Below, the channel cut a deep cleft through the rocks. The water was slow here, sluggish. I could see dust and dead leaves stuck to its surface, flies flitting across it.
By the bridge there was a gap. I stepped through, and found the rough footholds that took me down the rocks to the channel.
Here, below the bridge, generations of humans had etched names. Names of the lost, the taken and never returned, names of the martyred. After scraping at some of the moss and algae, I found the familiar shape of Bard Mercer, perhaps a blood of mine. Nobody had recognised the name when I had asked about it years before, and the etching was almost smoothed away beyond recognition. As always, I felt humbled by the Monument. How many generations back was Bard? The only stories of our clan, of our past, were those handed down by storytellers like Vechko. The specifics, the lives of people like Bard Mercer, were gone forever.
I pressed a finger to the letters, aware that even my touch was hastening the loss of the etched name.
There were other names there, some I recognised and had known in life. Way back, when Skids had fled Cragside and taken up life with the wraiths of Constellation, Pi and I had come here and chiselled his name into the rock, believing him lost forever.The name was there, still, the letters clumsy and rough and twice as big as any of the others, lined up crookedly along a fold in the rock.
That was when I saw that new names had been added, not carved but written in ink. It wouldn’t last, but it was better than nothing at all. And when I saw the names, I knew that someone had made it out of the drainage channels of Riverside.
The new names were Sol Virtue, Ruth Laty, Jacandra One, Carille One, Jersy Waters, Madder Rue, Vechko Mercer... the list went on. My surge of relief upon realising that someone had been here since the escape from Riverside was tempered by the shock at seeing so many names, the reality of our loss.
I sat, with my back against the etched names and my feet dangling over the turgid water, and waited.
E
VERY TIME
I heard voices, footfalls, the roll of a wagon’s wheels, I started, my heart racing, ready to rush to my sibs, ready to flee.
During that day, traffic along Nightcut Alley was sparse. From my hiding place in the shadows, I peered up and saw trogs rushing about their business, commensals and slave species carrying great loads, or hauling carts. One wagon was so heavy I watched the bridge bow under the load, and I tensed to leap out of the way should the wood start to splinter.
There was no one I recognised, and as the night began to draw in I started to think about moving, wondering where I should be when curfew kicked in.
And then there was a noise, the scuffing of feet on the footholds down from the Alley.
Divine.
In the dim twilight, her pale skin almost glowed, her white hair matted, the spikes clumped in uneven tufts.
She saw me, paused, and then took a single big stride towards me and was in my arms, sobbing.
Divine never cried. Divine was the strongest person I knew. She had once taken out three orphid grunts on her own. She had stood strong through everything that had happened recently. Divine never showed weakness.
But only that morning she had watched her lover Ruth sliced in half by the needle-beam of an orphid gun.
I knew then that it was Divine who had written the new names into the Monument to the Martyrs.
I wondered if she was the only survivor.
I held her, let her sob.
I didn’t know what to do. I’d dealt with some shit in recent times, but Divine sobbing her heart out and squeezing me so tight I could barely breathe was just about the most painful thing of all.
S
HE HAD BROUGHT
tools. A lump hammer and three chisels of various sizes and shapes. By the light of a stubby tallow candle, we went over the inked names on the Monument of the Martyrs with chisel and hammer.
As we worked, we exchanged faltering words, slowly catching up with what had happened.
I learned that when Divine and the others had fled into the ducts, they had been faced with a choice – hide, or escape through the ducts? There were nine of them. Gathered there with Divine in the broad duct chamber, where we had slept the night before, were Jemerie, Pi, Marek, Skids, Herald and Fray, and two children, Tuck and Immy. For a moment there, Divine had been on the verge of losing it. The only light was that reflected in from the entrance, making the pulsing of the walls’ ribs even more pronounced. It was as if they had been swallowed by some giant beast. She had felt hot, she had felt choked with panic, and in her head was a barrage of images: the look on Ruth’s face as the needle-beam had sliced through her, a mix of shock and disbelief; the way Ruth’s torso had slid down the cut and then snagged and tumbled; the cross-section of her body, cauterised by the beam, spine and guts and pelvic girdle cut clean through. Images that filled her head then, and had stayed with her all day and would be with her forever.
