Night Witches (22 page)

T
otality. Uncertainty. Darkness.

The black sun cannot warm us. The Nation shivers. The Storm staggers through this new night. Long before we spot the landing field the fuel indicator needle clunks to empty. The propellers stutter, the engine chokes and dies. We glide.

It’s strangely peaceful to slide over Sea-Ways, lower, lower, ground-bound – down. In a peacetime Eclipse the streets would be dazzling with lights. Now blackout rules and power-rationing leave the city dim. At a bombed warehouse, flames are the only illumination, alongside the lamps of fire-fighting teams. No other trucks are out on the streets. We see no people scuttling down the pavements.

I open up the Storm’s landing gear and take a deep breath. Time to face the squadron . . . and rejection. Time to discover the true price of stepping off the path. I gaze at my hands. They look normal. I touch my face. It feels normal. The black feather I pick out of my hair is definitely not normal. The fronds are so soft. I stick it behind one ear. My corvil croaks in approval.

They must hear the bump of wheels on the ground. A rectangle of light appears as a door opens. Petra’s got this amazing
expectant
expression on her face.

‘I knew it!’ she calls out. ‘I knew you’d come back!’

Another door opens. Fenlon peers into the dark with an unlit choke dangling from his lips – a small affectation copied from Furey. He strides over, cursing very impressively. I think this must be his way of celebrating our safe return. It’s less painful than the usual back-slaps he gives.

‘First you’re off to Corona without stopping to say
good-bye-and-go-well
, next we hear the siege is complete and no one can break
out
of the city, let alone
into
it . . . and here you are, large as life and twice as miserable. Don’t tell me you’re going to mope all the way through the Long Night. I’ve had enough of gloomy reports – ration riots in the city centre, a spate of suicides already, and some hysteria about spies or something supernatural . . .’

Zoya pulls herself up from the cockpit. ‘Someone should tell him,’ she murmurs.

Fenlon’s not done. ‘Before connection went scatty there was an update about a People’s Number Forty-eight Fighter stolen from its hangar in Corona. Nothing to do with you two by any chance?’

I swallow. ‘Furey . . .’

‘Might’ve known it! That woman was born to trouble as sure as the sun rises and sets, or in this case, gets blocked out by a great big gas giant of a planet. Sent you back without her, did she? Staying in Corona to live the high life in luxury, is she?’

‘I’m really sorry. She was in the stolen fighter. Her and Ang escorted us to Sea-Ways. They didn’t make it.’

Now, when time changes it’s nothing to do with me, it’s all about the way a man ages in mere moments. His shoulders slump, his spine curves, his skin goes grey.

‘Ridiculous. A woman like Marina Furey doesn’t die.’ He fumbles for the choke, finds it, sniffs it for a moment then drops it to the runway and grinds it under his boot heel.

Petra sags too, as do the others who’ve gathered round.

Dee grabs Zoya as she climbs from the Storm.

‘Ang’s gone as well? Are you sure? She didn’t look like she was going to die, and she didn’t want to either. She always said my company would kill her off twice as fast as the Crux ever could.’

Zoya winces. ‘There was nothing we could do. I’m so sorry.’

‘Come on,’ says Lida. ‘We should go inside; the temperature’s dropping.’

I blush. ‘Can you help me out, please?’

Petra’s shocked when she sees the pool of bane-metal chain-links in the cockpit.

‘Yeldon, you’ll have something to cut these, won’t you?’

He leaps up and looks in. ‘What the . . . ? Zoya, what’s going on?’

Zoya is as grey as death. ‘There’s something a bit . . . abnormal . . . going on,’ she begins.

It’s at that point my strength seeps right away and I collapse.

T
he hiss of steam. The bubble of boiling water. The clatter of a spoon in a mug. These are the noises I wake up to. I open my eyes to a sweet-smelling cloud.

‘Drink this . . .’

I scrabble to get out of the reach of Haze and whatever she’s offering me.

‘What . . . ?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Haze says. ‘It’s not poisoned. They say you’re more useful alive than dead.’

