The Beauty of Destruction (29 page)

‘The child was strong and would have made a worthy sacrifice,’ Moren said. ‘Perhaps if you had listened to me, and we had honoured the gods, the land would not have suffered so much.’

Britha could hide her contempt no more. ‘You know what would make a strong sacrifice?’ she asked. ‘A
dryw
at the height of his power. I mean, if that’s what you believe.’

‘How dare you speak so in this sacred place … !’ Moren began angrily.

‘We do not fear words here, Moren. Though perhaps you can explain to me why the gods of war would want an un-blooded child as a sacrifice?’

‘I … ah …’ Moren stammered.

‘Or we could get on with the vote once you’ve finished trying to humiliate us in front of our guests. All those who would see my judgement as arch
dryw
ratified?’

Britha considered saying aye but she could not be bothered with the inevitable argument. Those to the left of Nils all said aye, as did Guidgen.

‘He may not speak!’ Moren all but screamed.

‘Enough!’ Nils shouted back. ‘I sicken of your venom! It burns the ears of all who hear it! Guidgen was a member of this Circle long before you were shat out of whichever poor daughter of Cuda had the misfortune to bear you! He is a senior
dryw
! He has served the people under his responsibility and the land well! And you will apologise!’

Now Moren looked furious. It was the anger of humiliation. It was clear that Nils was at the end of his patience with Moren.

‘I think not,’ Moren snapped.

‘He does not know me. It is fine,’ Guidgen said. Nils flashed his old friend an angry look. The
gwyll
dryw
looked worried. Britha could see his point. Whatever had happened before, Nils was now humiliating the ambitious
dryw
.

‘You will apologise or you will be cast out,’ Nils said quietly. There were a number of sharp intakes of breath. One of the younger
dryw
on the right made to protest, and two of the black-robed
dryw
stepped forwards. Moren held a hand up to stop them. He turned to Guidgen.

‘I apologise.’ It was barely a whisper. Then he turned and stalked into the bare trees. Most of the
dryw
to the right of Nils followed. Suddenly the arch
dryw
looked very, very tired indeed.

They intended to leave first thing in the morning. Word had been sent to the Brigante and
gwyllion
warriors who had accompanied them. They were to meet them on the other side of the strait with the horses. Britha couldn’t make up her mind if this time had been wasted or not. Now, hopefully, there would be less arguing and they could get on with dealing with Crom Dhubh, and she could concentrate on finding the rod. This was assuming that the battle hadn’t already happened and they were all dead. She had smiled and then admonished herself for her arrogance.
There’s nothing to say they will not
have succeeded without your presence
, she thought. The smile left her face. Arguably that could be worse. What then for the control rod and her way back to the Ubh Blaosc?

Once having so much to think on would have kept her awake, but her body seemed to know when it needed sleep these days. She wanted rest before the long trip home. Guidgen had decided to stay. She would miss him.

It was a noise that disturbed her sleep and suddenly she was very much awake. She felt the
dryw
asleep next to her grunt, fart, and elbow her as she moved. She looked around the room, the glowing embers of the dying hearth fire providing more than enough illumination for her eyes to see clearly in the ghost light.

And again. A scrabbling noise, but not like the inevitable rats. The arch
dryw
’s sleeping stall. She could see the bottom of a pair of fur-wrapped boots sticking out under the wool hanging across the stall’s entrance. Britha heard another noise. She was up on her feet and moving towards the stall, quickly drawing her dirk.

‘You!’ Britha snapped, loud enough to wake all but the deepest sleeper in the longhall. Suddenly a figure burst from the stall. Slender, dressed in dark clothing, hood covering his head, rags covering most of his face. Britha moved towards him, but he ran out of the rear door of the longhall. Britha threw herself down next to the arch
dryw
’s sleeping stall. She put her hand over Nils’ mouth, feeling for breath, but it was obvious that he was dead. There were fading marks around his mouth and nose from where he had been held. Britha stood up, looking around.

‘What have you done?’ Moren cried. He was standing on the planks that ran down the middle of the longhall, pointing at her.

‘I woke everyone, obviously I—’ she started. Others were sitting up, looking at her standing over Nils with a drawn dagger in her hand. Moren stamped forwards and looked into the stall. He looked down at the body.

