Night Witches (13 page)

O
ne of the factory meeting-rooms has been converted to a dorm with bed-slats on the floor and windows shuttered blind for the blackout. I rescue my kit bag from a pile dumped in one corner and dig through it, looking for clean clothes and a comb. I’m shivering and itchy and going half crazy from Haze’s words bouncing round my head.

How dare she creep up on me like that! Now I just feel wrong, wrong,
wrong
. I scratch my nails along the skin of my arm, just to remind myself I exist. Long, red welts appear. I gouge deeper, glad of the pain’s distraction and fascinated by the bright blood that appears. What if I found a knife? What could I do then! The pain of the cuts would surely be better than the pain of all this abnormality.

Calm, Rain – keep calm. It’s not normal to cut yourself.

Zoya’s not back yet. Is she avoiding me? No, that’s paranoia.

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you
, is what Fenlon likes to say.

I should stop being so anxious. Zoya likes her food. She’ll just be getting seconds in the new canteen block, wherever that is, eating more of the nasty stuff Haze produces, and being with the rest of the squadron, like normal. Like I should be.

I towel my hair dry. So far I’ve avoided the regulation military haircut by hiding my braids in my cap. I tip my head forward and begin to brush vigorously. I daren’t use a mirror, too scared I’ll see something – or nothing – reflected. I’m so focused I barely notice a door opening. Someone walks over.

‘Hello, Rain.’

I fling back my hair. ‘What . . . what are you doing here? I mean, hello. You’re alive! You made me jump.’

He smiles. Reef Starzak. Right in front of me. I try and smooth the static black around my face.

‘Sorry. I was just . . .’

Reef looks around the dorm. Now I’m conscious of how old and grey the bioweave is; how thin the blankets; how stark the unshaded light.

‘So, this is where you’ll sleep.’ He sits on the bed-slats opposite. The dorm’s pretty tight for space so our knees are almost touching.

‘How are you then? Reinstated to fly, I hear. I’m glad you’re OK. You are OK, aren’t you?’

Why’s everyone asking if I’m OK when I’m absolutely falling apart?

‘I’m fine. Normal. What about you? You look . . . well.’
He looks gorgeous
.

Reef runs a hand over his hair, embarrassed at the compliment. This is the first time we’ve been properly alone together since the Morass. It’s quite painful, and wonderful too.

‘I’m feeling a lot better since Aura told me you’d survived your fall from the bridge. My hopes that Verdessica had drowned were premature.’

‘He . . . pulled me out of the river. Saved me, really. I don’t know why.’

‘You don’t?’ Reef gives a wry smile then looks down at his boots for a moment. ‘I guess you have that effect on people. You really . . . you’re really . . . Na – I shouldn’t, being a Scrutiner and all that, but I like you, Rain. You remind me of the forest in late winter, so still but so ready to burst into life. Thinking of you makes me wonder what the Morass is like in spring, when the snow’s gone and everything is shaded green from new leaves.’

The Scrutiner is gone. He’s real now. Open to me. The slice of space between us seems to get whisked away until we’re so close I breathe in the air he’s breathed out. I love his smell – washed hair and warm skin.

‘Rain . . .’ His voice is husky. His hand brushes nothingness because I’ve moved away.

‘Sorry.’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I shouldn’t . . .’

‘You should. It’s just . . . I can’t.’

‘You’re with someone else?’ He looks like he’s been slapped.

‘No! No one. It’s this thing. I can’t . . . I don’t . . . It’s . . . I’m not feeling well. A bit feverish. Maybe I’ll see a medic.’

What else can I tell him? That I have visions, hear voices, snap bomb wires with my bare hands . . . that I’m
not
normal
?

He’s worried. ‘You don’t look ill. You look . . . nice.’

‘I’m fine. Not contagious.’ Spreading my arms out with a nervous laugh I suddenly panic about the scratch marks on my arms but, strangely, the skin isn’t red, scabbed or even cut any more. Everything is whole and healed.

Out of the blue Reef asks, ‘You haven’t found any more of those Old Nation witch-bane charms, have you?’

‘Witch-bane?’

‘It’s an Old Nation metal used in the knots and bone artefacts you found. They’re supposed to keep witches away.’

‘But there’s—’

‘. . . no such thing as witches. So we’re told.’ His voice trails off and he’s lost in memories, where I can’t follow. They’re not happy memories, I can tell that much.

‘Was it Haze who made the charms?’ I ask.

He nods. ‘She seems to have had a difficult and sheltered life, skivvying for some old grandmother type. She hadn’t ever used a keypad or connected before I found her in the forest. We’re keeping an eye on her, don’t worry. She’s got a healthy fear of Scrutiners.’

