Queen of faces, p.33
Queen of Faces, page 33
‘Rising waters affect the weather in ways you might not expect,’ said the minister. ‘It doesn’t always mean more rain. Wet season is wetter; dry season is dryer. It hasn’t rained on the islands for three weeks. They’ll go up like matchsticks.’
‘And then what happens?’ I asked.
‘Everyone will burn on those islands,’ said my mother. ‘Every town, every house, every street and building.’
‘Everyone I grew up with,’ whispered Ana. ‘My mother. Prophets, my mother.’
‘The inferno will rage for weeks, months, perhaps,’ said the minister, ‘consuming firefighters and mages who try to stop it. The sky will turn red over all of Caimor, and the ashes will rain over us for a year. The islands will be a barren wasteland for a generation, and for the lucky few that escape, they will find only hell waiting for them on the mainland, when the famine wipes out our food supply.’
She swallowed. ‘Before long, there won’t be enough graves in every cemetery in Caimor.’
I pushed down my bubbling nausea. This couldn’t be happening. The Shenti War had been bad, but this was apocalyptic. We had safeguards. The world couldn’t end that easily.
‘Tarquin.’ My mother turned to a man in a bedraggled suit, clearly just dragged out of bed. ‘What about importing food from other countries? Kshatra, or some of the smaller islands.’
Tarquin shook his head. ‘It’s a long, dangerous trip across the oceans. Even if it wasn’t, with the state of our diplomacy . . .’ He squeezed the bridge of his nose. ‘Most of them would probably throw a party.’
My fingers stopped tapping, slippery with sweat. ‘What happens when we run out of food?’
‘Commonplace gets their revolution.’ My mother shrugged. ‘Or the Shenti finish us off. Without food, Caimor will die. The manner of death is just a formality.’
Tarquin scowled. ‘If this is true, what’s our next move?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ My mother stepped forward. ‘We grab every mage we can, stuff them into the Home Fleet. Our best from the Guard, Nicholas and Inwood and the Symphony Knight. And our most promising students as well. Adam Weaver and Samuel Pakhem, for a start.’
I swallowed at the second name. She’s sending him into the fire.
‘We sail south, to the Agricultural Islands. Then we kill Khaiovhe.’
‘Your fleet is too slow, Admiral,’ said the navy man. ‘If Khaiovhe is already flying to the islands, it won’t get there in time.’
‘Planes, then,’ said my mother. ‘Military cargo planes, carrying our best. We have some A-21s at our base near Elmidde.’ She nodded. ‘I will travel with them and give Vice Admiral Rentis my command of the Home Fleet. But we have to leave now, or it’ll be too late.’ She nodded to a man, and he sprinted off down the hallway.
Ana leaned forward. ‘What about the Aeon Scroll?’
A dozen mages glared at her like she’d just suggested a puppy massacre.
‘The scroll holds forbidden spells, right?’ said Ana. ‘Overwhelming power. Or at least some earth-shattering truth that could turn the tide, somehow? Couldn’t you crack it open? Is there ever going to be a more important time than this?’
‘Know your place, witch,’ hissed my mother. ‘You have no idea what lies on that piece of paper. I should remove your tongue for even speaking of it.’ She gestured to the others, and they started to file out of the hallway. Carriwitch lingered next to her, quiet.
I stood, facing her eye to eye. ‘Let us join you.’
My mother sneered. ‘Caimor fights with soldiers, not criminals.’
‘They bested Adam Weaver.’ Carriwitch stepped forward, stroking his beard. ‘Such a feat lies beyond ordinary skill.’
‘They’ve never fought in a real battle, Nicholas,’ my mother said. ‘And they dropped a building on our officers.’
‘All of whom survived.’
‘We all cherish your wisdom, Headmaster, but my men wouldn’t feel safe with these cut-throats watching our backs.’
‘Well,’ said Carriwitch, ‘if they’re not coming with us, I won’t stand for throwing them in prison. These warriors fought for us, bled for us. They’ve taken their singular potential and sharpened it to a razor’s edge.’ He looked at Ana. ‘They deserve to be proud.’
Warmth surged through my limbs.
‘I will vouch for these young soldiers,’ said the headmaster. ‘When a judge reviews their case, I shall recommend a pardon for their past crimes.’ The old man nodded. ‘It’s the least we can do.’