‘What are you doing here? Where are the others? Where am I?’

‘Never mind, drink this.’

‘How long have I been sleeping?’

Haze shakes her head. ‘Hard to say when this night goes on for ever.’

‘How long – tell me!’

‘Four days’ worth of night.’

Four days! The Long Night will soon be over and here I am, lying around like one big lump of uselessness! I throw off the covers. And nearly faint again. When I look down at my arms, my skin is so fine I can see right through it to a pattern of veins like black lace.

The room shakes. Haze hardly flinches. ‘It’s just the Crux. They’ve been throwing bombs at us for ever. My papi . . .’ She has the grace to blush. ‘He says the Crux will come into the city the moment the Eclipse ends.’

‘And my . . . your mother?’

‘Still at the factory – the bit that hasn’t been bombed. I was helping there till Zoya came and told me you were sick.’ Haze frowns. ‘She was mean to me. She said I had to get you better or she’d tell your corvil to peck my eyes out. So this is medicine I used to make for the old mother in the forest in winter when she felt weak, until she got so bad she couldn’t stop me running away.’

‘You left her when she was sick?’

‘She stole me from my family and made me a slave! Why would I stay?’

Trust. Mistrust. Loyalty. Who knows what’s what any more? I take the mug and gulp the hot liquid down. It seems fine. The warmth that spreads through my body is certainly welcome.

‘Is Reef here?’

Haze shrugs. Doesn’t know, doesn’t care. ‘Lida wants to see you.’

We muster in the privacy of Furey’s office – the former headteacher’s room. They practically have to drag me there by my arms because my legs are still numb, even this long after the chains have been cut off. At least my skin’s not so laced with black. I may even look normal again.

It’s bitterly cold after four days without sun. Frost crusts the leaves of plants pushing between the window-frames. Slick supplies must have run out during the siege.

I keep my eyes low, focusing on big boots, knotted laces, dirty trouser hems . . .

They’re all here, the people I knew as friends. Dee, Petra, Mossie, Yeldon, Zoya, Lida . . . Others too, civilians from the city and, most shockingly, my papi. I’d know his cracked brown boots anywhere; I’ve tripped over them in the doorway often enough. What should I call him now I know he’s not my father any more? You never think of your parents having names like normal people.

Little Tilly is here too, sitting in Mossie’s lap. Tilly opens and closes her hand to me in a solemn wave. Someone must’ve broken the news of her mother’s death. How can she even understand what
dead
means? I don’t. I keep expecting Furey to burst into the office blowing a squall.

While the others shuffle uncomfortably about the edges of the room, Lida fumbles for a packet of chokes and taps one out. The mere sight of a lighter-box is enough to make me tremble with fear.

‘So, here we all are,’ she begins.

‘All of who?’ asks Dee.

‘Dee, for once just
shut up
. All of whoever’s going to be here right now, OK? All of whoever there is left. Plus our odd little Pipsqueak. Have you brought the chains just in case, Yeldon?’

Yeldon shakes a cascade of bane-metal. I grip my stomach.

Lida ignores me. ‘Fact is, Sea-Ways is on the brink of being over run by Crux. Fact is, normal communications are down. Fact is, brutal and simple, we’re screwed. You got something to add to that, sir?’

Papi has opened his mouth. He closes it again and looks, unhappily, at me.

Lida continues. ‘Long Night is not going well, that’s the point we’re starting from here.’ People nod. ‘It’s like the whole city’s disconnected, literally and mentally. Four days we’ve been sitting here with Crux bomb-slingers smashing missiles down.’

Even as she says this another distant thud makes the air shake.

She drags smoke from the choke, coughs violently, then stubs it out and points to me.

‘You predicted this, you know, at that fortune-telling thing we did. You said I’d get charge of my own squadron.’

‘I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. Because of Furey . . .’

‘ . . . dying. Right. Sorry, Tilly. Look, should the kid even be here?’

Mossie wraps her arms around Tilly. ‘The bomb shelters are full.’