‘Frightened to death!’ the
dryw
announced. ‘She must have seen that he was old and weak and not fully in his own mind, shouted at him to wake him. Nils awoke to find her standing over him with a blade in her hand. It would have been enough.’

All around the longhall people were nodding at what Moren was saying. Britha resisted the urge to plunge her dirk into Moren, repeatedly.

‘What would I have to gain from that?’ Britha demanded. ‘He ruled in our favour.’

‘You are Bress’s lover, are you not?’ Moren asked. More people were nodding.

‘What happened?’ Guidgen asked, stepping forwards, his sickle in hand. The grief for his dead friend was already etched on his features.

‘I awoke to see a figure in the stall. I shouted and drew my knife. The figure bolted. I went to see if Nils was well.’

‘Let us check the rear door for tracks,’ Guidgen said.

‘And I’m sure we will find them,’ Moren said. ‘After all, people were using the door all night. That is not the question. The question is why would you speak up for this woman when she has been caught murdering a
dryw
?’ There was muttering and nodding from the assembled
dryw
in the longhall.

‘I have not been caught—’ Britha started.

‘We all saw him last night, trying to pour honey into the ears of an obviously infirm old man. Trying to steal the position of arch
dryw
from those who have served this Circle! And he brings one of Crom’s killers with him, here! On this sacred ground! Before our gods!’

There were cries of agreement, as well as suggestions of what should be done with her. She was accused of the most heinous of crimes, the one she had tried to kill Fachtna for, killing a
dryw
and not just any but the arch
dryw
.

‘All of you saw the dissent they have wrought, confusing an old man who has served the land, the people, and the gods well! Striking a
dryw
in defiance of our laws!’ It seemed that she was to be tried by oratory alone. She didn’t fancy her chances. She could see Guidgen tightening his grip on the sickle. She felt sure that
dryw
or no
dryw
he was about to swing it into Moren’s belly. She caught his eyes and shook her head. She looked around the longhall and saw Bladud. He looked troubled but he was thinking; he had not condemned her yet but he held his peace.

She felt the draught as the front door was opened. Everything fell into place as Madawg entered the longhall. He looked around as though surprised to see everyone was up.

‘Where have you been?’ Britha demanded.

‘Pissing.’ He looked taken aback. ‘Is that the business of foreign
dryw
as well?’

‘Nils has been killed,’ Bladud said.

Madawg’s eyes went wide. ‘Somebody killed a
dryw
?’ He spat and made the sign against evil. ‘Among our people that is a great crime.’ He kept on looking at her as if he was frightened. Britha had to give him credit: it was a fine performance.

‘You killed him, didn’t you?’ Britha asked him.

‘No!’ he shouted. ‘I would never …’ He turned to Moren. ‘She betrayed us when we went to take the chalice from Crom Dhubh. I was just out making water!’ He sounded desperate, panicked, in a way that Madawg never sounded.

‘This is a low man. We have seen his acts. He caused his
teulu
brother to—’ Guidgen started.

‘I think you have been consorting with serpents too long,’ Moren said.
A
sideways swipe at Tangwen
, Britha thought,
clever
. ‘And you have not yet explained why you are defending someone who murdered our arch
dryw
.’

‘Because she didn’t—’ Guidgen started.

‘All saw her!’ Moren shouted. ‘I should warn you against weaving magics into your words. We are skilled in such things as well.’

Britha turned to Bladud. ‘We have had our disagreements, but you know I did not do this,’ she said. She was still angry more than anything else at the moment. She wanted to believe that Bladud would not have been involved. He looked at her. She could see the indecision warring on his face.

‘There is too much, Britha,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You were deep in the enemy’s counsel.’

Britha pointed at Madawg. ‘He rode for Crom Dhubh. His tribe worshipped his sickness as a god!’

‘Why don’t you hand over the dagger?’ Bladud said. ‘That would be a sign that you could be trusted.’ Britha had almost forgotten it was there. What must she have looked like, the half shaved head, the metallic tattoos, the black robes, shouting with a knife in her hand. At least she knew Moren was no coward, standing this close to her while she was so armed.

‘Of course,’ she said, and punched Moren in the face as hard as she possibly could. By the time he hit the floor she was out of the back door and running through the snow.

She ran at an angle away from the longhouse but still heading east towards the strait between the island and the mainland. Barefoot, she barely sank into the snow.

