The Beauty of Destruction (32 page)

‘It’s my price,’ he told her.

‘Have you planned any further along than this?’ the Monk asked. ‘I’m intrigued.’ Scab ignored her. He just kept staring at the Mother, his mother, and smoking.

‘I don’t owe you anything,’ the Mother told him.

Vic saw realisation dawning on Talia. ‘How many people are on those ships?’ she asked, appalled.

‘Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands,’ the Monk said quietly.

‘Your need for revenge is not important,’ the Mother said.

‘You mean it’s not important to you,’ Scab said, and took another drag of his cigarette. Then he looked down, and tapped some of the ash off. ‘You need to decide what is important to you. If you want me to take part in this idiocy you’ve concocted then this is my price.’

Something occurred to Vic. ‘The
Templar
wouldn’t come anywhere near us after something like that.’

‘Things have changed since the war,’ the Mother admitted. ‘Their sensors will tell them that I won’t be able to do it again immediately.’

‘We can’t kill that many people …’ Talia started.

‘How many can we kill?’ Scab snapped, making her jump.

‘He doesn’t care,’ the Monk told her sister.

‘How many people have you killed?’ Scab asked the Monk. ‘But that’s okay because you had a cause?’

‘It’s not a justification, but it’s certainly better than doing it because you’re a selfish prick with less empathy than a stone!’

‘And that’s why you fucking lost. That’s why everything you care about burned. Because you tell yourself lies, you set yourself limits, so you can see your reflection and not hate it,’ Scab told her.

Vic took a step back. The last few weeks had been hard on Scab. People had done things he hadn’t wanted them to do. He was angry now. Genuinely angry. He seemed open, unguarded. It made him look raw somehow.

‘Well, learn to hate your reflection.’ Scab pointed up. ‘Those are your enemies up there. They destroyed your ships, your habitats, your precious fucking Cathedral, and killed your friends. And you don’t want to commit this crime because of some arbitrary limit on murder? Grow the fuck up.’ He turned to the Mother and pointed at the seething Monk. ‘How do you expect us to succeed at anything?’

The Mother stared at him. She too looked angry, like a god. ‘Do they know?’ Scab asked. The Mother just stared at him. ‘Do they know I’m back?’

‘Yes,’ the Mother said, with apparent difficulty. ‘They know and I don’t know how they know.’

‘Because you know. They can smell it. They’re hunting animals. That’s what you bred us for, right? You didn’t want to be a mother, you wanted to be a goddess.’ Scab spread his arms out wide. ‘Was I everything you hoped for,
mother
?’ He all but spat the final word.

‘For Christ’s sake,’ the Monk muttered in disgust.

The Mother started sinking into the floor of the ziggurat. Part of the wall split open to become a doorway. Scab stalked out of it. Vic could see the Monk staring out through the doorway, the fear on Talia’s face. Vic could feel their presence outside the ziggurat on his skin sensors, his antennae could hear them all breathing, but otherwise silent. Vic turned around. Scab was climbing up the ziggurat past the doorway. The ’sect could see them all pressed together. Human flesh turned to crude weaponry. Vic wasn’t sure why but he followed Scab out and climbed onto the steps of the ziggurat. Four of the walkways intersected at the stepped structure. There were thousands of them. All eyes were on Scab as he climbed to the top of the ziggurat.

Vic had calmed down now. It was strange. Moments ago he had no longer been frightened of Scab. Being here, Scab’s treatment at the hands of the Monk, had revealed Scab for what he seemed to be: a frightened little boy lashing out when he didn’t get his way. Scab had found a new level to climb to. Vic was frightened again. And this had only been Scab’s hobby as a teenager.

‘I have come back!’ Scab shouted. Cheering thousands answered him.

Mr Hat still couldn’t quite believe what he had just seen. Thick lances of plasma had stabbed out from the Cage that surrounded Cyst like searchlights sweeping the night sky for the orbital blockade. Ships, big ships, heavily armoured battleships, bubbled, glowed and burst. For a moment Cyst burned like a sun, so much brighter than the dying star that hung in the distance. Then all that was left was the afterglow and the wreckage circling the gas giant as it was slowly pulled into the planet’s gravity well.