She chipped at the names on the Monument to the Martyrs with controlled precision. This was her penance for surviving, her tribute to the fallen. I’m not sure she wanted my help at all, but she didn’t try to stop me.
The small band of survivors stayed together, following the main channel deep into the city until finally it grew too narrow for them to pass.
They sent Tuck ahead. He was small and fearless, used to climbing the crags and exploring the caves that ran through them. They didn’t let him go far, though, for fear that he would get lost in tunnels no one else could penetrate.
They tried other branches, always fearful that each time they headed back they would be confronted by grunts following them from Riverside.
Finally, Tuck found a way out. Divine had been with him, following behind as he wriggled through a slick, pulsing duct, when suddenly he had vanished. She’d forced herself forward, her head emerging from an opening, partway up the wall of a storm duct. Tuck had been in the shallow water below, on his knees, winded and dazed from the fall.
Divine had followed, and landed in the water. If her broad shoulders would pass through that opening, then so too would the rest of their party.
The storm duct had been in Grape West, and they had chosen to come here, to the Monument of the Martyrs, directly through the fringe of Central, rather than by the roundabout route I had taken.
I told her what had become of Cragside, and we were silent for a time after that. Divine hadn’t been aware. She didn’t know what it was like to see the place where you had grown up simply wiped out of existence. She only had my words, not nearly enough for her to fully comprehend.
“!¡
sensitive
¡! What happened to Hope?” asked Divine, after a time, as she chipped at the last of the names and I rested my sore hand and wrist. “I saw what that chlick’s sidedog did to get the two of you out. Never seen anything like it.”
“!¡
anguished
¡! We have to wait for her,” I said.
“...but?”
“!¡
grieving | loss
¡! When we were in that thing, the sidedog,” I said. “Something happened. I saw the world as the sidedog did. And as Hope did. I heard what was in her head. Everything merged while we were in there.”
“And?”
“!¡
grief
¡! I left her behind in Riverside. She had something she needed to do. She said she’d join us here, which is why we have to wait. But later... later I heard the voices from inside her head again, as if we have some kind of bond, a bridge between us. I felt pain in my chest, my shoulder... I saw blood there. Something’s happened to her, Divine. Something bad.”
Divine looked at me in the light of the stubby tallow candle, pausing from her work. “!¡
tender
¡! We have to give her a chance, bub.” She put her hands on my shoulders, then, and added, “!¡
firm
¡! But when we’re done giving her a chance, we’re going to have to shift ourselves pretty damned quickly before this whole fucking place gets unsung around us, you get that?”
I nodded. I got that.
I didn’t know how long we could wait for Hope.
W
E SPENT THE
night in a warehouse in south Cunnet.
We were a morose group, each lost in our own thoughts. Only Herald and Pi found distraction, sitting with the two pups, talking to them, reassuring them, telling stories and singing songs to lull them.
Marek sat apart. He had always been aloof, but now... Now I couldn’t help but watch him, study him for signs of difference. He had come here with Callo and had been close to Sol. He was cold, he was distant, he was different.
I kept my peace. No one else knew about Callo, and none of us had spoken about Sol, although I had not been alone in witnessing our nest-mother’s confrontation with the watcher commander.
At some point I slept, because I woke stiff and sore and cold, lying awkwardly against a metal wall. The pain in my shoulders reminded me of the pain I had felt the day before, and the rush of voices that had accompanied it.
I woke sharply at that memory. I had to look for her. But then I remembered that I had arranged to be at the Monument, to wait for her, at midday every day. The morning was still young and I had no need to hurry.
I went there, regardless, and Divine accompanied me.
We each had our reasons.
Divine tended to the new names on the Monument, working quietly at etching them deeper.
I sat and waited, my feet swinging over the water.
I felt powerless.
All I could do was be here, wait, hope that she would be okay.
A
S IT TURNED
out, I did not have long to wait.
