The Beauty of Destruction (10 page)

‘What?’ she ’faced Churchman, but she already knew. The Cathedral had sent images from outside her attic to her neunonics. Talia was hammering on the door and shouting. The Monk closed her eyes and made a moaning noise. ‘How did she know where I was?’ But she knew that answer too..

‘Did you want me to lie?’ Churchman ’faced back.

‘Obviously,’ the Monk muttered, but she didn’t ’face it. With a thought she had the smart matter start to extrude a comfortable Chesterfield from the floor. She sighed again and opened the door with another thought. Talia stormed in.

‘You fucked Scab!’ she shouted at her sister. Her face was red with the kind of fury that only family can really cause. It was just like being back at home.

‘That fucking pussycat …’ the Monk muttered. ‘I hadn’t realised that you and he were an item, I thought that, y’know, it was casual …’

‘That I’m a slut?’ Talia was still shouting.

Porn actress and occasional whore, actually,
the Monk thought but decided to keep it to herself.

‘I thought you and Vic …’ she said instead.

‘He’s a friend.’ Talia thought for a minute. ‘And an insect!’

Beth had seen it before, the ‘friends’ trailing her around, manipulated into doing what she wanted. Beth knew that she had been in the wrong, that fucking Scab was a bad idea for so many reasons. Even so, she found herself getting angry. She almost administered herself a slight sedative. Almost.

‘Oh, so Scab’s yours as well, is he? Someone else who’s off limits because you say so? Perhaps you should take to spaying them like your insane fucking cat friend!’

‘Elodie doesn’t … What do you mean someone else? We were never competing, anyone I had was always out of your league!’

Beth actually rocked back on her heels. ‘You haven’t fucking changed, have you? Are you angry because I fucked the biggest arsehole in Known Space before you got to him? Why am I not fucking surprised? I’m astonished you didn’t offer to give Patron a blow job the moment you saw him!’

Talia had her hand on her hip now. Her mask of fury had grown cold. ‘Well, at least I don’t have to have surgery to make myself pretty enough to steal men.’

‘I’ve been cloned … it’s optimised for the things I do.’

‘The violence, you mean? Really?’ Talia asked mock-innocently. Then she leaned in closer to her sister. ‘Then tell me. Why did you have yourself cut to look like me?’

It felt like a slap, no, like a bucket of ice water thrown over her. She had to make a conscious effort not to look round for a mirror, though she would have had to create one from the smart matter.

‘What are you talking about?’ Beth finally managed.

‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Scab obviously did.’ The Monk could see the vicious look of victory on her sister’s face. ‘And we were never actually related. You decided to look like me.’

‘I don’t …’

‘How long have you had to convince yourself of that?’

Beth had forgotten just how much better at this Talia was. Even before she could control her temper, she had never hit her sister. Talia’s words were always too hurtful.

‘You want to know why I like Scab?’ Talia asked, her voice like brittle ice. ‘Maybe I’m just trying to find a boyfriend you can’t kill!’

Beth went cold. She could not believe what she had just heard, even coming from her sister.

‘That’s what you do now, isn’t it? Kill. So nice you chose to experiment on my boyfriend!’

‘He was going to kill you,’ the Monk said quietly.

‘Maybe. You certainly got a taste for it, though, didn’t you?’

So it was just going to be about inflicting pain now. ‘Why don’t you ask yourself how many died because of you?’

‘I didn’t ask—’

‘For any of this? To be born? I mean the people who died because of selfish decisions you took. You know I spoke to Maude and Uday about you.’ It was with some satisfaction that Beth noticed her sister at least had the decency to look guilty at the sound of Maude’s name. ‘Whore.’ Beth just breathed the word. She knew there was no coming back from this. She was too angry to care.
Why? Did
you have yourself sculpted to look like her? Even a
little bit?

Talia’s expression had grown cold again. ‘I’d rather be a whore than a mass murderer. You and Scab are made for each other,’ Talia said evenly. ‘How the hell can you judge me?’

Talia turned and walked towards the door. Beth wanted to tell her to stop. To keep the door closed. To try and speak to her.

The door opened and Talia walked out. The door closed. Beth stared at it.

Talia managed to make it some of the way down the corridor before she stumbled and had to lean against the wall. Then the tears came. It felt like she would never be able to stop them.

The terrifying multi-directional elevator/transit monorail journey to her room had been almost enough to shake Talia out of her misery and anger. Almost.

The Cathedral’s unobtrusive AI had let her know that she could configure the room however she wanted. For now it was enough that she had a bed and an assembler with a half-decent recipe for vodka and marijuana.

