Night Witches Part 3

*Are there rivers in the Mora.s.s?' I ask.

Reef shakes his head. *If there are, our surveys haven't found them. Water wells up to make pools and lakes. In spring the snow-melt just soaks into the ground.'

What was it Pedla Rue once said about water? It was during a really bad rain-storm when the streets of Sea-Ways were flooded and the harbour walls were broken by giant waves. I remember her pointing from the window of her apartment.

*One thing witches hate,' she lectured, *is running water. Streams, rills, rivers a" they won't cross them willingly. So if a witch comes for you, ring your bells and run to a river. Or to the sea a" they hate salt almost as much as bane-metal. Do you understand?'

Of course I didn't understand. I still don't. It's just stories.

I don't ask Reef where we'll run to if witches come for us, because witches don't exist. I step down on to the ice, arms out, like a dancer. I didn't know it would be so slippery. We never get ice in Sea-Ways. Is it safe? Will it hold? I grab Reef's sleeve and we skid together halfway across the pool, then I stop. I sense movement. Smell blood. Hear a strange creaking, twisting noise . . . metal rubbing, fabric stretching, someone breathing. There a" beyond the stretch of ice a" something wrong is bleeding.

Two black corvils fly in that direction, swift and low. I stop to hear better. Reef stretches back to grab my jacket but I'm already gliding towards the sounds.

*Don't step off the path!'

*Listen, can't you hear that?'

Instantly he slips his gun from its holster, slides off the ice and scans the trees. *What? Where? Traptions? Creepers?'

*Something over there a" high up.'

We walk softly, softly in the snow, leaving two tracks of bootprints side by side. Ahead, something is swinging from a tree. A parachute is caught in the branches. Under it an airman is swinging like a toy to tease a baby. His face, his uniform, his smell, they're so strange he's got to be Crux. Disgusting! A corvil flies down to perch on his head. Reef wasn't wrong when he said the birds like their meat fresh . . .

*Hold this.'

Reef pa.s.ses me the gun, then he's off, climbing the tree like . . . like some sort of animal I can't think of a name for because we don't have real animals back in Sea-Ways, except for the great sea elephants that sometimes swim in the harbour, and they would flatten a tree if they ever tried going up it. Startled, the corvil hops away, with an indignant caa-caa cry.

I clutch the gun and wonder if I can remember my lessons on the school firing range. I also wonder if this is one of the weapons Mama and Papi make at Glissom's, back home a" the People's Number Forty-two Gun Factory. I never really thought about people using them. Shooting them.

Reef unsheathes a knife a" the first one I've ever seen for real. In the communal kitchen at home the meal packets all have seals you can tear open by hand once they're heated, and it's all food you can just fork up. Cold metal cuts a parachute strap. The pilot lurches lower. Reef sets the blade to the next strap. The pilot's head lolls to and fro with the motion. When he eventually falls he's a dead weight. I don't so much catch him as cus.h.i.+on him. His face knocks against my face. Skin against skin. My mind flashes. A vision dazzles me, brighter than snow.

I see this Crux pilot, absolutely see him, his grey eyes open, his mouth open, his hands reaching out to fend off death a" to fend me off. What's the place we're in? Some kind of ma.s.sive, stone building. A G.o.d-house? A fire is burning but that's not what kills him. In the vision I am the one who rips the life out of his eyes. I am his death.

Reef leaps down to my side and hauls the pilot off me.

*Are you OK?'

OK? How can I be OK? Shot at, crash-landed, wolf-warmed, traption-hunted, rift-hung and hallucinating a" what's OK about that? I want to be home with my mama, curled up eating cake and watching streams without wolves or weird visions. I want to be normal, normal, normal.

Nothing normal in the Mora.s.s.

*Rain?'

*I'm fine. He was heavy, that's all.'

Reef yanks the pilot's head back so we can see his face clearly. I don't need to look long. My vision was enough. I know every feature. Now I can't believe there's a real, live Crux, sprawled at my feet of all places! Someone who believes in a G.o.d and wors.h.i.+ps the sun. Aura's always telling us what backward people they are. How they're stunted intellectually. Hardly fit to be called the same species.

I didn't think he'd look so . . . normal. Almost like a person.

He's young, like Reef, maybe a few years older, tops. Perhaps still young enough to have sight at night. The Crux are the same as us in one way a" they lose their night-vision in young adulthood too. His hair is close-shaved with a white diagonal cross dyed on to the stubble. His face is angular, with a sharp nose and high cheekbones. His neck is thick, or is that just his silky white scarf bulking it out? The rest of his clothes are good quality as far as I can tell a" a slim-fitting tunic and trousers with white braces looped over his shoulders and heavy, metal-reinforced boots. Nothing he's wearing is made of bioweave.

He's deathly pale from the cold. His eyes open when Reef shakes him hard. Yes, they're concrete-grey, just like the ones I hallucinated.