That first day as the sun crept higher in the sky, approaching midday, I heard a sound and saw a slim form clambering down the footholds in the rock, knee-length boots leading the way.
My heart surged and then my hopes were dashed, as the small figure stepped down onto the rock shelf and turned to face us. White face, rosebud mouth, ragged black hair... It was the Loop girl, one of Frankhay’s black-lace mob.
“!¡
wary | scared | defensive
¡! Dunnat do anyt’, see?” she said in her low, throaty tone. “I’s a message, see?”
“!¡
distrustful | aggressive
¡! A message?” I said. “Why’s Frankhay sending messages now? He didn’t want anything to do with us.”
“!¡
factual reporting
¡! Innat Frankhay,” she said. “I’s a message outa da gel. Da Hope, see? I’s a message outa Hope.”
T
HE GIRL FROM
the Loop introduced herself as First Deputy Ashterhay. She said she’d come from the Loop. Said Hope had given her the directions, and said to be here at midday.
She said she’d shot Hope through the shoulder.
“!¡
defensive | wary
¡! Innat my bad,” she rushed to add, holding her hands palms-up, as if to fend me off. “!¡
factual reporting
¡! I’s a guardin’ duty. Da Loop. Everynat’ edgy. Crazy. Is a gangs a trogs even, comin’ an’ stealin’. I sees ’er an’ I’s on edge, ya see? !¡
defensive
¡! An ’as to be quick, see? I sees ’er an’ I fires an’ den it’s da’ I
sees
’er ’an I ’members who as she is.”
“!¡
brusque
¡! She dead?” asked Divine, always to the point.
Ash shook her head. “!¡
factual reporting
¡! Na’,” she said. “Is sore as! She’s a strong’n.”
“!¡
intimidating
¡! So you come all this way just to tell us you shot her but didn’t quite kill her?” said Divine. “!¡
menacing
¡! How fucking touching.”
The stone chisel hung casually from one of Divine’s hands, and it was clear it could be right through Ash’s heart in an instant.
Ash was shaking her head. “Na,” she said. “!¡
eager
¡! I comin’ ’ere ’cause Hope tells as to. I comin’ ’ere ’cause as Hope has a plan for as how we can get outa dis city, ya see?”
“!¡
menacing
¡! And what’s that plan, then?” I demanded.
“!¡
eager
¡! As you an’ ’ow many else as survivin’, ya come with me, ya see?” said Ash. “Ya come with me to da Loop, an’ we’s all leave Laverne together, see?”
My head was swirling with possibilities. How had Ash known where to find us? What must they have done to Hope in order to extract that information? Why would they even bother? Didn’t they have bigger battles to fight now? And what if this dough-faced kid was actually telling the truth?
“!¡
gentle menace
¡! Why should we believe you?” I said.
“!¡
derisive outburst | tension-release
¡! Why as ya trust me?” she said. “Why as the fuck ya wouldn’t? Why’d I come all over ’ere to tell ya what I tell ya if ’n it didn’t matter? Why’d I come an’ tell ya I shot da gel, eh?”
I looked at her. I didn’t have an answer.
“Ya comin’ den?” she asked. “Ya comin’ or ya stayin’ here in a city that ain’t gonna be, any more? Eh?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
T
HEY TOOK
H
OPE
into the old bar where Frankhay occasionally held office and laid her out on a long bench.
She felt sick with the pain from her shoulder. Every time they moved her it felt as if her arm was being torn slowly from its socket. She wanted to black out, but couldn’t. Wanted the pain to go, wanted the voices to recede. Instead, she drifted in and out of consciousness.
Frankhay loomed close and said something, but his words ran together. Others gathered around, heads low. Someone prodded at her shoulder and pain stabbed through her body. A short time later, there was a voice, the girl, Ash, growling at the people around Hope, driving them away. A tearing of fabric, exposing the wound. Something cold and wet against her flesh.
A sharp tug. Agony.
And Ash held the crossbow bolt up to the light; satisfied that it was not broken, she tossed it to one side. More cold and wet against the wound, and then a bandage bound tightly around her shoulder.