Mr Hat was hissing, his maw wide open in surprise as his eyes compensated for the glare. This had all happened just over a minute or so ago. He became aware of Cyst being actively scanned on many different spectrums but he had the
Amuser
hold its silence. The scans had come from the detached search squadrons sent to look for Benedict/Scab‘s rogue ship and one other source. The
Templar
. As the glow subsided to reveal the gas giant surrounded by debris, the
Amuser
was picking up comms traffic but it was encrypted. Mr Hat thought they were Church codes but he wasn’t sure.

It was the single most destructive act he had ever personally witnessed. He was appalled but he had an erection as well. With a thought the
Amuser
started moving towards the gas giant. Though he would hold off getting too close.

Benedict/Scab was looking at Cyst as the glow diminished, laughing.

‘It’s a trap,’ Harold hissed. He looked rather natty in the three-piece, double-breasted suit. Benedict/Scab had always appreciated a good double-breasted suit, though he never wore clothing made of human skin himself. In his opinion, wearing skin that belonged to members of your own species was trying too hard. It looked good on Harold though, and after all, to the
Templar
’s lizard first mate a flayed human was just another dead mammal. ‘As soon as we get close they hit us with the same thing.’

‘Which wouldn’t be much of a trap,’ Benedict/Scab mused.

‘Cyst has lost about a third of its mass,’ the sensor operator, one of the few ’sects on board, told him.

Benedict/Scab thought it unlikely that the possessing Psycho Bank personality was a ’sect but he seemed quite content in the body, and all he asked for was kittens to play with when they captured feline children. He wasn’t popular among the crew but he was a capable sensor operator. An image of the heat flow through the S-tech Cage surrounding Cyst was ’faced directly into his neunonics. He was aware of receiving comms but studied the animated telemetry first.

‘It can’t do that again,’ the ’sect told him. ‘Even S-tech material couldn’t take it.’

‘It deals with centrifugal forces that should tear it apart. The whole thing defies physics,’ Benedict/Scab said. Unlike most people Benedict had actually studied physics. There was enough of him remaining for Benedict/Scab to understand the principles.

‘I think you underestimate the amount of energy that just ran through the Cage,’ the ’sect told him. Benedict/Scab was pretty sure the ’sect didn’t have a name. ‘For a moment it gave off more energy than some stars. That and the stress it’s under,’ the ’sect shook his head. ‘It will need to cool down. Also whatever it did used about a third of the gas giant’s mass.’

Benedict/Scab brought up an image of the planet. Telemetry was fed directly to his neunonics. It even looked smaller, though the Cage remained the same size. ‘If it did it again I think it would collapse.’

It was clear the days of Cyst being left in peace were over.

Various scenarios were unfolding in Benedict/Scab’s head from his ’face link to the
Templar
’s
strategic and tactical simulation routines. Unless they were hiding a Church fleet in there, and if they were then they were very well hidden, he couldn’t see what Scab was planning. Besides, the Church had other things to worry about at the moment, like being hunted by the Consortium.

‘We have nothing to gain here,’ Harold said.

Benedict/Scab sighed. Sure, being a pirate sounded like fun but the reality was that you had to walk a fine line balancing the wants, needs, and often-difficult personalities of his psychologically-compromised crew. You also had to kill them to make a point sometimes. Harold was useful and bloodthirsty, but he was wondering if a new pair of boots wouldn’t rather elegantly make his point.
Too speciesist?
he wondered.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Remind me, Harold, you were captured by Mr Hat, weren’t you?’ His lizard first mate didn’t answer. ‘We’re going to move in closer. Keep as much of the planet as you can between us and those contractor squadrons and run as silent as you can.’

He opened the comms and saw his father/older self’s features. Even he was surprised by the feelings of hate they engendered. The image had clearly been shot by a P-sat. It was on top of one of the ziggurats. Benedict/Scab could see the denizens of Cyst crowding round his father.

They should be mine.
The thought had come unbidden.

‘Let’s end this,’ his father/older self said, and that was it.

‘He can’t think I mean to face him one on one,’ Benedict/Scab mused. Though he had to admit he wanted his father/older self to meet him, to be in the presence of something purer. He wanted to slay a king in front of his court. It would impress the denizens of Cyst, but he knew neither of them could be trusted enough for that to be anything even remotely approaching a fair fight.