They spilled out of the longhall’s front entrance. Running, but often stumbling in the snow. Madawg, sword in hand, soon outpaced them, powering through the snow towards her. He would kill her so she could not gainsay his story. Her dirk against his fast slender blade, one that had been imbued with the power of her own blood. She would not stand a chance.

In the early hours of the morning, the freezing mist was back, hanging around the denuded trees and over the water. She could hear Madawg behind her. The others were much further back. She did not even look behind. She just kept running for the water. She had the longest legs, and in only her robe, with no boots, she was the fastest.

She could see the snow-shrouded beach ahead of her. She thought about the child she carried inside her. She hoped that the child would be protected as a result of drinking from the chalice. She hated to do this but she knew the child had no chance if Madawg killed her, or if she was sacrificed.

She took a deep breath and dived into the water. She knew it was noise that would give her away so she swam as deep as she could. She heard the sounds of other people jumping into the water behind her. She stayed under, swimming the way her senses told her was east, towards the mainland.

20

Now

The
ECV
– enhanced capacity vehicle – that Karma had provided for them was basically an up-armoured Humvee, the four-wheel-drive patrol vehicle ubiquitous to the American military. This particular one had belonged to Special Tactics, the
USAF
’s special operations unit. They had asked Karma to work on it as a favour.

Karma had provided them with as much ammunition as they could scavenge from the base. He had given them jerricans of fuel and water. They had also managed to scavenge a lot of MREs, the nearly inedible but high calorie ready-to-eat ration packs used by US forces.

The
ECV
’s front passenger door had been removed and an M240B general-purpose machine gun had been mounted on a swing arm. The vehicle had an armoured turret mounted on the roof. The turret housed an M134 six-barrelled minigun. Du Bois had taken one look at it and told Karma that it was not a practical weapon.

‘Establish firepower superiority, brother,’ the consultant
otaku
had told him.

‘For a second or two,’ du Bois said disapprovingly.

‘It was used as the lead vehicle in Iraq. The minigun’s for breaking ambushes,’ Karma explained. ‘More to the point, it’s all I’ve got.’

What had happened next was a little odd, Beth thought. She sort of understood that Karma, and possibly males in general, were excited by hardware, but it had seemed to come out of nowhere. Karma had handed du Bois another assault rifle, a pistol, and ammunition for them. Weapons they didn’t need.

‘What are these for?’ du Bois had asked.

‘Backups, same calibre,’ Karma told him. Even du Bois had seemed a little surprised.

They had worked into the night, deciding that they could take turns sleeping on the road. Her body required a lot less sleep now, it seemed. Karma had periodically disappeared to check on his drones. It was apparent that he had a command post somewhere, probably mobile, among the bones of the decommissioned planes, which he did not wish to reveal to du Bois and herself. She could understand that.

With new-found skills she had helped with the prep of the vehicle but as it neared readiness there was only so much they could do. After discussing it with du Bois she decided to check out the air force base next door for more supplies.

Carefully, the Model 0
LMG
at the ready, Beth made her way onto the air force base. Bodies spotted the cratered runway. She tried to ignore the birds, rats, dogs and humans eating the carrion. None of them seemed interested in bothering her. The city to the north glowed from the multiple fires. Beth had been keeping busy. It
had been
easy to forget what had happened. How much they had
lost. In the distance she heard a howl that her
neuralware identified as a coyote. The howl was answered by
dog packs and humans. She also heard the noise of
distant gunfire more than once.

She was looking around the hangar area. Her eyes saw straight through the darkness. She moved towards the hangars quickly and quietly. The weight of the
LMG
was a comfort, its stock snug against her shoulder, the barrel moving wherever she looked. She passed a CV-22B Osprey tilt rotor transport aircraft. Presumably it had been of limited use for the bombing, and so had been left behind.

The first hangar she entered was huge and mostly empty, other than two of the A-10s. Her neuralware had provided her with the information on the aircraft as soon as she had seen them. Five days ago she wouldn’t have had a clue as to what they were. It looked like they had been being worked on when the Seeders had attacked. They probably weren’t capable of joining in the bombing of Tucson.

There was one other aircraft in the hangar. It did not look military. She approached it carefully. It looked like a civilian executive jet but her neuralware identified it as an
EADS
Astrium
TBN
. A rocket-propelled spaceplane that was supposed to still be in development. She frowned, moving closer. She couldn’t quite work out why it was here. If the
USAF
was testing the aircraft it would most likely be stationed at Groom Lake in Nevada.

