Din Eidyn Corpus (Book 2): dEaDINBURGH (Alliances) (17 page)

Chapter 18

James Kelly

Somna sat cross-legged atop a worn Persian rug in the centre of his little bungalow’s living room. Tearing a piece of meat from a chicken leg, he looked up at James who stood over him, briefing him on the movements of their city-centre adversaries.

 
Moving his lidless eyes over James, absorbing every detail of his lieutenant’s demeanour, he said, “Our scouts reported five thousand refugees entering the Castle gates over the last twelve weeks or so.”

He was lying.

“Remarkable,” Somna added softly, “that this collection of communities, living together for so long in peace, in sin, and we knew nothing of them.”

The accusation went unsaid.

You told me the centre was dead, Jimmy.

“Yes,” James replied. “Remarkable.”

A few beats passed with Somna, dry eyes examining every facial muscle, and James slackly relaxing his face to reflect none of the fear and anger inside.

Breaking the moment, Somna tossed his chicken bone into the fire and smiled his shark’s smile at James.

“And our scouts advise attacking the Castle first? Why?”

I happen to agree with them, Somna,” James said firmly.

“Yes, the Castle is well fortified, but it’s not impenetrable. With the absence of The Ringed in the city-centre, and the relative protection of The Brotherhood’s fences,” James indicated several points on Somna’s wall-mounted map, showing the borders of the community’s zone, “with this in our favour, and the lack of any real weapons in the communities aside from hand-to-hand, melee type weapons, plus our numbers, we’d break the gates in hours. A day at most.”

Somna grunted, but his eyes drew to the window and the solid battering ram on wheels they’d built from steel and wood.

“Who scouted the area?” he asked.

“I sent two of the newest converts, Stella and David, around a month ago. They’re new, but committed and reliable.”

Somna grunted again. He didn’t know every single member of The Exalted personally; he couldn’t. They numbered too many.

“Give them my thanks and that of our King,” Somna said gently.

I would, if they existed,
James mused silently, pushing thoughts of his niece away lest he smiled in response, breaking his penitent mask.

“If… when we breach the castle, it’ll be a major psychological blow to its inhabitants, having only recently occupied its walls. They believe that it can’t be breached. That it’s secure. Take that away and we defeat them before a sword is drawn or a knife loosed.”

Somna nodded along as James spoke.

“And then?” he asked.

James smiled. “And then we work our way through the rest of the inner zones and rid the city of sinners.”

Somna nodded, a single curt dip, indicating his approval.

Rising to his full height he towered over James and fixed his strained eyes on him.

“I wish to speak to our King about these matters. Return in two hours.”

James silently left the bungalow, ice trailing along his spine.
Two hours. Enough time to meet an old friend.

“You look healed,” James said.

Cocking an eyebrow – the one over his glass eye – Bracha affected amusement and gave James a whistle through his missing teeth as reply.

James shook his head. “Getting used to those broken teeth, I’d say.”

“Quite used to them, James.” Bracha deliberately whistled on each ‘S’ and grinned at his own joke. “Not that your company isn’t invigorating, dear boy, but I’m rather busy these days. Why did you wish to see me?”

James sighed. He didn’t have time for the old games of forced merriment and veiled threats. Awkwardly placing a hand on Bracha’s shoulder, James spoke softly but firmly to his former-friend.

“Something big is coming. Everything is going to change.”

Bracha eyed the hand on his shoulder, regarding it as one might a mosquito, but did not remove it.

“Something’s always changing. That is why life in this wonderful city is so much fun, James,” he said, sissing through his teeth once more.

“This is different. Somna is gathering The Exalted – all of them – for an assault of the city-centre communities.” James removed his hand and took a step back.

Bracha’s eyebrows raised.

“That is a monumental task, James. With so many communities between here and the city-centre, not to mention those within the inner-fences, well, it would take months just to reach the inner-city communities… Not that it wouldn’t be a fun journey,” he joked. “Still, I do suppose he has the time and, of course, plenty of enthusiasm for the killing. Such a dedicated boy, our Somna.”

James shook his head.