I blinked, reeling. Ana stopped breathing for a moment. A full pardon, for all of us. A new chance at life. It seemed too good to be true.
‘Fine,’ said my mother. ‘But after the battle.’
The headmaster bowed to us. ‘Farewell, young mages. I pray we meet again.’ He ambled away.
I exhaled, liquid joy rushing through my veins. If Caimor didn’t starve to death, this meant we wouldn’t be languishing in prison for the rest of our lives. We wouldn’t be fugitives any more.
Then the joy melted away, replaced by the icy truth lurking beneath. We’d be free, yes, thanks to Carriwitch’s kindness, but what about everything else? Ana was still dying, was still short of the funds she needed to escape her Edgar. My mother wasn’t going to let me Oust my replacement. The two of us were still stuck, right where we’d been at the start of this nightmarish year.
And if Khaiovhe succeeded, none of this would matter anyway. Ana’s mother, Ana’s home, would go up in flames. Every one of us would starve to death.
My mother gave me one last glare, then stalked away, joining the frantic preparations for the departure. The hall was empty again, save for a guard, sitting on a stool with his rifle in his lap. A baseball game played from the radio next to him.
‘Wow,’ said Korin. ‘Your mom really doesn’t like you.’
‘She does not,’ I said.
‘She must still have some scrap of empathy for you.’ Ana shook her head. ‘I mean, Prophets, the woman gave birth to you.’
‘She didn’t, actually,’ I said. ‘The day her pregnancy test came back positive, she swapped with a specialised midwife for eight months. Most nobles do.’
‘My father gave birth to me,’ said Nima.
We all looked at them.
‘What?’ they said. ‘He was swapped with my mom for half the pregnancy. It’s tradition in Kshatra. Doesn’t everyone do that?’
Ana hunched over, shivering. ‘My mother is on those islands.’ She stared at the cell bars. ‘I can’t just sit here and wait for her to burn. We have to do something.’
‘We can’t,’ muttered Nima. Korin kicked them in the shin, but they ignored it. ‘They’re injecting us with Null Venom every six hours. They took our weapons, and we just spent our only bargaining chip.’ He looked at Ana with both bodies. ‘We got ourselves a pardon, and your boss, old man headmaster, is saving your life. If your mother books it, be grateful you didn’t join her and buy some liquor in her honour.’
Hours passed in the night. Ana paced around the cell, her eyes twitching, trying and failing to think of a play. The guard’s radio kept broadcasting that stupid baseball game, an endless itching distraction.
Outside the window, smoke rose from the House of Ministers, far below. The riots were spreading through Midtown, and it looked like law enforcement was struggling to keep the peace.
On the ocean, a trio of cargo planes flew south over the water, heading for the Agricultural Islands and packed with mages. Carriwitch. My mother. Adam Weaver. And Samuel. The boy I loved, flying to war without me.
If they killed Khaiovhe out there, I wouldn’t have a prize for my mother. No vengeance, no return, no Samuel. I’d shrink into some tiny corner of Lowtown, failing and forgotten.
And if we couldn’t escape this cell, Ana might just lose her mother.
The greatest battle of my lifetime, and we were stuck on the sidelines.
Still, we weren’t alone in that dubious honour. My mother had left behind the Home Fleet she’d built, and everyone in it. A thick cluster of battleships, led by the Adamant, crews reinforced with their usual groups of battle mages. My mother’s second, Vice Admiral Rentis, was probably just as thrilled as we were to be left behind.
The sounds of the riots drifted in from the city. Gunshots. Pepper gas. Shouting. All mixing with the guard’s stupid baseball radio in the hallway. Everything grew fainter, more distant as the hours passed, as the night dragged on and we couldn’t think of anything.
My tired mind slowly crumpled like wrapping paper, and my eyelids fluttered shut.
When I woke, something wet was touching my hand and I heard a gurgling sound, echoing over Korin’s quiet snores. My first thought was that the toilet had overflowed, and our cell was flooding. I jerked awake in the darkness, wiping my hand on my trousers. The rest of Queen Sulphur lay peacefully on their mattresses, and the guard’s blasted radio was still playing, some rerun of an old game, probably.