‘She was acting funny in the bath-house earlier, saying stupid things.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like . . . oh, nothing. She was a bit crazy really. Said I’d stolen something, but I haven’t, I swear, I really haven’t.’

Reef smoothes his hair again. ‘Listen, Rain, all sorts of abnormal things have happened to you recently – the Morass, the war, the night-missions. You’re under a lot of pressure, and it’s going to get worse. It’s not fair, I know. I want to help if I can. If there’s ever anything you want to tell me, anything at all, no matter how abnormal . . . come to me
first
, do you understand? You do know you can trust me, don’t you?’

I want to. I truly want to. This time when he leans closer I don’t pull back, I just set my hand on his sleeve to hold him away. That’s when the lights go off. No warning, no blinking. Utter blackout. Not even back-up lo-glo lamps.

Reef doesn’t move to connect for updates about the power cut; neither do I.

My hand moves up his arm, just grazing the sleeve, then my fingertips touch his chest. His muscles are hard under the smooth weave of his white tunic. Mesmerised, I spread my fingers so my palm is right over his heart. It beats very quickly. I’m rigid with fear in case we touch skin and I see some nasty death-scene – Reef blown to pieces by a traption gun, Reef devoured by carnivorous trees, Reef in hospital hooked up to machines, Reef all white-haired and shrivelled at the very end of being old. His heart mustn’t stop beating! He must stay alive and beautiful, whatever it takes!

We breathe. We breathe. And we breathe.

‘Rain . . . I want to tell you something about me. About how I became a Scrutiner. Something you shouldn’t hear from anywhere else . . .’

The door bangs open and in comes Zoya, chomping on a sugar bun.

‘Mmn, sorry, I’ll just . . .’

Too late.

Reef leaps to his feet and straightens his clothes. Those fingers that should be touching me graze a keypad to connect. He bows to me slightly and leaves, every atom a Scrutiner again.

S
un-gold light streams in through the dorm windows. I count specks of dust hanging in the air and wait for the others to wake up. It’s too hot. I shove my covers away and look down at my body in its crumpled grey nightshirt. It
is
my body. It moves when I tell it to. It feels heat, cold, pain, pleasure. So why does it seem to be something apart from me, up to things I can’t control? How can I keep walking round in it as if everything’s normal?

Pulling on my uniform helps. It reminds me I’m
One of Many
. Except I’m not. For all it’s been fantastic to see the girls again I can’t shake the feeling of being
one
, while they are the many. I don’t know if Zoya’s said something about finding me with Reef, or about me being rescued by Steen, but I’m sure everyone’s looking at me funny, sort of sideways, when they think I won’t notice.

A shadow passes the dorm window. An aroma wafts by. Zoya unburies her head from a pillow.

‘I know that smell!’ she says, sitting up and sniffing. ‘Pip, do you remember when we were little your mama used to buy spring cakes and make us windmill suns?’

‘Sounds boring,’ grunts Ang as she wakes up too.

‘They were brilliant,’ answers Mossie sleepily. ‘I remember them too. They were these sun shapes you put on sticks and they used to go round and round when you ran about with them.’

That makes me think of the memories – I mean,
hallucinations
– I had in the ruined house in Sorrowdale . . . Glimpses of dappled light on paper suns strung up and twirling from tree branches, and Mama singing as she swept winter out into the yard and welcomed full spring in.

What yard?

Nobody sweeps anything in People’s Number 2032 Housing Block in Sea-Ways. Or sings, either, come to think of it. This morning I’ve got some of Henke’s tunes running round my head with unsung words of my own –
Spring is love is life is change is dying is winter is dead is cold is warm is spring is love is life . . .

Lida laughs and stretches. ‘Na – we had windmill suns too when I was a kid. A bit Old Nation, I know, but we’d only just got Aura then so we didn’t know any better. Most of you will be too young to remember a time when we couldn’t connect.’

‘I can,’ says Ang stubbornly. ‘Just. I was born before the last Eclipse. My family were one of the first to get fitted for connection.’

Lida’s still lost in nostalgia. ‘We used to have spring cakes too, baked in bird shapes . . .’

Petra leaps up and pads to the door. ‘Someone here,’ she mumbles. She’s not a morning person, though she sends a sly kiss Mossie’s way as she passes.

‘Happy spring!’ beams Haze from the doorway. She’s holding a cloth-covered tray. When she lifts the cloth we see rows of bird-shaped cakes.

‘Haze, you’re amazing!’ cries Zoya. ‘I’m so glad you stayed with the squadron.’

Haze gets one hug after another. Not from me.

‘Aren’t you eating?’ Mossie asks, handing me a spring cake.

‘Not hungry, thanks.’

Haze smirks.