‘And they stink,’ adds Petra.

Lida snorts. ‘She might be safer there than in here, if all the rumours about Pip are true.’

I keep my eyes down and mumble, ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

Lida’s brow goes up. ‘So what Zoya says isn’t a fey-tale. You really are . . . ?’

Papi sucks in air through his teeth.

I just sigh. ‘A witch? Yes. I think so.’

That makes Lida laugh, and not in a merry way. ‘You
think
so? What am I supposed to do now? We’ve had no updates from Aura since the Eclipse started. Is that your fault?’

‘I think . . . I mean, yes, probably, but only by accident.’

‘She doesn’t look like a witch . . .’ says Dee cautiously. ‘I’ve never actually seen her eating babies or drinking blood.’

My lip curls. ‘That’s disgusting.’

‘So are
monsters
,’ says Yeldon, crunching his arms so his muscles flex.

Lida turns to Fenlon. ‘Does she look normal to you?’

Fenlon pulls a face. ‘I never thought any of you kids were normal, buzzing about at night when you should be safe at home doing schoolwork and watching bad shows on the stream-screens—’

‘I wanted Rain to stay safe at home,’ Papi interrupts.

Lida rolls her eyes at him. Clearly parents cramp her style.

‘Rain can’t be a witch,’ Dee decides definitively. ‘Otherwise she would have something to stop Ang being dead.’ She puts her hands over her face and cries without making a sound.

Papi looks massively uncomfortable. ‘What happens now? I came here because that Scrutiner said I should.’

That makes me pay attention. ‘Reef Starzak?’

‘That’s the one. Came to the house in person. Said I was to report to the squadron and speak to Marina Furey. Sorry, sweeting . . .’ He nods towards Tilly. ‘There’s been all sorts of talk about . . . 
witches
and the like, and this girl Haze has been telling me my daughter’s some sort of changeling child! Are you saying it’s all true then?’ He’s looking directly at me. I turn away, unable to bear his narrow eyes and the pain in his voice.

Mossie sniffs. ‘I don’t think Zoya’s lying . . .’ she says carefully.

‘I’m not,’ says Zoya.

‘Fine,’ says Papi, suddenly impatient. ‘So let’s say Rain
is
a witch, what—’

Yeldon erupts. ‘Oh, we’ll just say that, shall we? We’ll just sit in the room and speak superstitions? I was brought up not to believe all that Old Nation stuff. Are you telling me she’s a monster? She looks like a little
runt
to me. Small enough to feel my muscles if she wants a fight . . .’

His fingers curl to fists and his feet slide to a boxing stance.

Zoya tries to pull his arms down again. ‘Don’t fight . . .’

‘It’s all right,’ he growls. ‘I won’t rough her up too much, just enough to make her think twice about trying any monster mojo on us.’

‘It’s not her I’m worried about,’ Zoya says quietly.

Lida looks me straight in the eyes. ‘I don’t know anything about witch stuff, Pip–’

‘My name’s Rain,’ I interrupt suddenly. ‘I’m not a pipsqueak . . . or a runt.’

‘Fair enough. Rain it is, then. You seem normal to me, so I’m putting these superstitious delusions down to battle fatigue, or maybe the excitement of getting a Hero of Rodina medal has scrambled your brain. Whatever. The important question is, what now? Our last ac-reqs were to lie low and keep the lights on till Long Night’s over. We’re to eke out fuel blocks and food as long as we can. Meanwhile, Mossie’s got us knitting to keep us warm now temperatures are teasing the freezing mark.’

‘That’s crazy!’ I burst out.

‘Because witches don’t like knitted knots?’ asks Mossie, half offended.

‘Because you could be doing something! You could run blockades, bomb the Crux, keep up morale – show them we’re down but not out!’

Lida shakes her head. ‘
You’ve
been out for four days. You’ve no idea what’s happening in the city. It’s like this attack of mass hysteria just because the sky’s gone dark. People are literally going mad without Aura and without daylight.’

