Night Witches (16 page)

‘
W
hat can you see reflected in the water?’ whispers Haze.

‘I see the bath-house ceiling,’ Dee whispers back.

‘Whoever’s jiggling the bowl,
stop it
,’ says Lida. ‘You’re making ripples.’

Haze raises her hands. She’s not touching the bowl. No one is. Little snakes of steam twist up from the water. Haze blows them away.

‘Look . . .’ she invites us.

Don’t look!
shouts my common sense.

Look
 . . . calls the water.

In my pocket the bird Eye Bright is stirring. It pecks and peeps but no one else seems to hear. Each of us moves closer to the basin till we’re a ring of firelit faces with cold shadows leaning over our shoulders.

There are things I want to know, of course there are. Will Mama and Papi be safe in the war? Will I be safe? Will Cousin Zoya? My friends? When will we win the war –
will
we win? And Reef . . . what about Reef, my beautiful, impossible, not-happening-not-going-to-happen romance? Does he really like me? My nails press so hard in my palms they must be breaking skin. Does he love me?

Don’t look . . .

I look.

First I see my friends, not as they are now in the bath-house, but lined up on a windswept airfield, with a cloud-blown sky behind. One by one they turn from me, as Umbra swallows them all into darkness. All light disappears. I stumble around, blind. Whatever I touch burns. The skin on my arms blisters and peels away. My hair becomes a fiery halo. I fall . . . and the forest catches me. Ferns uncurl around my face. Spores burst from tree bark and drift across a stretch of silver water. I see birds – no, bird skulls – bobbing on the lake with flames for eyes. Not flames, bright-orange thorn-vine flowers, nestling in a dead woman’s face. I reach down and lift the blossoms. The woman’s eyes open.

Welcome, Rain
, she says.

Flowers pour out of every corner of this vision, covering the ground with perfume and petals. Stone walls rise up and light shines through coloured glass. Now, spread face down at my feet, is a bare-backed boy. I crouch and stroke his hair. He lifts his face and kisses me but I can’t see who he is because of a mazy white mist spiralling around us.

Enough! I want to get away! I turn. And turn. And turn again. My way is blocked by bane-metal bushes. As I yank them out of the ground my skin is torn to ribbons. I try to hold myself together with my hands, but they seem to become wings or wide rays of black light. Ground-eating trees soar up, winking their mirror leaves. A hundred thousand birds whirl round, beaks as sharp as cut diamonds.

Help me!

I shout but my voice is a trickle of pebbles on a waterless riverbed. The mist thickens. I flounder on. My skin is almost all gone. There’s nothing but darkness inside and out, and the pain of something peck, peck, pecking me.

My corvil breaks the trance by stabbing at my leg. Startled, I lash out. My hand smashes the basin of water. The visions disappear and countless droplets of darkness spill out of the basin in slow motion. I watch them fly into the air. Each drop has an eye. Each eye has more darkness inside. There, in the bath-house, while the other girls are frozen, I curve and turn in a mad dance to catch every drop before it lands, pouring them into the bowl.

Then I stumble back into the circle.

And breathe.

And breathe.

And flinch as time speeds up to normal.

Sound slams into my ears.

The girls all move and speak at once.
When will it start? When will we see something? Has it happened yet?
Only Haze is silent. There’s a wet spot on her tunic, right over her heart – the one drop I missed. When she eventually speaks, it’s to me.

‘You saw something.’

‘Me? No . . . oh, you mean, just
pretending
? OK, yeah, actually I saw lots of visions, one for each of you. There was Zoya to start with . . .’

‘Make it good,’ says Zoya, hugging her knees.

‘Why wouldn’t I? Er, you get free run of a luxury banquet in Corona.’

‘Wait till I tell Yeldon! He’ll be mad it’s not him!’

‘Petra and Mossie are going to stay lovey-dovey together.’

‘Doesn’t sound very probable to me,’ says Petra, with her arm around Mossie.