A thin beam of moonlight shone through the window, and I choked.
My hand was red. A pool of crimson liquid spread on the stone floor.
I crawled to the bars of the cell, looking out in the dim light.
The Humdrum guard lay in the hallway, his throat slit, wheezing softly with his eyes glazed over.
My neck tensed, and I crawled over to Ana, then Nima, then Korin, shaking their shoulders to wake them.
Korin groaned. ‘What—’
I held a finger to my lips, then gazed out of the window. A silver oracle snake slithered through the dark clouds, winding towards the city. Towards Paragon Academy, and history.
I thought back to Khaiovhe’s words, in the temple. Revolutions aren’t won with clean hands and plucky teenagers.
What are they won with? Ana had asked.
Blood, she’d said. And steel.
Khaiovhe had a plan.
the pool of blood spread on the floor, grazing the tips of my leather shoes.
Ana stirred quietly, reaching for a knife that wasn’t there. Nima pressed their two faces against the window bars. Voices echoed from the hallway, and Ana held a finger to her lips.
‘That all of them?’ A man, gruff and impatient.
I crawled over the pool of blood and peeked into the hallway. Two Black Arrows stood at the far end, holding knives and pistols. Two more Humdrum guards lay beneath them, their blood staining the floor.
‘Almost all,’ said the other man. ‘I saw some sleeping prisoners in the cell down there.’
I jerked back behind the wall, my palms sweaty. With the Null Venom sapping our magic, these men could shoot us with impunity.
‘Get a look at their faces?’
‘It’s dark. Couldn’t find the light switch. Shall I wake them? They could be allies.’
‘Leave them. We don’t have time to waste on petty criminals. Tonight, there are far richer steaks on the menu.’
Footsteps echoed from the hallway, receding, then vanishing.
‘Is it a two-pronged attack?’ I muttered. ‘Here and the Agricultural Islands?’
All eyes turned to Ana.
She shook her head. ‘Commonplace just lost a small army at that ruined village. They don’t have the numbers for a twin attack. But the capital is here. Paragon is here. And now our strongest mages are a thousand miles away.’
I ground my teeth. ‘Commonplace played us.’
Ana nodded. ‘I don’t know how, but Khaiovhe must’ve fed Nima a decoy.’
‘Commonplace knows I can copy skills,’ said Nima. ‘She must have studied those photos over and over, just to fool me. Knowing it’d get to the Eldritch Guard, sooner or later.’
‘That’s impossible,’ I growled. ‘How did she know we’d be at the village? She can’t see the bloody future.’
‘She didn’t have to,’ said Ana, her voice hollow. ‘She just had to wait. She must’ve been planning this for months, waiting for a chance for Nima to use Copycat on her. Wait long enough, and your enemies will fall into place.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s what I would do.’
‘Prophets,’ hissed Nima. ‘How many moves ahead of us is that damn witch?’
‘Enough.’ Ana swallowed. ‘The islands. The famine. The fire. It’s all fake. A lure for the Eldritch Guard.’ Her voice hardened. ‘The real attack is here.’
Carriwitch, my mother and all our best mages were flying south to the Agricultural Islands, chasing a mirage.
On the plus side, it meant Samuel was safe. So was Ana’s mother.
On the minus side, we were all going to die.
‘Most of the students are still here,’ I said. ‘Khaiovhe is going to kill them.’
‘Ori,’ murmured Ana. Her grey skin had spread up her neck, brushing her chin.
I shook my head. ‘You can’t hide an attack this big. The Eldritch Guard must be coming back already.’ I jabbed my finger towards the window. ‘And the witch miscalculated. The Home Fleet is still here.’ My mother’s fleet, sans my mother. ‘They’re going to dice Commonplace.’
I stretched my hand through the cell bars and grabbed the dead guard’s bag, stained with blood. I riffled through the contents. No keys or weapons, but it did include a pair of binoculars. I took them to the window and peered out, at the dark waters far below. The entire fleet still floated on the ocean, battleships, destroyers and heavy cruisers, every sailor, every screw chosen carefully by my mother. The largest fleet in Caimor, guarding the capital with steel and fire. The Adamant stood proudly at the heart of the formation, a ship that had won more battles than I had years.
