Shadow Hunter
May. 16th, 2005 08:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosipheleePrologue and the first chapter in case anyone wants to refresh their memory of those. The new chapter will be up shortly (it was too big to get them all in one post)
Prelude: A Strange Encounter
11pm, Saturday 24 January, 2009, London
The grey mists had risen off the river, thick and chill. Peering out from the front seat of the car as her husband drove, Janet Holmes could barely see the verges of the road. The buildings on each side of them were mere looming shadows, smudged charcoal shapes which could be as insubstantial as the fog. The only guide was the orange sodium glow of streetlights and the occasional blur of other headlights. The road was slick with ice and the car skidded every time Tony accelerated past a crawl.
Janet, who had been dozing since just after they left their daughter’s house, said brightly, “Isn’t this Dickensian, darling?”
Tony grunted in reply, concentrating on the road.
“I half expect some modern day Magwitch to come looming out of the mist. It was Magwitch, wasn’t it? Or am I getting muddled with Oliver Twist?”
“Neither, I hope,” Tony said. “Not round here.”
“Wherever are we?” Janet said, rubbing a clear space in the condensation on the window. “I can’t see anything that could be a landmark.” She hadn’t meant to doze off; she didn’t like to admit that a glass of wine tended to send her to sleep these days.
“Frilsey. The flyover’s closed.”
Janet glanced out the window again, uneasily. There were dim patches of light down sidestreets she had assumed were street lamps or shopfronts. Now she wondered if they were campfires.
“Did we have to come this way? There’ve been all those car-jackings down here and that poor woman who was in the paper the other week. It’s not safe.”
“If you want to get home before midnight,” Tony snapped. “It’s too bloody cold for any of the gangs to be out.”
Janet shivered and reached forward to turn the heater up. “Poor souls,” she said. “It must be awful round here in winter. You hear such terrible things. I wonder if Stephanie’s got the kids into bed yet – they were ever so wide awake when we left.”
Tony grunted and she knew he wasn’t listening. She didn’t really mind – she was used to it after thirty-eight years of –
“Christ!” Tony slammed the brakes on and Janet was jerked forward as the car skidded, tyres squealing on the icy road.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked as they slid to a halt. Then she looked up and saw the figures in the road. Grey and bulky in the mist, they began to close in on the car.
“Oh, God,” Janet said, her voice squeaking. This couldn’t be happening. Not to them. They’d never even been burgled.
The approaching figures stopped, forming a tight circle three-deep around the car. The glare of the headlights reflected off shiny, black jackets; the whites of their watching eyes and the bands of white cloth they had all tied around their upper arms. They all looked hungry, the bones sharp beneath their skin. They all looked alike, despite the varying hues of their skins and their different builds. Male and female alike, their eyes seemed hard and there was a cold anger in their faces which made Janet shrink back into her seat.
Yet they did not move.
Tony took her wrist in his hand and squeezed gently, trying to reassure her.
“What are they waiting for?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. Don’t move.”
“My phone’s just here. I could...”
His fingers tightened and she followed his gaze. One of the tallest of the men had moved out of the ring and was approaching Tony’s window. He leant down to squint in at them and then gestured to Tony to wind the window down.
Tony shook his head.
Janet squeaked nervously.
“I’m not making it easy for them,” Tony muttered, locking the doors.
The man gestured again and Tony ignored him, clutching the steering wheel and staring straight ahead.
Now he had a gun in his hand. He gestured towards the window with its butt, as if to break the glass, then drew back slightly.
“Tony,” Janet whispered. “Please.”
Tony buzzed the window down a few inches. “What do you want?”
“Tony!” When they’d been students together he had played drums for a band called Blue Tom and the Thunderbeasts and protested against the Vietnam war. These days, whenever he lost his temper he seemed to forget he wasn’t young and wild any more but a overweight bank manager on the brink of retirement.
“We need your car,” the man said. He spoke slowly as if to a frightened child.
“My car!” Tony exclaimed.