‘Sounds horrific,’ Mossie complains, nuzzling Petra’s neck.

‘Who else?’ asks Haze.

I could kill her for forcing me on. ‘Let me see . . . Lida gets command of her own squadron, and Ang gets awarded the Hero of Rodina Nation medal – twice.’

Ang likes that idea. ‘What about Dee? What’s her future?’

How should I know? I scrape my brain for ideas and get an odd one. ‘Dee will be very happy with a new hat.’

‘Oh come on,’ Ang complains. ‘If I came up with something twice as good as that it’d still be pathetic.’

But Dee is satisfied. ‘I need a new hat,’ she points out to Ang. ‘You threw mine on the roof again, and you still didn’t get it further than Lida could.’

‘What about Haze?’ says Zoya suddenly. ‘Can’t you give her a fortune too?’

Haze says, ‘Yes, tell me what you saw for me, Rain Aranoza.’

‘You don’t really . . .’

‘Tell me!’

Everyone must notice the sudden tension. I swallow. I’ve got an awful urge to reach out and touch Haze so I can foresee her death, preferably happening really soon, because right now I hate her more than anyone or anything in the world. She’s bug, bug, bugging me all the time, for absolutely no reason I can think of. She wants a fortune? Fine – I’ll think of one. I close my eyes, and that’s when I see her, wrapped in a woman’s arms, both of them crying with great, shaking sobs.

I open my eyes. I’m so surprised at the vision I forget I’m supposed to be making one up. ‘You’re going to meet your mama again,’ I say slowly. ‘She’ll hold you.’

Haze’s mouth tightens to a thin line. ‘Hurting me?’

‘No . . .’ I’ve started this now, I’d better finish it. ‘She loves you. She’ll be happy to see you.’

‘You’re lying!’ Haze screams, suddenly furious. ‘Liar liar liar!’

Lida tries to calm her. ‘Easy, Haze. It’s just for fun, remember? Just fun.’

‘She’s making fun, talking about my mother! Ask her why – liar! Thief!’

All eyes are on me.

‘Oh come on, I’ve no idea what she’s talking about, honestly!’

Mossie shivers. ‘I think we’ve all had enough fortune-telling for one lifetime.’

Dee frowns. ‘It’s not fair. We all had a fortune except Rain.’

I laugh that idea off. ‘That’s OK, nothing ever happens to me. I’m just little Pip, right?’

It’s no good, I can’t sleep. I’m still having wide-awake nightmares long after the others have settled for the night. What is
wrong
with me? Maybe I should connect and see what a medic says. I could just be sick from some completely normal problem, like optical nerves jiggling during stress, causing hallucinations. Apparently that happened to Ang’s brother. I could handle that. Except then they wouldn’t let me fly and that would be the worst thing that could happen.

I watch Zoya sleeping, on her back with her mouth open. She says I’m too secretive. That I keep everyone at a distance. If I push all my friends away
that
would be the worst thing that could happen.

‘Zoya?’

She mumbles something and rolls over.

‘Zoya, are you awake?’

Of course she isn’t, and I should let her sleep while she can. I reach for my keypad, thinking Aura will know best. Best for who? The keypad stays under my pillow. Easing myself silently into clothes and boots, I nestle the baby corvil in a pocket and creep between the beds to the door. Dee gives a funny mew as she stirs.

‘Rain?’

‘Ssh, don’t wake the others.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To get some air.’

‘But there’s plenty in here, else we wouldn’t be breathing.’

‘Go back to sleep, Dee.’

Power-rationing and blackout rules mean the Biopolis is mostly submerged in shadows. There’s very little light from nearby Sea-Ways either. Stars wink whenever there’s a break in the clouds. I wander between empty bio-towers, listening to the rustle of rablets and rachnids when the wind lulls. Out here more plants have colonised the bioweave. Only after sunset do their tiny flowers unfold white petals almost too small to see with the naked eye.

