Din Eidyn Corpus (Book 2): dEaDINBURGH (Alliances) (22 page)

Chapter 25

Steph

Block, kick, hammer punch. The leg sweep, his blade glinting in the morning light. Her head pulled back, one centimetre of air separating his blade from her throat. He pulled short the follow-through and slashed backhand at the same spot but she’d already turned away, pirouetting into a low sweep that forced him to step back. As his right leg lifted two centimetres, she used the fraction of a second he was off-balance to fire a front kick loaded with her entire body weight into his sternum. Standing over him, she jutted her chin in a
get up
gesture.

“Enough for today, my dear,” he grinned with genuine pride through crooked jaw and stumps of teeth.

Replaying their morning sparring session in her mind, Steph picked out eight flaws in Bracha’s form she hadn’t noticed before that session, and stored them away for future use. Today wasn’t the first time she’d landed a blow on her mentor, but it was his first visit to the mossy ground at her hands. Flipping through the mental images once again, Steph plucked at her own flaws, wincing as she noted several points in the sequence where she should have landed a much cleaner blow. She was getting good, no doubt about it, but she still had a lot of work to do if she were to come anywhere close to matching her cousin’s efficiency as a fighter. This was her goal.

In her mind, Alys could handle anything and anyone, even Bracha. Joey’s skill with his bow and agility of movement made him equally as dangerous, but in hand-to-hand, perhaps only Aunt Jen still had the edge on Alys. Certainly the partially-broken Bracha of today would not prove much of a match to his cousin. Steph felt a whisper.

 
Y
ou could take him.

Pushing the voice away, she stood.

Not yet. He’s still useful.

Bracha had been gone for around eight hours. Departing after their sparring session, he’d implied that he had someone to meet and slipped smoothly as a shadow into the forest. The urge to follow him tugged at Steph, but other than using the opportunity as an exercise in tracking, she had little interest in where he’d gone, assuming that he was being driven by his inscrutable and indelible need to kill.

In the last few weeks, since approaching full fitness once again, he’d made these little trips more frequently, always returning in a merrier mood and with blood on his knives. She balanced her need to continue being his pupil against ending his decades-long killing spree, justifying his continued existence with the knowledge that the people he’d most likely be hunting were members of Somna’s Exalted.

He was obsessed with The Exalted. According to Bracha, he’d once belonged to them, but been betrayed by Somna many years ago. Content to hunt mainly in north Edinburgh for the last ten years or so, Bracha had felt the pull of the south once more, shortly after killing Joey’s mentor, Padre Jock. The rumours of a cure had persisted, piquing his interest, but really his search for the cure was simply an excuse to venture back to the home of The Exalted and exact a long overdue punishment.

Occasionally he’d mention a friend. That’s all he said,
a friend
. He’d used the word this morning. She did not envy anyone this man considered a friend.

Steph pulled off the poncho she wore revealing the light but rugged canvas trousers and long-sleeved T-shirt underneath. Bracha called them her
“Bear Grylls’ clothes”,
whatever that meant. Fashioned from an old lightweight rug, the poncho kept the wind from chilling her, but would just get in the way for now.

Forming her stance, Steph began working through the hundreds of sequences Bracha had taught her these past few months. Sequences were set routines used to develop reflexes, muscle memory and what was essentially a bank of instinctual moves that flowed together in a real-world combat situation. From any block, or strike, Steph had dozens of moves to follow on to, depending on and dictated by her body’s position and her enemy’s counters. The sequences were interchangeable and allowed the fighter’s instincts to take over so she could concentrate on strategy and not wholly on the moment. It made improvisation instinctual and meant that her moves flowed like mercury. Learning the sequences and embedding them in the physical memory took hundreds of hours but the payoff was invaluable.

Her breath fogged in the night-time air as she kicked, blocked, stabbed and punched at the darkness. Despite the condensing breath, spring had arrived.

Early April and the mornings brought chilly bright sunlight along with tulips and wildflowers breaking through the soil around the cottage. Rabbits and deer were appearing in greater numbers and the little troop of capuchins had returned to pick the forest of berries and nuts.