“Now that doesn’t seem too bad, dear,” Janet said, babbling with nerves. “We’ll just let this nice gentleman have the car and we’ll walk along and get the bus and everything will..”
“He’s not having my car! Do you know how much I paid for this…”
“We need it,” the man said again and reached through the window.
Tony hit the window control and the man swore and whipped his arm away from the rising pane with a swiftness which belied his size. He leant close to the window and now Janet could see the long scars along his cheekbones, pale against his dark skin.
She could hear the others now, shouting and jeering. They began to move forwards again and she cringed, scrabbling through her handbag for anything she could use to defend herself, wishing she’d bothered to go to those self-defense classes with her daughters.
The shouting stopped. Janet looked up. All she could hear was the purring of the engine and the clank of of boats from the river to the south. Then, as swiftly as they had arrived, the circle drew back, opening a wide path to the side of the car. Even the man at the window drew back, as if with respect.
The fog seemed to thicken, pale and stifling around the car.
A woman came walking between the gathered youths. She was slow and silent, like the fog, and as she passed they bowed their heads to her in acknowledgement. Her hair was white, as pale and thick as snow, and it hung to her waist in loose curls. She was wrapped in a cloak as red as blood and, where the hood hung down behind her shoulders, Janet could see that it was lined with silvery fur. Her face was as fine-drawn as the other youths but something was wrong with the way she walked and she seemed somehow misshapen.
With a swift gasp, Janet looked again. The white hair had deceived her. This woman was no older than her own daughter Stephanie and she was heavily pregnant.
Suddenly, she paused. She made no sound but what colour there was drained from her cheeks.
The man who had threatened them left the car and went swiftly to her side. He bent down to her, murmuring a question, and only then did Janet register how small the woman was, no more than five two at most.
She shook her head and made some quiet reply. Then she began to move forward again. The man offered her his arm but she ignored it to make her slow way to the car.
She stopped outside the window and said quietly, “We mean you no harm.”
She had a heavy accent which Janet did not recognise but beneath it her English was not the usual urban patois but the careful inflections of received pronunciation.
“You may depart freely if you so desire.”
“Lynx!” the man protested.
She ignored him and looked past Tony to Janet. Now Janet could see her eyes and she shivered. She had worked for many years as a hospital receptionist. She had seen despair before. She had never seen such sorrow as she saw in this woman’s brown eyes. The woman held her gaze and said, “But if you have any charity in your souls, I would request your aid.”
“What in…” Tony began but Janet laid her hand on his arm and said, “Hush.”
Janet turned back to the young woman outside the car. It could be a trap but it seemed too complicated. What if it had been Stephanie standing there, alone and in need?
Lynx’s fists curled and her eyes flickered closed again. Five minutes, Janet thought. Oh, dear.
“I think your friends are alarming my husband, dear,” she said briskly. “We can only fit two of you in the car.”
After a moment Lynx nodded and turned. She stumbled a little as she moved, as if frustrated by her cumbersome body. “Go!” she said clearly. “Go back and wait!” Then, more softly, “Mole. Come with me, aye?”
Nobody moved.
She frowned and then said, gazing out at the shadowy gathering. “I will return. I swear to you. I will not leave you.”
Like a whisper, they went, fading back into the fog. Janet, uneasy, could feel their presence just out of sight. Bracing herself, she got out of the car.
“Jan!” Tony hissed.
She leant back into the car and whispered, “Just look at that poor girl for a moment, darling. She needs our help.”
Then she trotted round the car and opened the back door. “Here you are, dear. I’ll sit in the back with you and Mr Mole can sit up the front with Tony.”
The tall man grinned bashfully and said, “Just Mole.” Then he turned back to Lynx, “You okay with this, boss?”
“It isn’t always shameful to ask for help,” Lynx said and clambered into the back of the big estate.
Janet could have swore she heard Mole mutter, “That was not what I meant.”
She slipped in beside Lynx and watched Mole fold himself into the front seat beside Tony. “Nice car, man.”