He ’faced a copy of the comms message to all the crew, along with a referendum asking them if they were prepared to go after Scab. Scab and Vic had taken down a significant number of the possessing personalities, and those tended to be the really dangerous members of his crew. He knew, however, that the referendum would be seen as a sign of weakness, and he would probably have to kill some of them. He sighed. Enlightened self-interest just wasn’t their thing.

22

Ancient Britain

Tangwen had spent most of her time in the Underworld. She was starting to get used to it, which didn’t feel right. People should fear the Underworld, even if warriors had to learn to embrace that fear to a degree. Still, it was better than having to deal with the other warriors back at camp.

Whenever she went into the caves with Selbach, Germelqart had to wait for them above with the Red Chalice. The magics of the chalice, wielded by the Carthaginian, hid them from Crom Dhubh’s wards. Germelqart had also found a way to use their own blood magic to lead them back to the surface, so they never got lost in the labyrinthine caves beneath the hills surrounding the valley. It was only in those moments, following the tiny lights through the caves, that she truly felt at peace with herself and the magics that had suddenly infused her life. However, both she and Selbach were sure that there was something else down here with them, something other than Crom Dhubh’s forces. They had both heard and seen movement. Something small and fast, that didn’t move like a rat, in a place where they had found almost no other life. Though they had managed to disturb a bear and a wolf pack on two separate occasions closer to the surface. It had been a shame to kill the bear, though the meat had been welcome, and the friendlier Brigante warriors had joked that she could become one of them. The carcass, even skinned and butchered, had been difficult to move. Unfortunately for the bear they had needed the cave.

Tangwen heaved herself out of the hole into the cave. Selbach was just behind her. She had dyed her clothes grey, as had Selbach, and both of them had painted their faces grey and streaked them with black. They looked like creatures of the earth, barely human. Tangwen was smiling, despite her aching limbs and shoulders. The smile faltered somewhat when she realised that Germelqart wasn’t waiting for them. She closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment, the way that Germelqart had taught her. She could feel the web of magical wards, subtler than those of Crom’s, stretching through the caverns below. There was nothing to suggest that the Dark Man had discovered their work.

Selbach was frowning, looking down at the rock floor. The snow encroached a little way into the cave. Tangwen could see Germelqart’s tracks leading out into the ravine that cut its way through the southern hills bordering the valley. There were no other tracks, which was a relief at least. It looked like he had just wandered off, which angered Tangwen. He was supposed to be keeping a look out for them, and not just with the chalice’s magics.

They had been working on the plan. Calgacus had been sceptical but had agreed to help. Guided by the
gwyllion
, the Cait warriors had left the warband, taking their chariots with them. The chariots had caused a great deal of difficulty for the Cait, much to the amusement of some of the southern warriors. They had also taken Twrch with them. The Parisi tribesman had been one of the survivors of the wicker man. He had been learning to work metal when the Lochlannach had taken him.

Anharad and some of the other warriors of position knew they were up to something, but Anharad trusted her and was content to leave Tangwen to it as long as she knew what was happening before Bladud returned. The sticking point, of course, was the Red Chalice. Nobody liked that it was out of the camp so much. Tangwen could understand their concerns. If the Lochlannach found them then there was a good chance that they would lose their greatest weapon. The Dark Man, however, seemed content to let them freeze and bicker among themselves.

Tangwen was starting to worry about Germelqart and the Red Chalice, though. He was inseparable from the chalice now. Even when not in the cave watching them through the vessel he would sit in his tent, blank-eyed, staring into its molten contents. Always quiet, the Carthaginian had become practically silent. She had wondered how much of it was being so far from his home, all his friends dead. For a moment she felt an ache as she remembered Kush.

Tangwen left the cave. She wasn’t sure why she strung her bow and notched an arrow. Her grey form stood out against the white snow as she moved through the naked trees. Selbach followed a little way behind. He looked ready to bolt at any moment.

