This place is dead. Come on. Let's get this over and done with.'

We find the wrecked Storm soon enough. Find Henke and Rill. Find the courage to pull them from the burned wood. Zoya's sick until she's got nothing left to heave up.

*Where shall we bury them?' she hiccups.

*The old G.o.d-house is close. There'll be a body-field next to it.'

I know where the G.o.d-house is without even looking a" how abnormal is that? I can see, without needing eyes, the street leading to the burial plot, except in my memory the body-field isn't edged with a brittle lattice of modern bioweave. In my memory, bulky bushes of some nasty plant guard the bodies of the dead. The word feybane sneaks into my mind.

Now these bushes have been uprooted, but narrow wires of red metal still criss-cross the cemetery, dividing rows of grave markers.

Zoya kicks some of the metal. *I read about these, or Rill told me, or someone did. They're more of that bane-metal stuff. Meant to keep witches away.'

*No such thing . . .'

* . . . as witches. I know.'

I start digging, careful not to trip over the wires. The sun is unfairly hot for this early in spring. Heat, effort and emotion make me feel sick inside and out.

The nearby G.o.d-house casts shade, but not on us. I'm surprised it's still standing. Most were pulled down once people learned from Aura how to think properly. They were converted into food stores or schools. Standing here now, looking at the garlands of paper prayers Crux have pasted round the door, I think I remember the day the witch-warning bells came clanging, ringing, falling down, leaving dents on the cold, stone floors. Trucks took them away because there were no such things as witches, so no need to warn against them.

Are these real memories or is it the sun? The trauma? Should I have kept the bane-metal charm Papi wanted me to have for protection? What if there really are witches? What if they're waiting for me, just on the edge of common sense and science?

Rain . . .

Spores make me sneeze a" a welcome distraction. Keep busy, that's the best answer. Dig.

Our hearts are heavy as we hack into the wet ground to make a final resting place for Henke and Rill. I hardly knew them, apart from the last, intense days of training together. We never messaged. I never took Henke up on his offer to learn some balika tunes. Never asked Rill what sort of stuff she liked connecting to. Now he won't play music ever again and she won't churn out bad jokes. We may have given them the respect of a burial but it seems horrible just to leave them in the ground, alone and unknown.

*Can't we put something with them? Some goodbye present?'

Zoya frowns. *Sounds a bit Old Nation. What would Aura say?'

*Aura doesn't work here any more.'

I notice a tangle of thorn-vine bushes crawling up one side of the G.o.d-house. The warmth of the sun has made their buds burst open into flame-coloured flowers, and there, alone in a bed of twigs, is a speck of glossy black a" a baby bird with a miniature beak and fluffy feathers sprouting. I hear a whirr of wings and the grip of talons on branches. Too late I remember what Reef said about corvils killing to protect their kin, but the birds higher up on the vines don't attack. They're watching me, seeing what I do next.

I pick four of the thorn-vine flowers, one for each eye socket. I can't explain why. Then we say goodbye-and-go-well to the brother and sister. Goodbye and go where? I wonder. Steen would say something like, The dead are gathered to the lap of the Light Bringer. Aura would send intricate explanations of how the body is broken down through decomposition and its molecules recycled into the surrounding ecosystem.

I'm sure Henke would've liked music, but my voice is dry. It will not sing, despite the tune I've got going through my head with s.n.a.t.c.hes of lyrics a"

Light the white light, burn the red flame; Blows the wild wind, snuffs all out again . . .

Who used to sing that dismal song to me?

Rain . . .

Zoya steps over the bane-metal and starts heading towards the fields. *We should go. The Crux could come back . . .'

I'm right behind her when down from the sky comes a flurry of feathers and claws, straight at me. I cover my face. Feather-tips brush past and there, when I look down, is the baby corvil, set at my feet. It peeps at me. I step over it. Two corvils swoop again, driving me back.

Zoya takes off her cap and starts flapping it at them. She looks so funny I can't help laughing. The whole joke goes on until I scoop the baby bird into my cupped palms. Then the corvils fly away.

*You're not keeping that,' Zoya says.

I run the tip of my forefinger over the bird's s.h.i.+ning head. It peeps again. *Life is life,' I say.

*Can I stroke it?' she asks. *Ow! It stabbed me with its mouth!'

*It's called a beak, I think.'

She glares. *Beak, then. I'm bleeding!'

*It's only a little cut. It'll be fine.'

*Since when did you train as a medic? Right about the time you started stealing planes and kidnapping me?'

I don't know what to say apart from a general sorry that's meant to cover a whole ton of disgraces. While Zoya complains a" Sorry isn't good enough . . . Don't ever pull a stunt like that again . . . I can't believe you just brought me here we could be in so much danger and I promised your papi I'd look after you a" I pluck some thorn-vine leaves and make a bed for the baby bird in my jacket pocket.

Not long after we take off the sun dims, clouds gather and rain starts again. I realise I've left the spade. Too bad. It would be handy for digging us out of the trouble we'll be in once we get back at base.

You only realise how comforting a crowd is when it squeezes you out.

From the moment our Storm lands back at Loren there's only Roke and Reef waiting. An official un-Welcome Committee.