The seclusion of the cottage seemed to be growing with the spring leaves and a sense of urgency had begun to pull at her of late. The forest felt as though it was creeping in on the cottage. She developed an increasing sense of something closing in on her. She felt as though time was running out. For what, she didn’t know, but the isolation of the cottage, once so comforting, was beginning to feel like an obstacle. Unsafe.

She snorted derisively at the notion of this cottage with Bracha in it having ever felt safe, but it had. She’d grown stronger and more confident of her skills under his tutelage. Despite his presence she felt in charge of her own destiny, and oddly his too. In the early weeks the silence between them, whilst difficult, had been a salve for her bruised emotions and fragile spirit. She’d spent so much time mechanically following his instructions, she had no need to think. The experience had been just what she needed.

She feared nothing and no-one, but was canny enough to assess everything. She was aware that she looked at the world with the calculated eye of her mentor, but she didn’t think like him. She could, but chose not to. That was the one part of her old self she protected: the belief that good people still lived in the city of the dead.

Realising that she would leave soon brought an unexpected stab of regret. The little plant-covered cottage had become a home to her. Even Bracha had become a known factor. Although that status quo could change in an instant, with a whim, Bracha had shown no real aggression towards her. If anything, he seemed to have grown fond of her. In some twisted way, Bracha, and their life here, had somehow become the closest she’d come to having a father. They fought together, he’d given her so much knowledge, but they could never trust each other, this skewed version of a father and daughter. Bracha despised two people she loved
–
with good reason as they’d broken him
–
but Alys and Joey were hers and she’d never let this man hurt them.

Perhaps in training her, Bracha imagined that he was leaving a legacy of sorts. She couldn’t know and didn’t care. Her time here was over, done.

Steph tore at a piece of wild boar she’d roasted for hours in the cottage’s brick oven. A wave of sadness passed over her as she accepted that this was it. Bracha would die tonight. A stiletto into his carotid artery whilst he slept. It was better than he deserved, but the irony would make up for the ease of his passing.

 
Stealing a glance at the cupboard, she checked that her rucksack, already packed with her clothes and weapons, was still safely hidden. Having glanced at the cupboard door five times during supper, she laughed at her own stupidity.
 
As though her rucksack would somehow be peeking through a crack in the door, announcing to Bracha,
“Cooo-ee. Steph’s leaving.”

Hearing his tell-tale scuff outside, Steph forced boredom onto her face, hiding the growing excitement. Bracha crashed uncharacteristically heavily through the wooden door into the kitchen, almost causing Steph to pull a blade reflexively.

“We need to get moving,” he blurted. His face radiated anger. “The Exalted are on the move. They’ll pass this way in less than an hour.”

Steph watched him disappear into his room. Pulling together his few possessions, Bracha was back to the kitchen inside two minutes. He’d pulled on his golfer’s ensemble
–
his fighting attire
–
and was performing a quick check of his blades, tucked in various folds and pockets throughout his person.

Looking up at last he found Steph, still seated, enjoying the tender boar meat.

“Stephanie,” he said quietly but firmly, “it’s time to go.”

Scanning him, she took in every muscle twitch, every involuntary facial tic and mannerism. He gave her the second or so she needed to assess him, eye screaming urgency at her.

He was telling the truth. Someone, Exalted or not, was coming, and whoever they were they scared even Bracha. No, scared was the wrong word: Bracha didn’t get scared.
Motivated?
Yes, they’d certainly lit a fire under her mentor’s ass.

Her moment was gone. Bracha would be on his guard now and there’d be no easy out for him.

“How many?” she asked.

Genuine joy creased his face into a smile.

“All of them, Stephanie. Every last one. Five thousand Exalted.”

Standing, Steph did a discreet check of her own hidden blades. He relaxed a little watching her prepare to leave. Stephanie cooled the flames licking at the walls of her passiveness.
Not yet
.
Wait until he’s outside, distracted.

“Go get your things,” he said, “I’ll be outside.”