I take Eye Bright from my pocket. Growing bigger every day the bird now grips my hand and spreads its wings to feel the air.

‘Are you going to fly?’ I whisper.

At the first drops of hot summer rain Eye Bright creeps back inside my jacket.

A streak of lightning cracks the sky, followed some time after by deep thunder and a downfall. I don’t care. I wander on, letting the storm play out. I find I’m near the place where Steen’s imprisoned – one of the big bio-vats that are open to the sky. I hope he’s getting rained on. I hope lightning strikes him dead.

I could worship you
, he said.

I press against the bio-vat wall, wondering if I can hear him breathing.

I turn. A silhouette appears in a second lightning flash.

Reef Starzak is out night-walking too. He’s silver-sleek wet. If Zoya thinks
I’m
secretive, that’s nothing on Reef. He’s solitude in solid form. I’ve never heard him speak of family or friends. He walks alone and sleeps alone. At least, I hope he sleeps alone. I think it would be so restful just to lie down at his side, arms wrapped around each other, as white snow or white blossoms drift down.

He sees me. No point trying to run or hide. He must know Aura hasn’t authorised my wanderings. I just stand there, watching rain trickle down his face and his throat; watching the wind flatten his clothes against his body. My hair is loose and runs like a river along my spine.

Suddenly a shape streaks between the towers, not far from Reef. Wolf! In one fluid motion he’s raised a gun to fire.

‘Don’t shoot!’

My words can’t be more than a whisper, but Reef hesitates. The wolf pauses too, breathing out clouds of white. Now there are three of us sharing solitude. Reef is the first to move. He holsters his gun unshot and the wolf runs free. Life is life.

Reef reaches for his keypad. I spread my empty hands to show I don’t have mine with me. He shrugs and gives a little smile as if to say,
Here we both are, breaking rules . . . what now?

He said I could trust him. Out here in the darkness and rain, I believe him. I am so tempted to walk over and spread my problems at his feet. He’d tread carefully, I know he would . . .

A door opens and a square of light shines out. Someone coughs from indoors – the engineer, Fenlon.

‘Go blow your choke smoke outside! Why don’t you quit those vile things? They kill you slowly.’

Furey steps into the doorway. ‘One advantage of dying young is I’d be shot of you nagging me,’ she replies. ‘Life’s got to have some pleasures, now I’ve had to give up flying to watch over this die-hard bunch of adolescents. I’ll quit the day the war ends – happy?’

‘Quivering with joy,’ answers Fenlon.

‘You? Joyful? That’ll be the day I truly do quit.’

Fenlon comes to the door, takes one look at the weather and retreats. ‘What’s there to be happy about? You, me, kids and wooden contraptions with wings are all that stand between us and total domination by the Crux. Not to mention all the Eclipse coming up. I’ve a feeling this Long Night’s going to be even more depressing than last time.’

‘Look on the bright side,’ says Furey. ‘I might strangle you before then . . . put you out of your misery and do the Nation a favour.’

I can’t be sure but I think I hear Marina Furey thumping Fenlon when she goes back inside. Zoya would take that as a sign she really likes him.

The door shuts. I look to Reef. Now can we talk? He shakes his head, motioning for me to go back to the dorm. My secrets are unspoken, my lips are unkissed. Tomorrow. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.

As soon as I’m back in bed I message him that we need to meet, then I drop all my wet clothes in a pile on the dorm floor and lie naked between the sheets, wondering . . .

B
y morning I’m certain. I’ll confide in Reef and he’ll help me. Somehow he’ll understand and everything will be all right. First I’m summoned to see Marina Furey, who is a whirlwind of energy and bad temper.

‘What, I ask for the millionth time, is the point of sending an inspector
today
when we’re supposed to be spending our time terrorising Crux, not buffing our boots! Fenlon – have you seen my . . . oh, thanks. I thought I’d lost it.’