“It’s not that straightforward. The inner communities have colonised Edinburgh Castle.”

Bracha’s eyes flashed with delight.

“Truly?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’d wager my young archer and his Alys are part of this group?” Bracha said, subconsciously flexing his jaw and fingers.

James ignored the remark.

“Somna intends
hopefully
to go straight to the Castle, force his way in and eradicate those communities gathered there. I think he plans for The Exalted to occupy the Castle and base all future attacks on the remaining
sinners
from there.”

“How wonderfully dramatic,” Bracha gushed.

“I want you as far away from here as possible, Bracha. And I don’t want you near the Castle either. You’ve healed well, but you’re not what you were.”

Bracha bristled.

“Your concern is very touching, James,” he spat venomously.

James sighed.

“The Exalted will pass through your current abode on their journey. Please don’t be there when they pass.”

Something changed in Bracha’s countenance and posture as he scanned James Kelly, whose sincerity was a current between them. A softening, infinitesimally small, but present nonetheless. A tiny crack in the walls, revealing a speck of the man Bracha once was.

His head lowered in shame.

“Thank you James,” he muttered through clenched broken teeth.

 
The moment took James by surprise and brought, for one fleeting instant, hope that the friend from decades before was still in there somewhere, beneath the sin of the monster. James pushed the notion aside.

“All right,” he said simply.

The former friends, once as close as brothers, parted without a word or backwards glance.

Reaching the cul-de-sac at Drum Wood, James was unsurprised to find The Exalted gathered around their King. Somna stood on the platform by his snarling monarch’s side, voice floating seductively from person to person amongst the assembled. Their devotion was compete; his authority, divinity, unquestioned.

James closed his eyes for a moment and thought of Alys, his beautifully strong niece, and Fiona, his ex-wife. As Somna’s words floated past him, around him, they did not penetrate his consciousness. They did not weaken his resolve to regain who he had once been: the good man. The man who walked with farmers, with family, and not this thing he’d willingly become. Right-hand man to insanity.

As Somna spoke, motivating his warriors, stoking the flames of violence in their hearts and sharpening their appetites for murder on a mass scale – a scale only initiated by those with belief in a higher being, even the pathetic corpse of a world-famous footballer – James filled himself with the strength and conviction of man who at long last was on the side of the angels once more. A man with a family to fight for.

As Somna finished his pontifications and promises, a final command boomed from his throat.

“Brothers, your King commands you to cleanse his city. We leave tomorrow morning.”

As the words faded, carried west by the cutting springtime wind, James made towards his modest bungalow. Without looking around his home of more than a decade, James retrieved a pre-packed rucksack and waited for the light’s departure to herald his own. His time here amongst the killers was over.

Chapter 19

Joey

Alone on the cobbles he’d run and leapt over as a lonely child, Joey passed St Giles’ Cathedral and reached out to touch the familiar stonework. The Royal Mile and the crypts of Mary King’s Close had been his home for fifteen years, since Jock had retrieved him from a pool of Michelle MacLeod’s blood under the arches of the City Chambers. A length of cobbled-stone street maybe five hundred meters long had been his entire universe. A bow and his own physical exertions his only escape, his only joy.

Passing the heavy doors to The Close, Joey slipped under the arches of the City Chambers and stared into the alcove where he’d been born. Once a mystery, his mother’s face, so like his own, floated before his mind’s eye. He whispered a thank you to her and to Jock, both of whom had saved his fledgling life that day.

Pushing away an image of her in pain under the archway he now stood beneath, Joey turned back to the doors of Mary King’s Close. Taking a deep breath, he banged on the door. A triple knock, followed by a double. Their signal.

He laid a hand flat against the wood and wondered how hard his mother had beaten on these doors, only to be turned away by Father Grayson.
No. Don’t go there. Today is too important.

A Brother whom Joey didn’t know well, Gareth, opened the little hatch partway up the doors and glared down at him. Eyes narrowed, Brother Gareth inspected Joey, taking in his face, clothes and demeanour. When the Brother’s eyes noticed Joey’s bow, they widened in surprise.

“You’re Joseph MacLeod,” he blurted.