All the ships stood at action stations, gathered together in a tight formation. Their searchlights had been turned on, and sailors raced across the decks. Like us, they’d realised something was wrong.
I snorted. Khaiovhe had to be suicidal. Fighting some mages at a fish market was one thing. This was a whole fleet, filled with Voidsteel bullets, explosives and platoons of the Eldritch Guard. Even a third of it could crush this coup attempt.
In the distance, the warships’ pale searchlights aimed at a point in the darkness. As the ships turned towards it, I squinted through the binoculars, making out the details under the harsh glare.
A young woman stood on the water, tall, beautiful, with hair like the empty night sky. Wind blew through her ragged black evening gown, flapping it around her.
Khaiovhe. One woman against an entire fleet. A gnat, facing down a mountain. The ships aimed their massive guns in her direction, chugging towards her, drawing close in a tight formation. A towering wall of cold steel and gunpowder.
The witch held up a microphone. The dead guard’s radio crackled, and the baseball game went quiet. The sound of crashing waves echoed out of the speaker. Khaiovhe was using a spell, broadcasting her radio signal all over the city.
‘Turn round and kneel!’ yelled a man on a loudspeaker. Vice Admiral Rentis. The acting captain of the Adamant, my mother’s second-in-command. His mages outnumbered the witch a hundred to one, and the guns on his ships could melt steel like it was chocolate. But still, his voice wavered, cracking at the edges. ‘Turn round and kneel!’
‘Soldiers,’ said Khaiovhe. ‘As you sink beneath the waves, know this: your lives were a canvas, and you painted them with blood. Your hearts knew good, but you served evil. Blame your orders, your parents, your fortunes.’ Her voice grew quiet. ‘But you chose this fate. Only you.’
The wind blew over the dark waves. No one dared to breathe.
‘Now,’ she said. ‘Drown.’
The Adamant exploded.
A massive object shot out of the water, spiking into the warship from below. It ripped through the steel hull and burst out of the top, stretching into the night sky.
A tentacle. An armoured black tentacle.
The monstrous limb towered over the battleship, five times higher than the grey mast and thick as a smokestack. It slammed down on the deck, crushing sailors like grapes.
Screams echoed from the radio.
Dozens more tentacles tore out of the water and smashed into the other ships, tearing guns and ripping holes. Destroyers exploded in orange fireballs, casting an eerie glow on the water. Battle mages gathered on the decks, flinging icicles at a tentacle, shooting lightning bolts that hit with explosive force.
Every bit of magic glanced off its thick black armour, built like a scorpion’s tail.
The ships’ weapons were equally useless, a smattering of naval guns and depth charges that went utterly ignored by the beast. One of the mages unfurled her wings and flew away. Another tentacle darted from the waves and slapped her out of the air like swatting a fly.
A storm kraken.
Khaiovhe’s weapon was a storm kraken.
They weren’t just myths. They were real. My mind flashed back to Korin’s upgrades to her submarine, her search in the ice for an ancient beast. He found something for her. He found something, and now he wishes he hadn’t.
Hardened warships sank. Soldiers rushed for lifeboats. Oil fires roared, flickering on and off as thunderous waves doused them. Sailors with life jackets flailed in the water, and battleships exploded beside them, peppering them with debris.
Then the ocean itself seemed to shudder, rushing and spiralling towards a singular point. A massive black pit formed in the water, and the ocean drained into it, like a waterfall.
A maw.
The creature’s mouth, devouring the water like a drain to a bath. Men and women swam away from the yawning abyss, or desperately rowed in their lifeboats. But the void swallowed them all, one after another. Warships, debris and sailors. All of them tumbling into the darkness.
One by one, the screams were snuffed out.
Khaiovhe tossed aside the microphone, then walked away. The radio went silent. The fires went out, and darkness swallowed the ocean. I could only make out a blurred shape, a tempest of writhing tentacles, ripping and crushing and drowning.
High up in our prison cell, Queen Sulphur was frozen in place. Korin stared at the monster. His hands shook by his sides, and his eyes bulged. Even Nima looked shaken, sweat coating both their foreheads.
In two minutes, Caimor’s Home Fleet had been decimated. They’d gone from the strongest armada in a thousand miles to a mass of drowning sailors.