*Who are you?' Reef demands. *What are you doing in the Mora.s.s?'

No answer.

Then, before Reef can speak again, the Crux explodes into life with such a stunning burst of energy I can't tell where to point the gun. There's a crack of bone on bone from a head b.u.t.t, the thump of a fist in Reef's gut, the crunch of another fist on Reef's jaw. Reef staggers back. Red blood sprays the snow. The Crux has his fists up to fight again. He makes a savage swing with his right arm. Block, grip, twist, shove, throw . . . in five smooth moves Reef has the Crux face down in the snow with both arms trapped. The Crux rages and kicks for long moments until the last of his strength seeps away.

Reef ties his arms and hobbles his legs tight enough to allow only walking, not kicking.

*Not my eyes!' the Crux snarls as Reef unwinds that white scarf to blindfold him. His accent is distorted, rougher than the proper Rodina way of speaking.

Blinding someone is a form of torture. It's what they do to traitors. They seal their eyelids permanently shut so they'll never see light again. For a G.o.d-of-light wors.h.i.+pper this would be a nightmare torment.

*You deserve far worse than blinding and you'll get it.'

Next, Reef takes the gun from me. I'm surprised he doesn't say anything about how useless I was with it. He searches the pilot and finds nothing but a silver G.o.d-book, which he tosses into the snow. I nudge it with my boot.

*I don't understand. It doesn't switch on, and there's no keypad to connect to it. What's it made of?'

*Paper. There are sheets of it, called pages.'

Reef's right. The book has leaves inside that darken with damp as they touch snow. I vaguely remember this sort of thing from early days in infant school, before Aura was fully operational. I bend down for a closer look. The brainless G.o.d-follower has written his name on the first open page.

*It says Property of Steen Verdessica. Praise the Light Bringer!'

Underneath there's a picture that doesn't even move, of saynts praying beneath an image of the Crux G.o.d, with hair like white sunbeams and eyes that burn. It reminds me of . . . of nothing, because that's all Old Nation lies. Idiot Crux a" wors.h.i.+pping light. In Rodina we just say lights and let technology do the rest.

*Leave that alone if you can't respect it,' Steen Verdessica snaps.

*What are you doing in the Mora.s.s?' Reef asks.

Steen scowls. *Looking for G.o.d.'

Reef is all cold scorn. *In the forest?'

*There were G.o.d-houses here once.'

*But no G.o.d to live in them! Everybody knows science is the only way to achieve civilisation.'

Steen dares to laugh. *Oh yes, just as cannibalism is one way to get a high-protein diet. The whole of Rodina has crept into spiritual darkness. Be glad we've made the sacrifice of coming to your rescue.'

*With war planes and traptions?' Reef snaps back at him. *That reeks of invasion.'

*Was it you?' Steen turns to me abruptly.

Alarmed, I step backwards and almost fall over.

*Me?'

*Were you the one who chased me out of the sky in your little training plane a" your People's Number Fifty-nine Tutor? You put up a good fight, I'll give you that. They're like midges, the rest of the Rodina Air Force, buzzing around waiting to get slapped. But you, cadet girl, you're good. Don't look so surprised at the compliment. You'd have to be good to best me.'

I flick a glance at Reef. Has he got any idea what the Crux is talking about? I certainly don't!

Steen just keeps on talking. *Look, on my wrist, there's a bracelet. I suppose Captain Normal here won't let me offer it myself, but it's yours. It's valuable in ways you're both too blind and G.o.dless to understand. Take it.'

I see a glint of metal between cuff and glove. I don't want it. More than that, the very sight of it makes me feel sick. The metal is the colour of dried blood and it smells like blood too. Who does he think he is to offer me something so nasty?

*Keep your trash, Crux!'

He flinches. *So you won't take it?'

*We do not accept gifts from the enemy!'

Reef breaks the bracelet from Steen's wrist. It's got tiny bells and white crosses twisted into a cl.u.s.ter of metal strands. It rings with a nasty chime, like the bells hung on the Crux traption that chased me.

Reef takes one look at it and says, *A bane-metal G.o.d-token. These trinkets are banned in Rodina. They're all Old Nation. Worthless junk.'

*If you say so.' For a moment Steen's voice loses its arrogance. *I'll have it back if she won't take it for protection. There are things in these woods that can't be stopped by guns . . .'

*I'll be sure to let them feast on you first,' Reef promises. *Now, get to your feet and move.'

A dreamy purple-orange light begins to seep through sky-grazing branches. It's nearly dark but not quite. I keep flicking looks at Reef. Does he really think we'd survive a night out here without lights, or could he make a fire a" that flickering, air-licking, light-living thing I've seen on news-streams but never for real? And I hope I never do. I'd rather be cold than go near flames. Fire looks dangerous. Just pictures of it make my scalp p.r.i.c.kle. I'd rather wrap myself in a wolf to keep me warm.