Furey finishes buttoning her smartest uniform jacket and pins on her Hero of Rodina Nation award.

‘How do I look?’

This time she’s speaking to her daughter Tilly, who’s been given one end of a desk for her schoolwork and play-space. Tilly looks her mama up and down then, without a word, gets up to give her a hug. Furey kisses the top of Tilly’s head.

‘Aranoza, is that you? Come in. Tilly, you remember Rain, don’t you?’

Tilly hides behind her mama. I don’t blame her. Who’d want to remember that awful swim in the river?

‘Silly widget!’ says Furey. ‘Go and play now while Mama makes order out of chaos.’

Tilly goes back to her keypad. Furey’s already connecting on hers. She waves for me to find a seat. ‘Shan’t be a mo – got Aled Glissom himself messaging about security for the inspection, mustn’t keep the big man waiting . . .’

She waves to Tilly and nips to the next office, where the Scrutiners work.

I’m too nervy to sit. Is that Reef in there with Furey now? I move a little closer. If I concentrate I can just about make out fragments of a conversation between Furey and the Scrutiner Roke. Scrutiners usually prefer to keep things messaged, for privacy. Furey is infamous for liking face-to-face confrontation.

Furey’s asking, ‘ . . . and we can definitely trust him?’

Roke replies, ‘No question.’

Trust who? I edge closer to the door. Tilly stops connecting to watch me. I fake interest in a screen streaming images of immaculate troops marching to the front line.

Furey rasps, ‘
I
don’t have a problem with him, apart from the fact he’s far too young to be involved in all this Scrutiny business.’

My heart flips. They’re talking about Reef!

Roke’s voice is oppressive. ‘Glissom shouldn’t be so paranoid. We have security for the inspection in hand. As for Starzak, I vetted him myself. He’s loyal to the core.’

‘Yes, yes, aren’t we all,’ replies Furey.

‘He’s more loyal than most,’ Roke insists dryly. ‘You may not be aware of this, but even as a young boy he showed an exceptional sense of duty. He was responsible for the denunciation and arrest of both his parents.’

My heart is a stone. It sinks. Reef denounced
his own parents
? That’s appalling! But legal. Commendable. Wouldn’t anyone loyal to Rodina do the same? Every day the screens stream lists of criminals convicted of praying or spreading superstitions. What idiots we were to play at fortune-telling in the bath-house! What an idiot
I
was, to think it was safe to confess my own secret abnormalities.

Furey doesn’t sound surprised to hear the news. ‘Yeah, so I’ve been informed. Still have a sneaky bit of faith in god, did they?’

‘Worse than that. The evidence and their guilt were overwhelming. They were convicted of believing in witches. Both were imprisoned for life. These days the punishment would be lethal injection, of course.’

‘Right. Of course.’

‘Rain?’

I truly do feel as though I leap out of my skin when I hear Reef say my name. There he is in the office, in the flesh. Nothing dishevelled about
his
appearance for the inspection. He’s white, throat to feet, and as beautiful as ever. I trip over my own feet and bump against the stream-screen, sending it fuzzy for a moment, then the soldiers march on in ranks again.

‘You’re early for our meeting,’ he comments. His eyes are smiling. ‘Are you excited?’

‘About . . . about what?’

‘Hasn’t Furey told you yet? Out of the whole squadron you’ve been chosen to fly the display plane for Glissom’s visit.’

‘That’s . . . great. I mean, why me? Lida’s good too. I’m nothing out of the ordinary. I’m just
One of Many
, right?’

Reef’s smile deepens. How can he look so honest and trustworthy when he’s so . . . so . . . I can’t stay here!

‘Hey, Rain, where are you going?’

‘To tell the others. About the flying. The inspection.’

‘Didn’t you want to talk?’

I shake my head violently. ‘No. Just . . . nothing. I’d better go.’

Marina Furey comes out of the next office. She’s crackling with frustration.

‘Morning, Starzak. Aranoza – wait, not so fast.’