Spring is on us with a vengeance. When we hustle outside to prep the Storms for the night’s missions we’re greeted by the sight of saplings – real ones – waving thin branches insolently across the makeshift runway. Pushing up through mats of biograss are bright-green shoots – real grass.

‘Some of these plant things are taller than you, Pip,’ says Petra with a grin.

‘That’s not hard,’ laughs Lida, but I don’t mind the banter so much now. Being teased means belonging. I
will
squash strangeness and be normal like everyone else.

Zoya looks uneasy. ‘This isn’t supposed to happen. They should get Slick on it all.’

‘No Slick’s been delivered yet,’ replies Lida. ‘Not enough to go round everywhere that needs it. We’ll have to take care of this ourselves.’ She grabs one of the saplings and pulls. It takes two hands and all her strength to yank it out of the ground. Tufts of grass are torn up too. ‘Weird, look. I read trees are supposed to have roots, right? This one doesn’t.’

‘Witch weeds,’ says Haze, standing on the far side of the group from me with her strong arms folded.

I roll my eyes. ‘No such thing as witches.’

‘Not witches.
Weeds
. They don’t need roots. They grow next to another plant, grass or grain. Stick claws into the other plant’s roots and use them to suck up life from the soil. The grass will soon die. Witch weeds don’t care. Witches take what they want.’

I snap, ‘Haze, you can’t keep going on about witches! Everybody knows they don’t exist.’

‘So you keep saying.’

‘She’s right,’ says Lida. ‘That sort of talk will have Scrutiners down on you like Slick from a spray can.’

We all get stuck into the weeding. It’s a good excuse for Yeldon to flex his muscles. I edge over to Zoya.

‘Anything happening with you and Yeldon?’

‘You kidding?’

‘He seems all right.’

‘He’s not bad.’ She looks down at the limp plant in her hands. ‘You know my father would never let me come home with anyone less than a multi-award-winning scientist.’

‘Last I looked, Uncle Mentira isn’t anywhere on this airbase.’

Zoya glances around. The Scrutiner Roke has come out to squint at us all. ‘He still wouldn’t like it. Anyway, Yeldon probably kisses like a sink plunger, so what’s the point?’

‘How does a sink plunger kiss?’ asks Dee, bumping into the end of our conversation.

‘Ask Ang,’ says Zoya. ‘She’s probably already tried it – twice, knowing her.’

‘You really think so?’ And off Dee goes to see if it’s true.

‘You feeling better?’ Zoya asks me after a while.

I hesitate, wondering what the right answer is. Out beyond the stark curves of the bio-vats there’s a war waging. Tonight we’ll be flying that fine line between life and death. In the meanwhile, we’re all working together against a different enemy – these sprouting weeds that need yanking out. I won’t be one of the weeds. I won’t sprout. I’ll be nice and normal like everyone else.

‘I’m good. Why?’

‘You know I’m here for you, right? I promised to take care of you. Ugh, look over there. They’ve dragged the
Crux
out here to graft. Hope he stays well away from the rest of us.’

Roke doesn’t join in with the weeding. He keeps nipping at his nails nervously. Steen strips down to tunic and boots and stretches out to feel the light. Prayers over, he attacks saplings with an angry concentration. I stare at him, trying to figure out where he fits into things.

‘Wait, Moss, I’ll get that!’ Petra is trying to wrestle Mossie away from a particularly big sapling.

‘I can manage,’ Mossie gasps. Her breath has gone shallow and her lips have an eerie blue tinge. Even as I look over she sags a bit.

Petra catches hold of her, pretending not to panic. ‘Take it easy. I’ll get a medic update from Aura . . .’

‘No! It’s nothing. It’ll pass.’

‘Doesn’t look nothing to me.’

I move in front of them both, to block Roke’s view. ‘What’s wrong?’

Mossie flaps her hands as if to shoo us both away. ‘Stop fussing! I’m hot, is all.’

‘You’re freezing!’ mutters Petra. ‘I’m telling Aura. You should take the day off . . .’

‘When . . . Storms are operational . . . tonight? We need all . . . the techies we can get.’ Mossie can hardly speak, she’s labouring so hard to breathe.

She looks bad, like when Zoya’s mama got a heart attack and nearly died. Mossie can’t die!

‘Let me feel.’

I say the words without knowing how I can possibly help. Petra frowns but Mossie seems to pick up on my unexpected self-assurance because she unfastens her jacket and pulls her top down a bit.

I rub dirt off my hand as best I can. Am I really going to do this? Yes.

Without knowing why I set my hand flat on the skin over Mossie’s sternum, the bone at the front of her ribs. First I feel her fluttering pulse, then I hear the rasp of oxygen crawling into her lungs. Fainter still I sense cells dividing and dying, chemicals flashing. Through my fingers I actually see her heart. There’s no jolt, like with the other visions I’ve had. I simply feel her heart grow calm, full and strong again. Life, life,
life
flows from me to her!