Watching him leave, she smiled. With loud footsteps she let him hear her go to her little room and rummage around for a minute or so. Then returning to the kitchen, she scooped her bag up from the cupboard and followed him outside, palming her stiletto as she strolled through the doorway.

Bracha grabbed her by both shoulders the moment she emerged.

“Stephanie, we’re headed to the city-centre, okay.”

 
Fighting every instinct to push six inches of cold steel into his throat, Steph forced her voice to remain steady.

“I won’t take you to The Gardens, Bracha.”

“I don’t want you to, my dear. We’re going to Calton Hill.”

Genuine puzzlement crossed Steph’s face.

“Why?”

Bracha’s mouth broke into a wide, gaping grin. The grin of the madman he was, all braying laughter and broken, too-white teeth.

“For the view of course,” he sang out. “Somna’s men are invading the city-centre. What better place to view the battle from. Once the fighting begins to die down, we’ll descend and pick off whoever is left. Think of the fun we’ll have, my little warrior.” Bracha, tugged at her sleeve. “We must go now, though, or we’ll be a simple appetiser for The Exalted.”

Steph watched her mentor walk to the locked gate. He paused for a second and made a little
after you
gesture.

“How do you know what their plans are?” she asked.

Bracha’s eye twinkled. “I told you, Stephanie, I have a friend.”

She gave him a single nod.

“Let’s do it.”

Bracha laughed and ran out into the night, his pupil following on light feet behind him.

Chapter 26

Present Day

Alys

Alys lay on her front, momentarily stunned, watching the whirlwind with blades that had once been her fragile cousin. The girl was a demonic storm of blows. Her bow cast to the ground, she held twin blades. Alys watched as Stephanie engaged, sliced and moved back, allowing Bracha to swing and stab at the larger opponent. In turns they slashed and stabbed and maimed the man. Despite their skill and horrific teamwork, they were still going to lose.

Somna, driven into a fury by the numerous wounds, back-handed Bracha. The powerful blow sent him staggering back a few feet. Steph slipped in, taking advantage of his raised arm, driving a blade into his armpit and spinning away from his counter. It was an impressively merciless and totally ballsy move. Alys cut a look at Joey,
still down
, but rising, teeth gritted against the pain of his broken ribs and leg. Jennifer,
on her feet
, and James,
clueless as to the young fighter’s identity.

Behind James, at the Castle’s gates, Alys saw her Aunt Fiona emerge. A group of Rangers quickly cut her advance. She screamed at them to let her through. They stood fast.

Someone’s told her Steph’s here.

“On me,” Alys yelled at her family.

Joey kneeled and screamed as he tried to draw his bow. Managing to pull perhaps forty percent of his normal pressure into the bow his face ran with sweat at the exertion.

Alys knew that Joey would hold his shot until the right opportunity came or until he passed out.

Jennifer appeared at her left side, Uncle James at her right.

“Don’t hurt the girl, James,” Jennifer said.

As a unit they moved. Spreading themselves out, around Somna, they joined the tornado that was Steph and the whooping lunatic who’d been James’s best friend. Each of them entered the whirling cycle of crushing blows and stabbing wounds coming at Somna from too many angles and heights to defend.

Steph’s speed and technique was brutally efficient. She and Bracha moved like two parts of the same machine. Jennifer fell into her own rhythm, firing blade-like hands at Somna’s face. She opened a cut above his right eye as Alys slammed a hard kick into the side of his left knee, folding it into an entirely unnatural position and sending him down onto the stones, still holding himself partially upright on his one good leg.

With her Aunt Jennifer hammering Somna with a flurry of lightning punches and Bracha slicing at his shoulders, Steph took an opening and ran at Somna. She plunged a blade deep into his neck. Leaving it there she continued her run. Using his thigh as a launch pad, Steph tucked into a tight roll over his head as Alys dashed at him, her sharp Sai in a two-handed grip.

Simultaneously, a dagger to the head and a Sai in his heart from the cousins ended the killer named Somna.

