Blightcross: A Novel (31 page)

“Look at the distance,” Dannac said. “It almost appears farther to the prison than to cross the desert to the refinery.”

“By foot, the trip from the prison is usually one way.” Vasi shielded her eyes and gazed towards the refinery. “This is the best way for us. Besides, what help would prison guards offer?”

Vasi was right. Capra had to remember that any official was more likely to lock her up than to help her break into the refinery.

They pushed cautiously along a road thick with hostile glares. She tried to keep her eyes forward, and focus on the sound of beating grit-laden wind, but she could never deny her curiosity.

She glanced to one of the wells and observed a boy hoisting a water bucket. Her heart leaped when she realized that hanging from the boy's torso was a third arm. There was coughing and retching and moaning, and several men lying in the sand with broken manacles on their wrists.

One tent rattled and rippled, and a muffled scream issued from within the flapping canvas. Capra shook her head and stepped off the road without thinking. She drew her knife and stormed towards the squalor.

Dannac jerked her back, sighed.

“Let me go. Listen to what's going on here.” The screams became louder. “It sounds like a child.”

He gestured to the ground in front of them. There were faces of shredded skin, red, blistered, some displaying tumescent lumps and barely recognizable as human. Stained sand, shit everywhere and corpses bleaching in the sun. “You can't help them, Capra. The problems here aren't so easily fixed. If they were...”

Dannac's arm was stronger than Capra's nervous will to attack the person in the tent, and she joined them back on Fasco's Road.

The images of the place haunted her as they approached the encampment's edge. “In some ways, this is more than either of us has seen, Alim. Worse than the Ehzeri ghettos, or those eerie drawings of the Yahrein death camps our parents endured.”

He gave a sympathetic expression, but it was short-lived. He narrowed his eyes, straightened himself. “Try to avoid a crisis of conscience until after we reach the bloody tower, okay?”

Damn him, damn the army's programming. Why couldn't they have just brainwashed them into being killing machines? Why did they have to remain thinking, feeling soldiers who had the unfortunate compulsion to defer their morality for the sake of the mission, only to have to deal with it later?

And damn it all, Capra wasn't even good at it.

Crossing the bridge outside the slums helped her focus and forget about the misery behind them, but she would never forget that haunting variety of despair. None of the plaques and memorial crests carved into the covered bridge's pillars could wash Fasco's Road in a lustre of law and order and decent folk. These were the stragglers and escapees of a mad, obsessive justice and everyone must have known it.

She could easily be one of them. She was, after all, a criminal.

Before she could descend into another bout of guilt and internalizing, her foot jammed against something hard in the sand. She jolted back into more immediate concerns, such as landing without getting a mouthful of grit.

When she brought herself to her knees, she scanned the ground for the culprit.

It was a hand.

She scrambled back and kicked sand into her companions' faces.

“What is it?” Dannac asked.

She pointed to the hand. “You're not going to touch it, are you?”

But it was too late. He grasped the hand, and began to dig through the sand. “This man is alive.”

They all joined in and pulled the man out. Sand caked his skin, and even in this heat, Capra's hand warmed on touching him. He was bald, and he reeked of machine oil.

The man slowly opened his eyes, though just barely. “How far to the city?”

“Farther than you'll be going,” Alim said. “What are you doing here?”

As if he didn't know. Naive little Alim...

Capra knew how it would end, so she walked away. They were too far into the Hex to take the man out of it. Was this the kind of death they all faced? Her stomach already wrenched with an intermittent churn, and it could be the Hex getting to her already. Or a sickness over news of Jas' death. Or a combination of both...

One thing she knew—this man had been dead the moment he stepped out of the prison and into the desert.

Just as she predicted, the others left the man where they had found him. Alim came to her with an almost optimistic look, and she was puzzled. It wasn't as if the dead man had been a rich, dead traveller loaded with things they could use. The man had possessed nothing. Just a pointless death.