I shrivel up inside to see the cold expression on Reef's face.

*What were you thinking?' he demands to know, while Roke is busy questioning Zoya. *You stole a plane!'

*I brought it back.'

*You took off without orders.'

*To find Henke and Rill!'

*They were already dead.'

*We had to bury them.'

*And who'd bury you when you got shot down, flying into the war zone in broad daylight?'

*You don't have to shout at me!'

*I'm not shouting!' he shouts, then he calms a bit, rubbing his eyes as if they're sore. *You should've connected for ac-reqs from Aura. You wouldn't have been permitted to go.'

*Do we always have to do everything according to Aura?'

Reef stares at me, stunned. The question is too abnormal to need an answer. *Look, Rain, I didn't . . . people didn't know where you'd gone or whether you'd even come back. No, don't say anything else. I knew it was a mistake . . .'

*What was a mistake?'

*This . . . Everything . . . Us . . .'

He steps away and closes his eyes. The black Eyes in the Dark tattoos show on his lids.

Zoya is in tears once the Scrutiny is done and I feel like a monster because it's all my fault. We're given our keypads back and told to go and get breakfast.

*You're grounded until further notice,' says Roke with a certain amount of unsmiling satisfaction.

*We shouldn't have gone,' moans Zoya. *I shouldn't've let you talk me into it. What's everyone going to say? Marina Furey must think we're awful. I want to die. They won't tell my father, will they? He'll kill me if I mess up here.'

For once she lets me go into the canteen first. I take a deep breath a" nearly retching on the stink of the herbs Haze still insists on cooking with a" and then, with my hands deep in my pockets and my gaze to the ground, I head over to our usual squadron table.

People a" strangers a" start to point, murmur and message. The Storm squadron go silent when they see us. What's worse is the sight of the breakfast table still set with places for Henke and Rill, as if they'll just come bustling in any moment to sit down to eat.

I link arms with Zoya, sensing she's about to turn and run. She stuck with me in the Storm, I'll stick with her now. This has got to be faced.

One by one the Storm crew sc.r.a.pe back their chairs and stand. I almost faint. Don't tell me they're going to cut and walk out on us!

At first no one speaks, then Mossie, red-eyed from crying, nods towards a seat. Petra pushes a plate of bread closer. Dee lines up two mugs. Yeldon pours tea.

Zoya gives a little sob. *You mean we can join you?'

*Are you crazy?' says Mossie.

*Probably,' mutters Dee to no one but herself. *They'd have to be to do what they did.'

*Are you crazy?' Mossie repeats. *Of course you can join us. You're both one of us. One of Many.'

*One of Many,' they all echo.

*What you did,' says Lida in a pretend-not-to-be-tearful voice, *it was brave, as well as demented and disobedient.'

*Yeah,' says Ang. *And I wouldn't worry about getting Scrutiny for it. I got detention my first week in school. Twice.'

A group of men comes to loom over us, each with an emblem of the People's Number Nine Bomber Squadron on their uniform.

One says, *Hey, we've heard about you lot, buzzing around playing war games when the rest of us are trying to sleep. They say the Crux are calling you night witches.' He prods my shoulder and says, *Aren't you the kiddie who stole one of those wooden jokes this morning?'

The Storm squadron closes ranks.

*No,' says Lida firmly, arms crossed. *She's one of the kids who kicked the Crux out of Sorrowdale because your planes weren't up to the job.'

Grounded.

It's like a prison sentence. Before I ever flew it didn't bother me to keep both feet firmly on the ground, with maybe just my head in the clouds during a really boring cla.s.s at school. Now I'm itchy, twitchy aching to be back in the air again. What use are we to the war if they don't let us fight? All day we have to wait in the crew-room, watching Victory reports that can't hide the fact the Crux are flattening resistance.

*They shouldn't be winning!' says Fenlon, bursting in on us one day. *We absolutely outgun and out-tech them and they're all just homicidal religious junkies. I'd feel sorry for them coming up against our armed forces if it wasn't for the fact that they keep churning out more troops and traptions.'

*Isn't it our superior technology that's the problem?' I ask tentatively. *They're using machines that aren't affected by the Mora.s.s. If we had more Storms and some traptions of our own . . .'

*Ha! Try telling that to the scientists! We've got the go-ahead for more Storms at least, but up in Corona City they're waiting to develop some sort of super-weapon that's going to turn the tide of war.'

*Worse than Slick?'

*Makes Slick look nice enough to pour on your porridge, I heard. In the meanwhile, keep your kit bags ready packed, kids. It's only a matter of time before Loren is in range of Crux missiles.'

He's right.

*It's not a retreat,' everyone says as Loren Airbase is dismantled and boxed up. Not a retreat, as trucks are loaded floor to ceiling. Not a retreat, as Storms take off in search of a safer home for the night-bomber squadron. The official term from Aura is Strategic Withdrawal.

Otherwise known as running away.

Still grounded, Zoya and I have to travel by road, like techies. Zoya goes on ahead in a truck with more ground crew and Roke as guard. I'm to be watched by Reef.

*See you there!' Mossie waved as they set off. She tossed me a packet of cookies, somehow knowing I wouldn't want the pack-up Haze made for everyone.