Reef says, ‘I’ve already informed her of the decision about the display flight.’

Furey raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, that saves a job.’ She turns to me. ‘Aura will send ac-reqs for timings; I’ll leave the choice of stunts to you. Just promise me not to dive-bomb the inspector, no matter how obnoxious he gets. Think you’re up to it?’

I nod. It’s safer than trying to speak when I’m still trying to process what I overheard about Reef. His parents! His own mama and papi! He sent them to prison for
life
.

‘Good,’ says Furey. ‘We’ll see what the big boy from Corona City has got to say about our modest operation here. Maybe he’ll dig deep to get us better resources and recognition.’

Dismissed, I dodge desks to leave, hearing Furey laugh to Reef, ‘Thought that’d stun her. Poor kid needs more confidence. She doesn’t know how good she is.’

‘No,’ says Reef. ‘She’s got no idea.’

No idea, no direction, no focus, no
clue
what to do now!

All this time I’ve been thinking maybe, just maybe, Reef is more of a friend than a Scrutiner – more than just a friend even. That he’s interested in me because of
me
, not thanks to some ac-req from Aura to play spy. Obviously he’s the last person I should be trusting. Last in a long line of people I can’t turn to now.

It’s not fair! It’s not my fault all these things are happening. I didn’t ask to be like this, or to have these abnormal streaks in me. Maybe I was just born this way and it doesn’t matter how many times people tell me to fit in and behave and be
good.
Haven’t I tried? Haven’t I done everything I’ve been told? Why can’t I just be allowed to be
me
?

What
is
me?

I find I’m running and have to force myself to slow down. That’s right, just walk normally, Rain, one calm footstep after the other. I put my palms over my face until it’s a mask. I bury all the aggravation deep, deep down, where even ground-eating trees couldn’t find and devour it.

‘Hey, hey, hey!’ cries Mossie as I come into the crew-room. ‘Here’s the girl herself – stunt pilot supreme!’

Everyone cheers, even Ang, though she’s quick to point out that she could’ve done a stunt display in her sleep. Everyone laughs. Ang still needs to live down the hysterics she had when she found herself airborne with a rachnid in the cockpit.

‘Big as my fist,’ she said it was.

‘This big,’ Dee told everybody later, showing a tiny span with her thumb and finger.

I look around the crew-room. ‘Where’s Zoya? I messaged her.’

‘She left something back at the dorm,’ says Mossie. ‘Her hairbrush or something.’

Newbies watch me head across the Biopolis to the hangar. They’re so squeaky clean. New uniforms. New haircuts. Nervous smiles.

‘That’s her . . .’ one of them whispers.

That’s her
what
? What stories are people spreading about me?

‘The one Marina Furey chose to do the display today?’ asks another. ‘Wow. Do you think we’ll ever get to fly that well?’

It’s a gusty day with clouds scudding across a sky the colour of dirty dishwater. The Nation flag snaps in the wind. Fenlon does the pre-flight checks with me.

‘Well done getting picked for this,’ he says. ‘One day we might even make a good pilot out of you, if . . .’

‘ . . . if I don’t die first, yeah yeah.’

Once I’m in the Storm I sigh with relief. I know where I am now. There’s me, the plane, the sky, nothing and no one else. Zoya’s been told a nav isn’t needed for these stunts, and I haven’t even got Eye Bright stirring in a pocket, since I didn’t want it to peep when I met Reef.

Huh. Reef who’s been sending
good luck, fly-girl
messages all morning. Reef who’d snap cuffs on me and haul me to prison the second I seemed superstitious.

The wind blows the noise of a limousine engine towards the runway. There he is. Aled Glissom, factory manager and, ultimately, my parents’ boss. They’ve given him a podium in front of our improvised parade ground. His boots click on the podium steps.

‘So these are Furey’s heroes,’ his voice rolls out. ‘These are the so-called night-bombers. A bunch of badly dressed children! Not what I had in mind. Not what I had in mind at all.’