Petra pulls me away. ‘Watch out. Someone’s coming.’

‘What’s going on?’ calls Zoya, simultaneously cramming her mouth full of ration crackers.

I colour. ‘Nothing. Just . . .’

‘Just weeding,’ says Petra calmly.

‘Rain was doing something to Mossie. I saw.’

Mossie fastens up her jacket. ‘We’re only messing around, Zoya, no big deal. Are you guys just going to watch while I do all the work?’ She yanks out the nearest sapling and dares anyone to argue. Her cheeks are flushed with health again.

‘There’s nothing wrong with your heart,’ I whisper when I can. ‘It feels fine. Amazing, in fact. Full of life.’

A shadow falls on us both. Reef is right there. How much has he seen? What has he heard? His face is as blank as only a Scrutiner’s can be.

To the others he says, ‘Concentrate on the largest weeds only. A new consignment of Slick has just been delivered, ready to be sprayed – sparingly – where it’s most needed. Aranoza, come with me.’

It’s not a request.

I follow him off the airstrip and round the base of one of the huge factory towers. I’m surprised to see the browny-green runners of thorn-vines prising bioweave apart with their sharp tendrils and spreading leaves wide to catch whatever sun makes it through newly massing clouds.

Reef stops abruptly once we’re out of sight of the others. He ruffles his hair. Takes a deep breath. Blows it out again.

‘Why did you lie to me, Rain?’

‘Lie?’

‘Right to my face, in the dorm last night.’

‘What lie?’
Which one?

‘Oh come on, don’t mess me around. You said you felt ill, but I checked your bio-updates. You’re fine. Completely normal. Fantastically healthy, in fact. So why wouldn’t you . . . didn’t you want to . . . you know?’

Thorn-vines, please crack the ground open and let me fall into a deep chasm.

‘Oh. That. Sorry, it’s just, I don’t know, I mean . . . things have been pretty strange since . . . since the Morass and meeting you.’

He closes his eyes briefly then laughs. ‘I know exactly what you mean!’

‘You do?’

His eyes are so warm when he looks at me I feel like running into rivulets of snow-melt.

He says, ‘I’m supposed to be coordinating the Slick dispersal and connecting with teams of normalisers to figure out why these Morass plants are so dominant, but
you’re
on my mind all the time, Rain Aranoza. I know it’s wrong. I’m a Scrutiner and you’re air crew. It’s not supposed to happen . . . but there’s just something about you that stops me thinking sensibly. It
is
strange, not having the proper rules for how to feel. I don’t like it. I like you though. I just can’t tell if you . . .’

Quickly, ‘I do. I like you too.’

He grins and it’s all I can do to stop myself leaping right into his arms. But duty clamps down on him almost instantly.

‘Good. That’s sorted then. You’d best go back to the others. We need the runway clear for tonight’s mission.’

Steen edges up to me when I start work on the weeds again. I edge away. Closer still he comes until we’re almost shoulder to shoulder at the task. I can see Yeldon measuring his muscles, wondering whose are biggest and who’d win in a fist fight.

‘See those,’ Steen says suddenly, as rays of sunlight push through the clouds. ‘God’s fingers, we call them. Aren’t they beautiful?’

‘How can you Crux even know what beauty is?’

‘We know it when we see it,’ he answers, looking right at me. His voice drops to a murmur. ‘Rain, I’ve been looking for you all my life. I could worship you, worship the very ground you—’

‘Shut up!’ I glare at Steen, conscious that Roke has stopped chewing his cuticles and is now staring at us both. ‘Why are you even here?’ I hiss. ‘Why are you still collaborating?’

Steen raises his hands as if to touch the sunrays. For once his grey eyes don’t flash defiance and his voice doesn’t cut as sharply as usual.

‘I’m just staying alive as long as I can. Didn’t it occur to you that I have family I want to see again? That there are people who love and miss me? We’re not monsters, you know. We just wanted to be left alone to worship in our way.’

‘So why invade? What could possibly be worth so much death and destruction?’

‘Light,’ he says simply. ‘If you shine enough light there’ll be no more darkness.’

‘We have our own light in Rodina,’ I object.

‘Artificial lamps. Pretend light. Real light comes from faith, that’s where power is. That’s the god I’m looking for.’

The intensity of his gaze disturbs me. Up above, clouds thicken. A flock of corvils fly over, quickly followed by fat stones of ice-cold hail that pound the ground wherever they land. I shield my face, then, along with the rest of the squadron, I run under a Storm’s wings to escape the worst of the bombardment.

Steen licks his lips and shouts after us, even as the hail-stones pelt him.