“Mole,” Lynx said warningly and then gasped, her nails digging into the seat.
“Queen Mary’s, I think, dear,” Janet said. “It’s closest. Who’s your doctor.”
“I don’t have one. I am a medic, of sorts.”
“But, my dear..”
“It was my choice.” Those dark eyes were hard now.
Janet gulped and clung to the door as the car skidded. “Are you strapped in?”
“I’d rather not. It isn’t… comfortable.”
Janet thought to argue and then reconsidered. Instead, she stared out of the window and hoped that the fog would clear.
In the front seat Mole was trying to make the car stereo work. “Wicked,” he was saying. “I’ve never used one that was still in the car.”
Lynx shifted slightly. In the dim light Janet could just see sweat gathering on her brow. “You’re allowed to scream,” she said softly. “Under the circumstances.”
“I – will – not.” And the younger woman turned her head away to look out the window.
Loud music suddenly pumped out, making Janet jump. Mole roared with laughter. “Classic cheese. What is this, man? Seventies?”
“Mole,” Lynx said again, more threatening, and he turned in his seat to look back at her.
“How’s it going?” he asked, his brow creased with worry. Looking at him now, Janet thought he was barely more than a teenager, despite his size and his scars.
“As could be expected,” Lynx said coolly. “It’s a natural process.” But her hands were still clenched into the seat.
Janet glared at Mole who sat down again as Tony muttered at the road. They were out of Frilsey now and some of the roads had been gritted.
“So you don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy then?” Janet said brightly.
“No,” Lynx said.
“My Stephanie has two boys. Harry and Jack. Harry’s three and Jack’s one.”
“I fear I will have a daughter.”
“Oh.” Janet plowed on. “Have you thought of a name yet?”
Lynx turned her head away sharply and gazed out at the mist. “Yes.”
“Is there anyone you want me to call, dear?” Janet was certain by now that Mole was not the baby’s father. He was too young, too deferential and too unafraid.
Lynx was silent for a long time. Then she said, firmly, “No.” The word ended on a gasp. It was almost a minute before Lynx straightened again and stared out of the window.
“Are we nearly there?” Janet asked nervously.
“Five minutes,” Tony muttered. “How’s the kid?”
“I’m twenty-seven.” Lynx sounded amused.
Tony snorted. “And I’m fifty-eight, girl. If you’re not a kid that makes me an old man and I’m not done yet.”
Mole laughed and after a moment Lynx said softly, “You are both very kind.”
“It’s the decent thing to do,” Janet said fiercely.
Lynx started to speak and then cried out quietly. When she looked up she said wearily, “I have seen much of courage and much of honour. I know righteousness and glory and passion all too well. It’s been too long since I met simple decency.”
“Next turn,” Tony said into the sudden silence.”
“You can uncross your legs then, boss,” Mole said cheerfully.
Janet laughed and then sighed in relief as they swung into the hospital car park. “Drop us off out the front,” she said briskly. “I’ll take these two up to Maternity.”
“You’ve been here before?” Mole asked.
“I work here.”
“There’s a lucky chance,” the young man said.
“I can’t believe in innocent chance anymore,” Lynx said softly, “but this time I am glad.”
Janet and Mole hopped out of the car as soon as Tony stopped and jammed as they both tried to help Lynx out. She raised an eyebrow and Janet stepped back. Mole held out his hand and after a moment the young woman took it reluctantly. Mole levered her out of the car gently and Janet began to lead them inside.
Before they had gone a few steps another contraction hit and Lynx stumbled. Mole steadied her, his hands around her shoulders. After a moment she straightened and moved away, taking a slow step forward, her lips set.
Mole muttered something obscene and picked her up, carrying her as if she was a child, balanced delicately.
“I would be obliged if you would set me down,” she said and Janet saw that she had stiffened as if in pain or anger.
Mole grinned cheerfully and started towards the doors. “I could carry you and junior in one hand, boss.”
“Please put me down.”
“And freeze my ears off while you walk it? Not bloody likely.”