Fenlon nods. ‘They say a Scrutiner was attacked on the street when he tried to stop people breaking into the People’s Number Ninety-four Museum to liberate old god-house bells.’

‘Not Reef?’

Lida explodes with frustration. ‘We have absolutely no idea who it was, or where Reef Starzak is. That’s my whole point – there’s no one to connect to and ask. At least we’re used to being out at night without lights and going without Aura for hours at a time. Everyone else is out of their heads.’

‘So take advantage of this experience. Do something to save the city!’ I persist.

‘Do
what
?’

‘Whatever you can. What about spreading word that we don’t just have to sit and wait for defeat? We can rise up and fight, with bare fists like Yeldon if there’s nothing else. Forget Aura! This is Rodina we’re fighting for – our loved ones, our way of life, our homeland. Fenlon, how many Storms are currently operational?’

Fenlon folds his arms. ‘Define
operational
. If you mean ready to fly, get shot at and crash, then I can have nine, maybe ten, ready in an hour.’

‘Only nine?’ I can’t believe it. ‘Did we lose so many while I was out of it?’

‘What’s with all this
we
and
our
stuff?’ snarls Yeldon. ‘Whose side are you on anyway, weird girl? What’s
your
plan of action?’

I rub my eyes, which are still heavy and sore. ‘Can you spare a Storm for me? I need to get to the Morass.’

Lida laughs at that, a harsh sound. ‘Hadn’t you noticed? The Morass has come to us!’

She’s right. The school has become a garden. The bioweave walls are bulging with vine stems. Leaves are bursting beneath the ceiling lights, turning everything faintly green.

Mossie says, ‘It started a few days ago and keeps getting worse. People tried burning it and the fires just got too out of control. The only good news is, it must be attacking the Crux as much as us.’

‘Who says it’s attacking?’ I ask. ‘They’re just plants, growing where you don’t want them.’

When Papi speaks his voice is gruff. ‘Last Long Night it was the same. Trees sporing everywhere and these flowers sprouting. Back then we just yanked the weeds out and got on with it. That was before we knew there really were . . . witches . . . walking around like normal people.’

‘But they’re
not
normal,’ Yeldon insists.

Zoya wants to know, ‘What are you going to do when you get back to the Morass, Pip?’

‘Anything’s got to be better than sitting around here waiting for the Crux to stop praying for the light to shine again. I thought I might try to defeat the enemy army, save the city and end the war – something like that.’

Now they all look at me as if I’m disconnected as well as deviant, which, since Uncle Mentira took my keypad, is pretty much the literal truth.

‘You want to defeat the Crux army?’ mocks Lida. ‘Are you really that powerful?’

‘I’ve no idea. There’s only one way to find out . . .’

I turn to go . . .

‘Not so fast,’ Lida says. She pulls her lighter-box from a pocket and deliberately flips it open in front of me. ‘One message did come through from Aura. We’ve had the highest-priority instructions to contain you here if you should happen to appear, using whatever force necessary.’

Yeldon smiles with satisfaction. ‘Apparently witches do have some vulnerable points . . .’

I nearly crumple to the grass-growing floor. All it will take is one strand of my hair from my pillow, my hairbrush, cut from my head, then . . . unbelievable agony.

The crew move closer. They move as one. They are, after all, loyal citizens of Rodina. Bred to obey. To belong.

Click, click, click
, Lida flips the lighter-box lid. Then she smiles.

‘As I’ve said, the orders are to use force, but how can I help it if you turn violent and overpower me with some abnormal witch power?’

‘Violent? I haven’t touched you!’

Lida steps aside and hands me the lighter-box. ‘Having made me your first victim of brutality, I hope you don’t somehow manage to force Fenlon to let you steal a Storm.’

Fenlon grins. ‘There’s one already fuelled and armed.’

I stare at them all.

Fenlon coughs. ‘Er, any time soon would be good for the breakout, Aranoza. I can’t stand round here being a hostage all day. I have got other things to do, you know.’