‘Ms Negrinotti is here to see you,’ the polite AI announced over Joy Division. Part of the wall became a screen. The feline was standing by the door.

‘Brilliant,’ Talia muttered, sniffing and trying to wipe tears and snot off her face with the back of her hand. ‘Can you tell her to go and fuck herself please?’

‘I shall certainly convey that you do not wish to receive visitors at the moment,’ the AI said. The screen disappeared. ‘I do apologise. The security to your door is being overridden, would you like me to alert the militia?’

The door to her room slid open and Talia sighed. Elodie strode in. Talia considered lobbing the half-drunk bottle of vodka at the feline but decided it would be a waste of good vodka.

‘Fuck off,’ Talia told her. She couldn’t even muster much in the way of venom.

Elodie held her hands up. ‘Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot—’

‘Wrong foot? Wrong foot!’ The feline had to duck as Talia flung the vodka bottle at her. It bounced off the wall and fell to the thick carpet, only to be absorbed nearly immediately. ‘You have been a total … cunt to me since the moment we met!’

‘Yeah, okay. Look, I’m sorry. Scab and I go way back. It wasn’t easy. I mean you’re really pretty, I mean not now …’

‘Piss off.’

‘But normally; I have to stake my claim. And it’s not just me – none of us are nice when we do that, humans, lizards, ’sect queen, but felines are the best at it.’

Talia could see this. It wasn’t the first time that someone had tried to make her life difficult because they were jealous of her.

‘Okay. So?’

‘So we’re territorial, but you’re crew. We fight but I’ll protect you against outsiders.’

‘Who? Beth?’ Talia sighed. ‘She’s not an outsider, she’s my sister,’ she said miserably. ‘And possibly an alien.’

‘He doesn’t love her, you know.’

Talia was surprised that Elodie would even suggest such a thing. ‘Well no, obviously, he’s incapable. It was just a sleazy f—’

Elodie sat on the edge of the bed.

‘He’s in love with the ghost of the ship.’

Talia frowned. ‘What are you—’

‘I had a brother who did something similar to me,’ Elodie said. ‘It really hurts, doesn’t it?’

Talia nodded.

7

Ancient Britain

The valley in the shadow of the Mother Hill was white with snow now. They had seen little of the Lochlannach. They either stayed in the fort, or were occasionally seen scuttling around the mouth of the cave that led to Annwn and subsequently to Oeth on the island in the cavern lake.

Tangwen was bored. She did not think that she liked going to war. Among her people warfare was raiding, and then, when they were tracked back into the marshes, ambushes. Since she had agreed to help Britha, Teardrop and Fachtna, they had seemed to do little but run and fight. Although there had been a lot of talking and arguing as well. All this waiting, however, made her want to leave and do something else. It gave her too much time to think about the things she had done. Sleep came easily but it was not restful. She saw the faces of those she had killed. Not in battle, but to prove points, to enforce discipline. The killings had saved lives in the long run, so she told herself, but she wondered if it had just been easier to kill those who got in her way. Even if she had left she knew her dreams would have gone with her. Besides, she had responsibilities again. Though nothing as well defined as seeing the survivors of the wicker man to safety.

As soon as they had arrived in the valley, Bladud had sent well-protected foraging parties ranging far and wide across the surrounding countryside. It seemed that the Lochlannach had been content to leave alone the food supplies of the villages they had attacked. Bladud’s foraging parties had harvested what they could, though much of it had already spoiled on the stalk. They took what stores they could find, though much of that had been allowed to run down before the impending harvest. Where they had done well was with livestock. There had been a goodly amount of cows, some pigs and aurochs, and many, many sheep. Rarely had a warband had so much mutton to eat.

She was sitting on a fallen tree next to a trail of churned up, now frozen, mud and animal shit that led east from the camp, out of the valley, when the newcomers arrived. The snow was coming down heavily again. It was already halfway up her calves. There was little visibility and their emergence from the flurries might have surprised someone who had not drunk of Britha’s blood, but Tangwen had heard the sound of creaking wood and iron-shod horses on the frozen earth, and smelled leather, frozen sweat and beasts long before she saw them.

The warriors rode small but sturdy looking ponies, and had either small round shields or large oblong ones hanging from their horses. They all had longswords at their sides and casting spears in leather sheaths hanging from their saddles. They carried their longspears – which meant they were ready to fight – but the tips of the spears were pointing down, which meant they were prepared to talk first.

They were small, dark-haired men and women wrapped in cloaks and furs. They wore plaid trews and the men had neatly trimmed beards and moustaches. Few of them wore armour of leather or metal. She wondered if the blue woad tattoos she saw creeping above necklines and onto faces would keep them safe. Many tribes painted themselves for war, ritual, and to hide themselves, but to permanently mark the skin in this way meant one thing: the warriors from the far north had travelled to join them.