Then she walked through the cobwebs. For a moment it made no sense. She was out in the middle of a large wide-open area, nowhere for a spider to live. Then she realised that the sensation of walking through cobwebs was her reconfigured physiology’s translation of walking through a blood-screen: a networked cloud of nanites floating in the air.

She moved quickly to the plane. It was locked up tight. She climbed onto the wing but she couldn’t see anyone. She clambered onto the roof of the plane. It wasn’t very subtle but she had to know if there was anyone still inside the air/spacecraft. She slung the
LMG
as she moved quickly along the roof of the spaceplane. She drew the Colt
OHWS
and replaced the conventional magazine with the one containing nano-tipped bullets. She checked in the cockpit but saw no one.

She cursed their inability to use comms. There was someone else here, and they had landed before du Bois and herself had arrived. She supposed that if the spaceplane’s stealth systems were sophisticated enough and the Astrium was capable of gliding they might have landed unnoticed after they had reached the Boneyard, but she doubted it. Du Bois had said that he thought the Harrier getting shot down had been a delaying tactic.

She slid off the spaceplane and started running. She had walked straight into the blood-screen. They must know she had found the aircraft. She had to get back and warn du Bois.

Karma’s command post and living quarters had the look of a technological nest to Mr Brown. The CP was on the back of a heavy expanded mobility tactical truck, an 8
×
8 military cargo vehicle with excellent off-road capabilities. Inside were the computers and communications equipment used to help control Karma’s drone army. There was also a rack for the constantly cycling quadrocopters used as aerial transceivers for the tight-beam communications between the drones and the CP.

Much of the comms and computer equipment’s electronic guts were spread across the cluttered floor of the
HEMTT
, presumably yanked out when the Seeders had awoken. Many of the individual electronic components would contain the ancient alien insanity.

Mr Brown was sitting in the padded leather chair in front of the panels of equipment. The chair had been modified with a joystick, cup holders and the like.

‘And we are discovered,’ Mr Brown mused. He was watching a jumpy screen being constantly updated with images from one of the two Ripsaw drone tanks, as Elizabeth Luckwicke sprinted back towards the Boneyard. He glanced at another screen. A similarly updating image, shot by one of the
MAARS
drones and then transmitted by microwave, showed du Bois finishing work on the
ECV
.

‘Just another victim,’ said Grace, watching Luckwicke running back. ‘Why don’t we take both of them down? Mueller is almost in place, and Ezard’s ready. We can neurally audit du Bois.’ It was not the first time she had made the suggestion. Grace had become sloppier since he had split up her partnership with du Bois and made her hate him, but she had certainly become more fervent. She had a point, however. Having Mueller and Ezard take du Bois down and kill Luckwicke would be easier. Du Bois was the most difficult of his pawns, but after the Pennangalan and her sister, he was by far the oldest and most competent. He wondered if he was becoming subject to the same sentimentality that had cursed du Bois’s life.

‘For all we know he is still about our business, despite being told to stand down. Given the lengths he has gone to, it could be argued that he is showing real loyalty.’

The Pennangalan came off the workbench she had been leaning against. The light from the screens and the other electronic instruments in the cramped CP reflected off the beaten silver mask that covered her face. His oldest servant, augmented with Naga-tech, one of the twin serpent pirate queens of the Khmer Empire, now little more than a slave. He sensed her impatience. This elaborate charade was a luxury they didn’t have the time for.

‘Didn’t you order her dead?’ Grace asked, pointing the barrel of her Noveske Rifleworks N6
CQB
carbine at the image of Luckwicke. ‘Is that loyalty?’ the punk girl demanded. The side door to the truck-mounted CP opened and Karma found himself looking down the barrel of two carbines. He sighed and climbed in, closing the door behind him.

‘How much longer—’ he started, and then saw the images of Beth sprinting back from the air force base. ‘Well, at least the charade’s over,’ Karma spat. It was clear the bearded tech did not like him. Mr Brown was sure he had known why once, and could probably remember if he concentrated, but it wasn’t important. He glanced at the bed Alexia du Bois was lying on. She had been put to sleep by an S-tech derived nanotech sedative that had bypassed the protection of her internal systems. Alexia’s immortality, and her being kept out of their business, had been one of du Bois’s tedious conditions of service. Finally she was proving useful. ‘Lying to him about her was cruel,’ Karma said.