“What are you so happy about? Was he an Ehzeri?”

“Yes, in fact he was. But that's not why he's proved useful to us.”

“And why was a dead prisoner useful to us?”

As they trudged along the river, they debated. They debated the reliability of the prisoner's reports—mainly that the prison itself had gone mad and that the mechanics either didn't care, or were behind the craziness. The warden's voice had disturbingly come through the horns throughout the prison speaking of new rules and perverted desires, while the restraint machines in the cells locked into disciplinary action. The man had escaped to find help to repair the prison, not to save himself.

They argued about this because Alim pointed out an inconsistency in the story: “If we are to believe that the prison has become corrupted, there need to be shadows in the area.” He pointed to the sky, and of course no shadows fluttered above the desert. “This man heard stories and tried to play us for fools.”

“You're not listening,” Vasi said. “I told you about the underground areas of the city. They are far enough underground that the shadows were able to avoid the Hex and connect to the prison through them. So the prison was not immune to the shadows. And, I say that these tunnels are our best way to the refinery.”

Capra's head spun, and she stumbled. The desert turned to a smudge before her eyes for a few seconds. “Is anyone else starting to feel a bit off?”

The others grumbled but didn't answer. Could she blame them? They all had seen what this Hex did to a person. Thinking about it was the last thing they needed to do.

“And what are we going to do, then, once we reach the refinery? Will we swim across? Our skin will fall off tomorrow if we do that.”

Alim stormed up the steep dune they were climbing, took the lead. “I've been inside the tower and looked down at the river. There are pipes and other structures that span the water. I'm sure we can cross and enter through these.”

“But—” Vasi began to say, before Alim interrupted again.

“You honestly think that these shadows have crawled underground and turned a mechanical prison into an abattoir?”

Vasi dropped out of the argument, and for an hour they trudged through the desert, silent as the stagnating hot breeze. But when they came to a sharp dip in the land, Capra could only stop and gasp.

“I had no idea this was here,” Alim said.

It was a gully, and it bristled with tall, brown columns of rock. A forest of stone pillars, much too large to be made by mankind.

“There is a similar place back home,” Vasi said. “It's not nearly as large, though. They say it was created when the Blacksmith struck a mountain range with his hammer.”

Capra went to the nearest rock, ran her fingers along it. Rough, crumbly, dusty. “Limestone?”

“I doubt it matters what it's made of,” Dannac said. “We should keep moving.”

She gazed into the stone labyrinth. “Through this? We don't know the layout of the place.”

“Going around will take more time than we have. We should take our chances going through.”

For a moment, she wanted to ask Alim what he thought, but she stopped short of saying anything. The one good thing about this limestone maze was the shade it offered. They might even get through faster, now that the heat had lessened some.

The place sparked Capra's imagination. The structures made her think of ancient ruins, and it disappointed her when she reminded herself that these were just natural formations. But Vasi seemed even more disappointed.

“What's the matter?” she finally asked.

Vasi trailed her hand along one of the columns. “I was just thinking that if I had been able to understand Helverliss' stupid painting, none of this would have happened. I would have understood the chaos inside and convinced Sevari that there was nothing else in it and that it ought to be destroyed.”

“Would he have listened?”

“Maybe not. But I would never have allowed this to happen. I just wasn't smart enough to do it.” She sighed and brushed the dust from her hands. “There must be something missing. An element to the painting I haven't sensed, or looked over. Something to bind it all.”

“Well, I'm sure Helverliss would know. I'll be sure to ask him, once I free your brother.”

Deeper into the strange place, the formations stretched above like towers, and now they walked in dark shadows, slashed by an occasional whip of harsh sunlight. Were they even heading in the correct direction? It was impossible to tell, now that their world was a city of limestone monoliths.

A dead city.

There was a sound. A hissing-grating, and it jutted out from the eerie silence. Capra stopped. “Did you hear that?” And when the others began to answer, she held up her hand and shushed them.