Germelqart was talking to a horseman. The horseman was wrapped up so tightly in thick furs that it looked like he feared the cold. Despite the layers of clothes Tangwen could see that his skin was a much darker brown than Germelqart’s, though not as dark as Kush’s had been. He had an unstrung bow, and arrows in an inscribed wooden case hanging from the saddle of his horse. A strangely curved sword hung from his hip in a scabbard, and he had a small round shield that looked to have been made of brass, an impractical metal for a shield, also hanging from his saddle. In fact the shield reminded her of the blades of Kush’s axe. All of it looked too ornate and delicate to be of any practical use.

The horseman reached down towards Germelqart, but the Carthaginian shook his head and stepped back.

‘So be it,’ the horseman said, and kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks. The horse took off at a gallop despite the deep snow. Tangwen hadn’t recognised the horseman’s accent and although she had understood the language, and knew it as an old one, she did not know to which people it belonged.

The horse looked slender and sleek, but not made for the harshness of Ynys Prydain during winter, though it had no problems making its way through the snow. Something about it reminded her of the red-eyed steeds from the Otherworld that Crom Dhubh had gifted to the Corpse People.

Germelqart did not turn around as she approached, though he must have known she was there. Selbach held back. He had been afraid of the foreign sorcerer since the Carthaginian had taken a lock of his hair.

‘I am discovered,’ the Carthaginian said as she came to stand by him.

‘Who was he?’ Tangwen asked. Trying not to make it sound accusatory.

‘He was the servant of a demon and he wanted the chalice,’ Germelqart told her, his voice flat. Tangwen’s eyes widened and she spat and made the sign against evil.

‘Do the gods not think that we have enough to cope with?’ she asked. The last thing they needed was more trouble from the Otherworld. Germelqart just looked at her.

‘Will this demon try and take it?’ she demanded.

Germelqart turned to face her. ‘He would have us give it to him, but I think he will talk first. I think he may be right.’ He touched the bag. ‘Its power notwithstanding, I think there is only the madness here and the division it brings.’

She knew he was right. Suddenly she felt tired. Germelqart was right. Bladud was right. The warband needed and deserved the chalice. Guidgen was right. The chalice would lead to tyranny, however well intentioned its use. They were all right.

‘It has to stay,’ she told him, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. Germelqart pursed his lips. He looked unconvinced. Tangwen narrowed her eyes. At first she had thought that Germelqart’s eyes were bloodshot, but now she looked, she wondered if there weren’t tendrils of red metal trying to creep into them.

‘Look!’ Selbach said. The three of them were making their way back down the southern ridgeline towards the camp. The Pecht scout was pointing at a figure on a horse making its way across the snow-covered fields to the north of them, towards the camp. The horse was clearly staggering, and then the beast toppled into the snow.

‘Is that Britha?’ Tangwen asked. There were people coming out from the camp towards the rider, who was trying to climb out from under the obviously distressed horse. Tangwen picked up the pace, kicking her way through the snow.

‘Where are my husband and the others?’ Anharad demanded. Mabon was standing next to his grandmother. He looked every inch the young warrior now, as Anharad looked the queen in her understated and still practical finery. Before he had left Bladud had given Mabon armour. A sword hung from the boy’s hip as well. His arms were crossed, brows furrowed in distaste.

‘Behind me. I rode ahead,’ Britha told them. She looked thin and haggard, Tangwen thought as she entered the skin shelter. It was Britha’s hag aspect. Tangwen was immediately worried for the child that Britha carried. A brazier and the press of people were keeping the shelter warm. ‘Why are you surprised to see me back?’ Britha all but demanded.

‘I am surprised when someone who has been in the counsel of our enemy, someone who has drunk of the chalice, and been blessed by its magics, comes back without the people she travelled with.’

‘Not just in their counsel,’ one of the Trinovantes warriors said suggestively. There was answering laughter. Britha turned to give him a look that would have withered crops on the stalk. He stared back at her insolently. It was clear that she had lost the respect due her position, at least among some of the warriors.

‘If you have an accusation to make, then make it. Then you can fail to prove it and owe me compensation,’ Britha snapped. ‘Don’t pour poison into the ears of those here with insinuations. You insult all and disgrace yourself when you do.’ To Tangwen’s ears it was overly harsh but it was obvious that Britha was exhausted, despite her gifts.