Behind the horses came the chariots for the warriors of higher rank. Tangwen remained unconvinced of the practicality of chariot warfare. She knew they were useful in the right circumstances but you had to be very lucky, or going up against a particularly stupid opponent, to get those circumstances. And they were of no use in the marshes she had grown up in.

The first chariot was reined to a halt in front of her. The charioteer was at odds with the rest of the northerners. She was tall, blonde, blue-eyed. Tangwen thought her face would have once been attractive were it not for the puckered scar tissue and the angry expression.

Standing on the back of the chariot was a small man, only a little taller than Tangwen, with a surprisingly slight build. He wore a fine cloak and had a thick gold torc around his neck, which must have been cold against his skin in this weather. She wondered if they had changed just up the track to make an impression, though they were mud-spattered and frost-covered, which told of a long journey this day. His shield was well-made but showed signs of extensive use. Chunks were missing from his scalp and his face; his mouth had been cloven at some point in the past and left a mess of broken teeth, but his beard was neatly trimmed and oiled. He had clearly taken a lot of time with the beard. Tangwen recognised a
rhi
when she saw one.

The
rhi
spoke but it came out as a mush of words. Despite the gifts given to her by the chalice, she could not understand what he was saying. She sensed rather than saw movement to her right. She glanced over to see a stooped figure in a brown robe with a tasselled hood covering their features walk out of the flurries, leaning heavily on a staff as gnarled as their form looked. The bent figure was clearly a
dryw
.

The
rhi
was speaking again, slower but still in the language of the Pecht. ‘Little girl, do you know Britha,
ban draoi
of the weakling Cirig people?’ was what Tangwen was pretty sure the man said. His look spoke of his utter contempt for her. Tangwen raised an eyebrow at being called ‘little girl’ and looked down to check she was still carrying weapons, wearing armour, and generally comporting herself as a warrior. She was.

I guess my fame as a mighty warrior has
not spread as far north as I had hoped
, she thought, a small smile curling her lips. She knew she should take offence, challenge the
rhi
, fight his champion, but she was trying to avoid killing members of her own warband as much as possible.

‘Something funny, girl?’ a rasping voice demanded from underneath the
dryw
’s hood.

‘Yes,’ Tangwen said simply, though with less respect than one should perhaps use when addressing a
dryw
. She wondered if the
dryw
had somehow heard her smile, as the tasselled hood covered her eyes. Behind the bent figure she could see the northerners’ spearmen and women. Unlike the warriors, they wore armour of leather and a few had metal armour, though it looked ill-fitting and much repaired, so she assumed it had been the spoils of war. Tangwen waited for the
rhi
to introduce himself. He did not. Instead he turned and looked through the snow towards the camp. Tangwen smiled again. In many ways it was lucky that they had met her first. Almost anybody else would have challenged the
rhi
. She had assumed that was the point. Make an entrance. Display strength. Gauge the strength of your opposition. ‘Well, I’ll just go and fetch the weakling for you.’

Tangwen pushed herself off the tree trunk and walked towards the camp. She heard a comment about the southron tribes arming their girl-children and heard answering laughter from the mounted warriors.

Tangwen sighed when she heard the raised voices. She recognised Clust, the Trinovantes warleader, arguing with Garim, Bladud’s husky, thickly bearded new second. The Brigante lieutenant looked like a younger, less scarred Nerthach, but he was no replacement for the big grizzled warrior who had been the Witch King’s strong right arm. The similarities between Garim and Nerthach just made Tangwen miss Nerthach all the more. She had liked the big man, though she had only known him a brief time before a touch of Crom Dhubh’s strange sword had utterly destroyed him. She hoped his soul had made it to Annwn, but somehow she doubted it.

Clust and Garim were arguing about the precedence of their tribes in the initial attack. They were standing under an open skin shelter that had been erected for councils. A crude model of the area had been made from snow on a hastily assembled, rough-hewn table. Bladud looked resigned, and Britha looked like she was ready to kill one, or both, of the warriors.

‘There’s an idiot here to see you,’ Tangwen said, cutting across Clust and Garim’s angry exchange. Both the warriors looked up, furious at the interruption, but they kept their peace when they saw who had spoken.

‘I have sufficient here, thank you,’ Britha spat. Bladud laughed as Garim and Clust coloured.

‘This one asked for you by name.’ Tangwen saw the frown on Britha’s face deepen. It would not be the first group to join their camp who had heard of her infamy. ‘He’s from the far north, one of your people. A
rhi
, I think.’