There, again. She drew her knife and turned a slow circle, scanning the columns and boulders for the source.

“There is nothing here, Capra.” Dannac clutched her arm. “You do have an imagination.”

“No, there's something. I heard it.”

Vasi knelt and drank from a canteen. “Capra, I can't sense anything.”

Great, now she looked like a fool. It wouldn't be the first time, but at least this instance was harmless—

Across the path—a flicker of movement. She motioned for the others to halt again, and she crept forward. Her eyes locked to the rock tower nearest to her, a nervous sweat seeped onto the knife handle. Listen.

Nothing.

Alim finally spoke. “Capra, this is stupid. We have to move faster than this.”

Before she could answer, something moved behind the stone. This time, she saw it clearly. A form, about three times the height of a man, and its colour was identical to the rock behind which it hid.

She darted back. “Now tell me there's nothing there, Alim.”

The thing stepped into full view. A hideous thing, standing on two legs as a man, but with a grotesque, snouted head. Its bulk bristled with spines at random intervals, and birdlike legs propelled it faster than something of this size ought to move.

Dannac drew his hand-cannon.

Capra darted onto an adjoining path. “I wouldn't bother.” She whirled round, called out, “Run, you idiots!”

And so they did, propelled faster yet by inhuman growls at their backs. Damn the air here—she wheezed and fought stiff lungs to dash through the maze.

The thud of the beast's steps beat against serene quiet, punctuated by the scuffling of Capra and her comrades. When her legs began to cramp, and the others' footsteps began to sound much too far behind for her comfort, she darted behind a column and peered down the path.

Seconds later, the other three joined her, faces red and panting. The creature's grumbling and shuffling sounded around them.

“Where is it?” she asked.

It didn't surprise her that Alim was the first to catch his breath. “I think we lost it. Must be confused by the geography.”

She listened. “It sounds like it's... I can't even pinpoint the direction.”

Dannac said, “The rock formations must be affecting the sounds.” He scanned their perimeter, hand-cannon at the ready.

“What on earth is that thing?”

“Perhaps this Hex does more than kill,” Alim said.

Before anyone could ponder this, a giant fist slammed into the rock, barely a finger's width shy of Capra's head. She dove and rolled across the dirt. It was when she rolled to her feet that she caught a glimpse of the thing, and her heart nearly stopped at the sight. The creature's skin bulged with half-formed heads and misshapen limbs, and its eyes were spaced much wider than any normal living thing she could imagine.

The worst part about it was the eyes. They were too intelligent, with a human glimmer and a deep green sheen.

She snapped out of her shock when Dannac shoved her along the path, and she began to run again. She wanted to yell out, to tell them that continuing along this long, straight path was sheer idiocy. Running was more important.

She passed Dannac and Vasi, pulled beside Alim, but soon fell back again. Then her foot found a jagged rock, and she tumbled to the ground.
Shit
.

A mouthful of dirt, and a bolt of pain in her leg. She cried out, her voice echoing eerily in the dead city. She watched as they turned a corner, apparently unaware of her fall.

The creature slowed its advance. Its slavering maw dropped, showing rows of dull teeth. It was as though the thing wasn't built for this kind of hunting. Its teeth reminded her of a person's—definitely not flesh-tearing teeth.

And that would make it hurt even more.

Though it seemed pointless, Capra stood, weight transferred to her left foot, knife clutched under icy knuckles. “Listen, you son of a bitch...”

A disturbing recognition flashed in the creature's eyes. Capra's heart hammered on as though she were still sprinting. But the creature's lucid moment was short lived, and it lashed out with a three-fingered fist. Capra tried to dodge it, but the fist clipped her shoulder, and she spun into a rock. The knife skittered into the dust.

“Alim? Anyone?” She wiped a drop of blood from her brow and knelt to scoop a handful of sand.

Once the creature approached her, she tossed the sand into its face and bolted away from the rock wall.