The Storm’s engine growls into life and I’m spared the rest.

I begin by soaring high above the Biopolis. After a few exploratory passes to catch the inspector’s attention I spiral down in a lazy corkscrew, then rise for a graceful figure-of-eight. The Storm works faultlessly. I loop the loop a few times then break free from the clouds and climb higher, higher, higher to where the sun dazzles and the air is clear.

Here, poised somewhere between planet and space, I cut the engine completely.

For a moment I glide . . . then the plane nose-drops, air rushes back in my face and I fall with wings in a spin – round, round, down, ground . . . towers, roofs, faces, fear . . . At the last possible moment I flood the engine with fuel, draw the control stick back, stabilise the wings and shoot away from the most perfect stall-turn I’ve ever attempted.

Are they clapping down there? Wait till they see this . . .

After more high-altitude manoeuvres I line up for one final stunt, approaching the airstrip level with the row of bio-towers, watching the needle on my airspeed indicator jostle to the very limit of the dial. It’s fabulous to be so fast. There he is, the inspector, still on his podium. I fly so low I could practically crop his hair for him. His eyes go wide, he clamps his hand on his fancy hat and ducks. I swoop up, laughing, the best I’ve felt in a long time.

Then I have to come down to the ground, literally.

Fenlon is grinning when I land. ‘Nicely done, Aranoza.’

I give him a little wave and trot over to join the rest of the squadron.

Glissom has straightened up. Two spots of pink glow on his cheeks. His trouser creases are so sharp you could cut bomb wires with them. His shoulders are square and his boot-caps are mirrors. When he speaks – and he’s obviously in the middle of a long indulgence – his accent is pure Corona.

‘. . . I’ve been sceptical of the reports about the squadron’s successes, with grave reservations about the merit of such primitive technology. I daresay much of the kill-rating the Storms have allegedly scored is due to the fact that our enemy has been mortally wounded by
proper,
conventional weapons. Yes, I say mortally wounded because even as I speak the Crux are being forced to retreat. However, I will concede, in light of the display just now, that the Storm does demonstrate certain impressive capabilities – but I come back to my first point, Marina . . .’

Furey has to squint up at him because he’s got the sun at his back and the extra elevation of the podium. She doesn’t appreciate Glissom using first names, that’s obvious.

‘Which first point was that?’ she asks innocently.

‘About the use of
children
for such vital war work! I employ them in my gun factories, of course. They’ve got little hands for working with smaller-calibre pistols, shot-guns, rapid-fires and flame-throwers, but as we’ve clearly seen from those aerobatics, it takes a
grown man
– or woman – to manoeuvre an aircraft without Aura’s fine guidance. Not some kiddie who can barely reach the controls . . . Yes, young lady?’

Following an ac-req from Aura I’ve approached the podium to be introduced to our inspector.

Furey keeps her face very, very straight. ‘May I present our highly gifted display pilot – Rain Aranoza.’

I don’t need to be able to read minds to know what Glissom’s thinking –
This pipsqueak was capable of flying like that?

It’s an exquisite moment, overshadowed by the sudden realisation that I’m going to have to clasp his hand. He looks equally reluctant to make contact. He’s so smartly turned out, why isn’t he wearing gloves? Why aren’t I, for that matter? I must’ve pulled them off in a moment of job-well-done back at the Storm. Ugh, his hand is so hot, so damp, so . . .

. . . 
limp, so sticky with blood, there are bullet-holes instead of buttonholes on his uniform, and so he dies . . .

I’m stunned at the vision. Appalled.

‘Nothing to say for yourself, hey?’ Glissom blusters. ‘Too young for all the attention, I expect. Precisely the kind of thing I’ve been talking about, Marina. Off you go, girl, back to your little friends.’

I slip into place between Dee and Lida. Lida smirks at me and the others send subtle signals of congratulations.