Pleased that he’d guessed correctly that the Brothers were approaching Communion season and thus able to speak, Joey nodded and offered the customary greeting by making a circle with his right hand on the centre of his chest.
 
“Elisha’s blessings on you, Brother Gareth.”

Gareth muttered a stunned reply.

 
“And also upon you… Brother Joseph.”

Stepping back from the doors, Joey indicated to Brother Gareth that he should open them. Gareth stood frozen in indecision for a few seconds, before stepping down from his stool and clunking a series of locks free. Joseph closed his eyes. A silent prayer escaped his heart an instant before he crossed the threshold to his former life.

Gareth closed and locked the entrance behind them, and the relative darkness of the Close surrounded and embraced Joseph like the arms of a parent. He’d expected to feel awkward, itchy, here in the crypts. Joey hadn’t considered that the cool, dark chambers would just feel like home.

Gareth watched him, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the low, flickering lights.

“Why are you here, Brother Joseph?” he asked.

The middle-aged man was clearly nervous, unsure as to whether he should have admitted Joey, but he also stared at him, awe in his eyes. Yes, Joey had abandoned The Brotherhood
from their point of view
, but a Brother he’d been raised and The Brotherhood were taught to always be loyal to each other above all others, save for The Children of Elisha.

Joey reached out and patted Gareth on the shoulder.

“Please, don’t worry, Brother. If you would like to go and fetch Father Grayson, I’ll stay here.”

Gareth’s eyebrows knitted together at the centre in a frown.

“I won’t come any further into The Close. I promise.”

Brother Gareth nodded, took a final look into Joey’s eyes and ran off towards Grayson’s cell.

In less than a minute, fifty of The Brothers had gathered at the entrance, arranging themselves in a semi-circle to get a look at the prodigal son returned. The fading effects of Carrionite were apparent on their drowsy faces, droopy eyelids latched open to fix large pupils on him.

Joey smiled warmly at each of them, offering respectful little bows of his head as Brothers caught his eye.

After a few uncomfortable minutes the crowd parted and Grayson emerged, looking tired, angry and old. Despite the manner of his departure and the cruelty the man had shown him in the past, Joey was glad to see the patriarch in good health.

Joey gave him a deep bow and made the circle gesture on his chest.

“Elisha’s blessings on you, Father.”

Grayson’s eyes widened in mock surprise

“Wonderful to see that you haven’t forgotten everything we taught you, Joseph,” Grayson said spitefully. After a beat he returned the gesture. “And also upon you…. What do you want?” Grayson asked.

Joey’s eyes narrowed. He could feel his anger growing; Grayson’s casual arrogance had always pushed the right buttons. Biting back on his annoyance, Joey spoke calmly and honestly.

“I don’t want anything from you, Father. I’m here to warn you of a battle that’s coming, soon.”

Grayson shrugged.

“As you well know, Joseph, we do not concern ourselves with these trivialities. We’ve sheltered safely in the crypts of The Children for decades and that city out there has fought war after war. We are safe as we are. Thank you for your
concern
. We are quite secure here, with no need for further disruption of our ideals by your selfish actions.”

Joey was incensed.

“Selfish? This from the man who left my mother to die at his gates?”

Grayson scowled at him. Hatred emanated from both men and seeped through the tight chamber.

“We have our sacred purpose. We tend The Children of Elisha. We are God’s chosen. We do not care for whores.” Grayson spat the words at him.

Joey felt every fibre of him screaming to hurt this hateful little man. He ignored it and sagged. Grayson clearly thought that Joey had another agenda and was goading him, trying to make him disgrace himself in front of The Brothers.

He took a single step towards Grayson, palms open.

“Father, there’s never been an army like this one. A tribe of thousands is headed straight into your borders. They wish only to end life. They kill all of the living, without mercy. They will kill you. They’ll kill every one of the Brothers… unless you come with me.”

“Nonsense!” Grayson said. “You reveal your own lies, boy. We do not wish to follow your sinful example. We do not wish to live frivolously, sinfully as you do.”

Murmurs of agreement rumbled around the low chamber.