‘One of the Pecht?’ Britha asked.

Bladud was watching the exchange.

‘Yes, very rude.’

‘A small man, badly scarred but a perfect beard?’

‘Aye, that sounds like him. You know the fool?’ Tangwen asked. She saw a smile spread across Britha’s face.

‘Aye, aye I do and he fights all his challenges himself, so don’t call him fool to his face unless you want to kill him in an unfair fight.’

‘There’s a
dryw
with him. An old, bent woman, keeps her features covered,’ Tangwen told the other woman and saw Britha’s face fall. She heard her mutter something that sounded like: ‘Will nothing kill her?’ in her own language.

‘Let us go and meet these guests who do not introduce themselves,’ Bladud said, amused.

‘Your manners are not improving!’ Britha shouted through the snow, her breath misting. She stopped by one of the horses pulling the Pecht leader’s chariot and whispered to it, patting it, much to the charioteer’s visible displeasure. The short
rhi
climbed down out of the chariot and walked towards Britha, his scars forcing his mouth into a grimace. ‘I think I have told you about this before.’

‘What could a poor excuse for a
ban draoi
, from a tribe I would have taken as slaves if they had the courage to live further north, tell the likes of me?’ the
rhi
demanded. Bladud’s eyes widened and Tangwen gasped, her hand falling to her hatchet and knife, but Britha was smiling and the small man’s face seemed to split open. It took Tangwen a moment to realise he was grinning. Britha embraced the smaller man.

‘It’s good to see you,’ Britha told him. She tried to blink away the tears in her eyes.

‘We need to talk. I’ve come seeking my people,’ he told her.

Britha nodded but the small man seemed to read the answer in her expression. He clenched his fists, squeezing his eyes tight shut, remaining teeth grinding.

‘All of them?’ he managed.

‘We’ll talk later,’ Britha managed.

He opened his eyes. ‘You’ve been down here too long, you’ve got soft,’ the Pecht
rhi
told her.

Bladud opened his mouth to say something. Tangwen was pretty sure that he wasn’t used to being ignored like this.

‘She has not grown soft.’ The horrid rasping voice came from under the bent
dryw’s
hood. ‘She is with child.’

Britha wiped the tears away with the back of her hand as her face hardened.‘Eurneid,’ Britha said coldly.

‘Is that all you have to say to me, child?’ the bent
dryw
demanded. ‘No explanation of what you have done to yourself? Perhaps you have been hanging around with the likes of
him
too long?’ Eurneid nodded towards Bladud. Tangwen felt the Witch King bristle at her side.

‘You know who I am then?’ Bladud asked.

‘I know what you are, false
dryw
!’ Eurneid spat and then pulled her hood down.

Tangwen managed to resist the urge to spit and make the sign against evil. The woman was the oldest person that Tangwen had ever seen. She looked like she should have died many summers past. Her skin was so thin Tangwen could see the network of veins underneath. Her eyes were grey, staring orbs, utterly devoid of life, and obviously sightless. Tangwen knew this was one of the hags that she had been told of, one of those who flew with the spirits of the unquiet dead on Samhain-night.

‘Even an old blind woman can tell that.’ She turned back towards Britha. ‘We will hear explanations for your state later. You will be coming back north with me for judgement among the oaks. In the meantime that … thing … that darkness in your belly needs tearing out of you.’

Britha touched her stomach. Tangwen had her hatchet in her hand suddenly; she was barely aware of having drawn it.

‘I’ll saw your face off and wear it to frighten the children before you touch me,’ Britha said, but her voice trembled slightly. Tangwen was surprised to hear fear in the older woman’s voice.

The
rhi
had his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, as did a number of his warriors.

Eurneid turned to face Tangwen. ‘You would draw a weapon on a
ban draoi
?’ she demanded.

Tangwen tried hard not to think too much about those she had killed at the holy place on the Isle of Madness. ‘I’ll kill any who would threaten harm to a
dryw
in my presence,’ she answered, nodding towards Britha.

‘This one isn’t a
dryw
, never was,’ Eurneid spat.

‘Who’s this idiot?’ the northern
rhi
asked, looking at Bladud.

Tangwen saw Eurneid glance at the short Pecht irritably. She was pretty sure he had asked the question to interrupt the old woman.

‘This idiot can speak your language,’ Bladud said dryly. If he was irritated by the insults then he was masking it well.

‘Good, it’ll save me having to sully my tongue with yours.’

‘Presumably this is someone who thinks it’s interesting to be obnoxious?’ Bladud asked Britha. Britha smiled again, though Tangwen could tell she was still troubled.