‘You killed a horse getting here,’ Garim, the big warrior now in charge of the Brigante
teulu
, said.

‘More than one,’ Britha told him in exasperation but making her honesty look instinctual, as it should be.

‘A Brigante horse which we will need to be compensated for,’ Garim continued. Britha nodded impatiently. ‘But it makes you look like you were running from something.’

‘I was just hoping that you hadn’t all been killed while we wasted our time,’ Britha said.

‘You need to look to that child in your belly,’ Anharad said, nodding towards where the lump was more prominent on Britha’s emaciated frame. Tangwen caught the flicker of guilt, but only because she knew the
ban draoi
, then Britha’s face hardened.

‘Or to dig it out,’ someone muttered. Britha’s head snapped round.

‘Who said that?’ she demanded, but all that met her were stony faces. ‘Which coward said that and now hides?’

‘Britha,’ Tangwen said. Germelqart had only just caught up with her and was trying to push his way into the tent. Selbach was presumably outside avoiding all the people of rank.

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Britha said. ‘I need to speak with Tangwen.’

‘You have not told us the news of Ynys Dywyll,’ Anharad said. There were nods from many of the assembled warriors.

Calgacus pushed his way into the tent. The small Pecht
rhi
made warriors much bigger than him step aside. His scarred, seemingly humourless, blonde charioteer was with him.

‘Can you tell them what I say?’ Calgacus asked Tangwen. She was pleased he had stopped demanding she translate. ‘Poor hospitality this, that all of rank are called except myself.’ He made a point of looking around. ‘And the
gwyllion
, I see. Particularly,’ he nodded at Britha, ‘when it is my kinswoman returned from a fool’s journey.’

Anharad at least had the manners to look embarrassed.

‘I am about the business of Ynys Dywyll,’ Britha said, ‘and I need to speak with Tangwen, and Germelqart. Will you excuse me?’ The Pecht
dryw
didn’t wait. Instead she turned and pushed her way through the warriors who would not make way for her. One or two were shoved aside by Calgacus.

‘Tangwen, we need to hear your plan,’ Anharad said. ‘Before Bladud returns.’

‘Anharad, I … you will, but peace, let me speak with Britha.’ She turned and followed Britha out of the skin tent before Anharad could insist.

‘What is it?’ Tangwen asked as they fell in with the Pecht
dryw
. She noticed that Britha did not have her spear.

‘I need to gorge myself, and quickly,’ the
dryw
snapped in the language of the Pecht.

‘My camp?’ Calgacus asked.

‘My presence may bring trouble your way,’ Britha told him.

‘Excellent!’ Calgacus said.

‘They will say I killed the arch
dryw
,’ Britha told them. Calgacus and Tangwen stopped dead in the snow. Britha kept on trudging towards the Cait
teulu
’s
campfire.

Britha told them her version of events on Ynys Dywyll as she gorged herself on the Cait’s food. The warriors had looked on, appalled by her story, and the
dryw
’s
gluttony. They spat and made the sign against evil as her form filled out again in front of their eyes.

They talked openly in front of the
teulu
because it was rude to talk in private and because among the southrons only Bladud, and those infused with the magics of the chalice, could speak the language of the Pecht.

Tangwen couldn’t help it. There was some part of her that wondered if Britha had actually killed the arch
dryw
, or if perhaps this was a story. The
ban draoi
was certainly capable of killing Bladud, but everything she had told them, her actions, and the way she was behaving, suggested that she was being pursued.

‘It’s a sore thing to kill a
dryw
,’ Calgacus said, and not for the first time. ‘A sore thing indeed.’

Tangwen could believe almost anything of Madawg and the Corpse People, but they had grown up in the same land that she had. You did not harm a
dryw
. It was the worst crime imaginable and only foreigners ever tried. When she had mentioned this Britha had pointed out that they had attacked her during the siege on the Crown of Andraste. Though, thinking back, Tangwen was more of the opinion that she had attacked them. ‘So Bladud will come back here and …’

‘Probably burn me,’ Britha said. ‘Any trial will have happened on the isle. I’m assuming that Moren is arch
dryw
, now.’ Britha all but spat the name of the young ambitious
dryw
.