“We are servants of Elisha. The caretakers of his chosen, His Children. That is the most sacred calling. Your lies will not avert us from our duty, boy.”

“I’m not lying,” Joey said calmly. “They are coming, and they will kill you. If you won’t leave here, if you won’t come to safety, each of you will die here in this crypt.”

“If that is the will of Elisha, so be it,” Grayson declared defiantly.

Joey sighed. Looking around at the gathered faces, he pleaded to the group, searching their eyes for a speck of need.

“None of you? Not one of you cares to live, to survive?”

Carrionite-induced numbness stared back.

“You might as well be Zombies yourselves.”

A collective gasp fell at his use of the word.

Grayson stepped forward a pace, face smug in victory.

“You are a non-believer, Joseph. You were never one of us, and are not now. Leave here, whilst you still can.”

Gareth had opened the doors behind Joseph; the light spilled in and hurt the eyes of all gathered.

“If you change your minds, any of you, the Castle is open. It’s open to any and all who need sanctuary.”

Leaving The Close, Joseph felt a mixture of dread, sadness and relief as he trudged up the hill towards Castle Rock.

He hadn’t really expected Grayson to listen to him, but had hoped that a few of The Brothers might possess some modicum of individuality, or, at the very least, a sliver of self-preservation.

A scuff from the street up ahead caught his attention. Joey’s bow was drawn and an arrow fixed on the source of the sound less than a second later.

“Out. Step out onto the street,” he yelled at the edge of the north wall of St Giles’ Cathedral.

A tall man, dressed in Jock’s leather plague doctor outfit with a dirk sheathed on his hip and a broad grin, stepped from the recesses of the ancient building.

“I take it that didn’t go well?” he asked, widening his smile as the shock spread across Joey’s face.

Lowering his bow, Joey closed the gap between him and the familiar man in Jock’s clothes, scanning his face.

He hadn’t seen his former friend in close to four years. He’d been lighting torches, another sheep sleepwalking through a servile existence.

“Bobby?” he asked, stunned to see the man here on the surface, with humour on his face and weapons at his side.

“How ye doin’, Brother, Joseph?”

“How…?” Joseph stammered.

“After you left… I couldn’t just do nothing, be nothing. I wanted to be… free.”

Joey nodded his understanding.

“You found Jock’s hunting gear, I see. He left it the night we left The Mile.”

“Aye. It sorta just fit right, y’know.”

“He’d be glad to see you wearing it, Bobby.”

“Thanks, Joey.”

Jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, Joey asked, “You know what’s coming. What do we do about him… them?”

Bobby raised his eyebrows. “Let me work on that. I have some like-minded friends. We’ll work on Father Grayson.”

“Other Brothers are coming to the surface?” Joey asked.

“Yes. You made a big impression the night you left here, Joey.”

Joey was stunned into silence. Was there a chance that Bobby could lead a few of The Brotherhood to the Castle and to safety? Regardless of whether Bobby succeeded in convincing them, Joey had a favour to ask of him.

“Let’s talk,” Bobby said, throwing an arm around his friend.

An hour later, Joey had left Bobby at the doors of The Close. They’d promised to see each other soon. Bobby would speak to the elders and see what he could accomplish. If the attack came sooner than he could convince The Brotherhood to evacuate, or if he failed, Bobby promised that he would secure the entrance to the crypts for as long as possible, giving the fighters from the Castle a slender opportunity to perhaps mount a defensive.

Walking along back towards Castle Rock, Joey felt lighter than he had in months. Even if The Brotherhood would not heed his or Bobby’s words, he’d done the right thing in warning them and offering sanctuary.

A shift in the air as he approached the George IV Bridge gate onto The Mile prompted Joey to draw his bow again and sink to a firing stance. Tracking footsteps moving along the street towards his position on The Mile, Joey pulled back the last few millimetres of tension into his bow as the steps came to the junction.

A man emerged, dark brown hair, knives sheathed at his waist and thighs, dressed in black. He moved like a fighter. A soldier. He moved in a measured hurry and hadn’t seen Joey yet. Joey whistled through his teeth to catch the man’s attention.