 
Alys whipped around, checking that Joey – who’d collapsed once more – was being attended to. Some Rangers were dragging him back through the gates.

Alys took a step towards Bracha and found her cousin in her path.

“He leaves alive,” Steph said flatly.

“Not a chance,” Jennifer growled. “How can you of all people want that?”

Steph straightened her back and jutted her chin defiantly.

James moved towards Steph, attempting to push past her. Moving lightning fast, Steph whirled the larger man around, slipping her arm around him whilst the other hand pressed her stiletto blade into his neck.

James froze on the edge of the girl’s blade.

“Taught you all of his tricks, has he?” James asked.

Bracha laughed through his teeth, and moving to Steph’s side he wiggled his eyebrows at Jennifer.

“You are my kind of woman, Mrs Shephard. Ding dong.”

Alys tightened her grip on her twin Sai and waited for an opening. Steph’s eyes followed her cousin’s movements.

Bracha leered at Jennifer’s body for a moment before turning his attention to Steph.

“Stephanie, my dear, it’s time that we departed.”

“I’m staying,” she said. “You get to leave.” She bored her eyes into her aunt and cousin. “No-one will try to stop you.”

Bracha gave a little bow. “Very decent of you Stephanie. What a lovely family you have.”

“On your way,” Steph said. “Next time we meet, I’m going to kill you.”

Bracha beamed at her, his broken, jagged incisors a row of white and glinting ruined perfection. Pride emanated from him.

“Oh, wonderful, my dear. What a treat that will be.” He squeaked a finger across his smiley-face glass eye. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, Stephanie.” Bracha sheathed his weapons and whistled through his teeth, spinning around in a little pirouette before slipping away. Casually killing a few of The Exalted, who still fought the oncoming Ringed, as he passed, Bracha vaulted the north fence and slid down the grassy embankment out of sight.

Alys placed her Sai into the sheaths on her thighs and approached her cousin.

“Steph. Let that man go.”

From behind James, Steph’s eye narrowed, showing the first signs of the girl she’d been.

“I want Bracha long gone. No-one stops him leaving. He’s mine… just not today.”

Alys nodded, trying to reassure her cousin.

“I understand, Steph. We all do. No-one’s going after Bracha. Frankly we’ve bigger problems.”

Alys nodded behind her cousin where The Ringed were beginning to break through the ranks of Somna’s remaining army.

“We need to get into the Castle. We get the gates closed and let The Ringed have their day. It’s over, Stephanie. Come home.”

Alys watched a myriad of emotions and reactions pass over her little cousin’s face. She was a new person, this Steph, a mystery to her family. The carefree, careless child had come home a warrior, a killer, but she was still that same good, decent kid. Alys saw it.

“Put him down. I’ll fix his wound, it’ll be okay, Steph.”

A single small nod of agreement and Steph removed the blade from James’s neck. No arterial gush came. No life began to spray from him across the Esplanade.

She hadn’t pierced the artery.

James looked at the girl.

“He taught me some stuff,” she said, “but I made modifications.” She grinned.

Alys stepped between them.

“Everybody, fall back,” she yelled.

Grabbing Steph by the hand, she sprinted back through the gates, leading the Castle fighters back inside. Fiona waited behind a wall of Rangers. On seeing her daughter, she bulldozed her way through the women and collapsed in a tangled heap of tears and joy with her daughter.

Once the gates were secure, Jennifer and Alys joined them on their knees, holding each other, promising new starts and forgiveness for old mistakes.

As the tears and laughter ebbed, James shuffled over to them. Fiona took her daughter by the hand. Standing aside the girl she nodded over at James.

“Go say hello to him, Steph.”

Steph looked James up and down before offering a puzzled, “Eh, hullo.”

James laughed loudly and picked her up into his arms. Holding the daughter whose existence he’d only discovered that very morning, he spun her around again and again, whooping loudly.

When he’d stopped, Steph looked at him like he was a complete moron.

“Right ye are, mister.”

James laughed again.

“Right ye are, Dad,” he corrected her.