With Steen stumbling along in front we follow a road of sorts. It winds through the trees with deep ruts where wheels once rolled. Signs of civilisation!

Don't go . . . whisper frost-crisp leaves in a light winter breeze.

Don't go . . . caw the corvils, swooping low to the snow.

Don't go . . . howl wolves deep in the darker wilds.

Do I imagine the sorrowful sigh of someone unbearably old? Someone who murmurs my name before surrendering to silence?

I can't wait to get back to normal again, to see Zoya and know she's all right. Mama and Papi will be going crazy, not knowing what's happened to me. Pedla Rue will be camped out at our apartment waiting for news, the worse the better . . .

We speed up, all three of us scrunching closer together as shadows deepen. Soon I hear the welcome hum of technology a" heat machines that burn off ice and snow, lamps that defy the darkness, saws that slice through silence and wood. There's something else a" a spray, a spatter, a rain of black a" ugh! I hide my face as a foul stickiness spurts towards us all.

*It's all right,' shouts Reef, neatly stepping away from the spray. *It's Slick, a new normalisation compound. Your uncle had a part in creating the formula.'

Through red-watery eyes I watch as s.e.xless, faceless figures in hooded white move past us, spraying great swathes of thick, dripping chemicals that leave Mora.s.s plants wilting into a bad-smelling mush.

*Is it poisonous?'

*Only for the forest,' Reef replies, and just for a moment I can't tell if it's the smell that's making his lip curl or the sight of so much destruction. *Once perfected, Slick will kill anything abnormal, leaving room for new towns and foodlands . . .'

I miss the rest of what he's saying. To my utter, total embarra.s.sment I'm on my knees being sick.

*Go away,' are the first words I manage, though I accept a flask of something hot.

Reef takes to his keypad instead. Eventually he halts and gets that faraway look on his face that shows he's connected. I've never told anyone, but I sometimes wonder if that expression is what s.e.x looks like. Or would he keep his eyes open and gaze into mine as we . . .

Enough!

I shut my eyes. When I open them Reef is looking straight at me. Into me. A Scrutiner.

*Better now? Did you get your updates OK?'

Na a" I didn't even think of connecting myself! Where's the keypad gone? Here it is . . . Connection again! h.e.l.lo, Aura . . . where were you when I needed you?

welcome rain aranoza a" updating a" location: sorrowdale district, lim lands grid ref. 23:4072 a" you have 15 messages a" keep alert for action-requirements a" please wait for action-requirements a" updating a" please wait please wait please wait please wait *Don't worry,' says Reef. *Connection strength improves the further we go from the forest.'

I glance back at the wasteland of Slick-ridden trees. No wonder Aura's ordered normalisation. The forest swallows the safe rules of science.

Steen doesn't have a keypad to get connected. I wonder who he'd message if he could? He hasn't said a word through all our march, though his lips are moving a" some kind of prayer, I suppose. Is there a kind of Slick that would cure him of faith? He catches me looking at him.

*Gloating?' he asks.

I want to ask a" why did you attack us? I can't believe it was only this morning that I flew with Zoya and we got shot. We took off at dawn, as Planet Umbra sank and the sun rose. Now I'm escaping from a story-like land with the guy who shot me as prisoner.

We burst out into open sky and gulp in great lungfuls of fresh air. It's so good to see the red circle of Umbra again, rising to begin its night-long journey across the sky. Light blinds us a" the gorgeous, glorious glow of proper lamps strung round real, bioweave buildings. If I was a Crux I'd thank G.o.d for civilisation.

I turn to Reef.

*You're safe now,' he says. *While you're waiting for updates go and find your friend, she'll be worried about you. Aura can guide you to the medical centre.'

That's it then. Back to normal. I'll just go and never see him again. He'll probably forget about me anyway, the moment I disappear from view . . .

*Wait! Rain . . .'

Heart leaps to mouth, making me too mute to ask, Yes?

Reef bites his lower lip; not a very Scrutiner thing to do. *Back there in the forest you were . . .'

Disobedient, crazy, abnormal?

*. . . very brave. The way you handled the traptions, the Crux, everything. I'll mention it all in my report to Aura.'

I suddenly find my boot-caps unutterably interesting. Mustn't get excited at compliments. Mustn't take his praise too seriously. Remember what Papi always says a" The weed that sprouts up gets yanked out. I want to stay nice and average. Normal.

I also want to reach out and touch Reef's face.

I shove my hands in my pockets instead.

*I'll connect soon,' he continues. *No, don't tell me your Aura code now. I'll find you.'

He leans in, and I guess he's going to do that Lim thing I've heard about, where they kiss cheeks to say goodbye-and-go-well, but I've still not shaken off the sensation of seeing that Crux's death and I do not want a repeat with Reef. I flinch and step back, leaving his lips to brush air, not skin. We both say sorry together. I swallow my heart down. His eyes shadow a little.