Patron’s laugh was devoid of humour. ‘Now he will be pathetically grateful to see her. Remember, we are just here to talk. Ideally he re-joins the fold, the price of which is Luckwicke’s death, but to all intents and purposes we are the good guys.’ Patron reached over and placed a finger on Alexia’s forehead, delivering the signal to wake her by touch.

‘Yeah, right,’ Grace snapped, and then opened the door, jumping out into the sunlight.

‘Du Bois!’ Beth shouted.

He was standing just a little way beyond the
ECV
looking up a corridor of dirt between two rows of decommissioned B-52 bombers. He glanced behind him at the sound of her voice but then turned back to face something else.

She reached his side. Further up the corridor of red dirt she could make out five figures standing in front of one of the old B-52s. Karma was on the right. Next to the
otaku
was a leather-clad punk girl with multiple piercings, her mohican flat on her head and tied back. She was carrying a carbine with an underslung grenade launcher.

Next to the punk was a tall, slender, but somehow still powerful looking man. His skin was so black he was almost a void, though his features were not African, in fact they didn’t seem to fit any ethnicity she had ever seen before.

Next to the black-skinned man was another woman. Tall, statuesque, strikingly beautiful, though there was something about her that made Beth think of the transvestites she had known working the doors in Bradford and Leeds. She wore black jeans and a fitted T-shirt with the name of a band on it that Beth had never heard of. She was smiling, beaming at du Bois. Beth was sure she could see a family resemblance.

The woman on the far left was the strangest of them. She was shorter than the other three women, wiry. She had long black hair tied back in what looked like a braided hangman’s noose. She wore very practical outdoor clothes in subdued desert colours, and carried a Sig Sauer 716 Patrol Rifle also with an underslung grenade launcher. Her face was covered by a smooth silver mask with contours in the shape of facial features but no slits for eyes, nose or mouth. It looked perfectly form-fitting.

‘Okay …’ Beth said. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘Hello, Malcolm!’ the black-skinned man shouted. His voice was so deep it made her feel funny. The air seemed to shimmer slightly when he spoke.

‘We could run,’ Beth suggested, glancing back at the
ECV
.

‘I like westerns,’ du Bois said. It wasn’t quite what she wanted to hear. He started walking forwards.

‘Are you still sane?’ the black-skinned man asked. Beth fell in beside du Bois.

‘Do you like westerns?’ du Bois asked.

‘My dad did, so I didn’t,’ Beth said.

‘Malcolm! Thank god!’ the tall, beautiful woman shouted, and started to move forwards. The black-skinned man stopped her by placing one of his huge hands on her shoulder.

‘Please let us speak with him first. If anything’s happened to him we can still help him,’ Beth overheard the black-skinned man say. She could listen to his voice all day, she thought.

‘Mr Brown, let my sister go,’ du Bois shouted at the tall figure. ‘But you’ve seen westerns, right?’ Beth had heard this last in her head. She had that feeling of walking in cobwebs again, her skin itched. She knew that communication via a blood-screen would only last so long before desert breezes carried the nanites away.

‘Yes, I’ve seen westerns,’ she answered with a thought.

‘You put them down with conventional weapons, overkill, then you finish them off with the nano-tipped bullets. They will have at least one, but more likely two, snipers in place. One will be close in. He won’t miss, you’re going to get shot. Our only chance is that they want us alive. If he hits us with nanite-tipped bullets we’ve had it.’

‘The one further away?’ she asked.

‘He will have a bigger gun but the bullets will have to travel longer distances. We need to keep moving because he will be able to deliver that overkill I mentioned.’

Beth was aware of the Ripsaw unmanned light tanks behind them. They were being flanked by two of the machine-gun-mounted
MAARS
tracked drones as well.

‘This isn’t good, is it?’ They were still closing with the five figures who had started moving towards them.

‘Tactically?’ du Bois asked. ‘No.’

Beth noticed he kept on glancing at the punk girl. Beth wondered if this was the Grace that Gideon and Azmodeus had asked about. She looked young, early twenties at the oldest, and was staring at du Bois with undisguised hatred.

‘Objective?’ she asked.

‘Get Alexia to the
ECV
and run away,’ du Bois thought back.

‘Chance?’