Janet held the door open and hurried them through the main waiting area and along the covered way which connected the maternity unit to the main hospital. There weren’t many people about at this hour and they all moved aside, some with quick smiles.
She had never in her life been quite as relieved as she was when they made it into the warm, brightly lit, maternity reception and the receptionist called for help.
Mole settled Lynx into a wide seat and the sat down himself. In the lull before the nurses came Lynx reached out to touch Janet’s wrist.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I owe you a debt. What are your names?”
“Holmes,” Janet said, stammering slightly. “Janet and Tony. But you don’t owe us anything, dear. It wouldn’t have been right to just drive off.”
Lynx smiled then, a sweet, soft grin which made her look much younger. “I will ensure my Warren know your names. And they will not harm you should you ever cross their path. More than that is not in my power.”
Her fingers tightened on Janet’s wrist. This time she moaned and Janet thought she heard a word in it, which could have been a name or could have been a curse she did not know.
“My daughter grows impatient,” she said weakly.
“They’ll have you sorted soon,” Janet said brightly. “And Tony and I will wait, of course.”
Lynx shook her head. “It would be better if you didn’t. I have incurred a debt to you tonight. I will not draw you further into danger. I think you should go home now. Go home and forget you ever met us.”
Her hand at Janet’s wrist seemed very warm and for a moment Janet felt dizzy.
Then nurses came and bustled Lynx away. Janet, who was feeling rather warm now she’d come in from the cold, thought she should go to find Tony so they could wait together.
As she wandered back along the corridors the dizziness came again. She had to sit down in the main waiting area and catch her breath. Drat that wine, she thought. I should have stuck with grape juice.
Tony was waiting in the car park, the engine still running for warmth.
“Did you find the file you wanted?” he asked, long-suffering.
“File?” Janet said, puzzled. What file? Whatever was she doing here at this hour? Then she remembered the job she’d planned to finish over the weekend.
“Oh, no,” she said. “It wasn’t there. I must have taken it home already. I’m turning into such a silly old thing.”
“Let’s get that silly old thing home, then,” Tony said with a chuckle.
As they drove north, away from the Thames, the fog began to ease. Janet, worn out by her darling grandsons, dozed off into uncomfortable dreams and fog and silence and eyes full of sorrow.
Chapter One: Enter Azella
7.55am, September 05, 2024, The Oracle Girls Grammar, London Road, Wasingham, Kennetshire, Southern England
Emli Auroron eyed the traffic with dislike as she skidded to a halt at the crossing. She knew she wasn’t the only one who walked to school but the traffic seemed to get worse every term. Which in her opinion, she thought as she waited, was bloody stupid, considering the way the price of petrol was rocketing. On the other side of the road the battered Victorian buildings of the old school stood behind high fences. There were already a few other girls trailing towards the side gate and she could see more further down the road, conspicuous in their grey and crimson uniform.
“The lights are changing. Please cross carefully after the beep.”
“Oh, shut up,” Emli muttered at the crossing and sprinted across the road. The reek of the traffic seemed to get worse by the week, as more and more cars converted to cheaper vegetable oils. A bus, stinking like a chip shop, lumbered past as she headed for the gate. Someone waved at her and she grinned and waved back cheerfully. She had enjoyed the summer but it had been too long since she’d seen anyone her age. It would be quite nice to pretend to be a normal teenager for a while.
She was early enough that she didn’t need to queue at the gate. She pressed her palm to the scanner and waited patiently while the computer tried to match her palmprint to the student register.
“Hey, Em! Emli!” A couple of the girls in her form were hurrying up behind her and she smiled and waved with her free hand.
“Like I’ve never been away,” she said. “Good summers?”
“Too short,” one said. “Went to Rome, though.”
“Lucky you,” Emli said, lifting her hand away as the gate bleeped. “Sight-seeing?”
“Oh, yeah, I saw some sights. I just sat there and watched them walk past. Tall, dark and handsome.”
“Shalini!”
Emli laughed and slipped ahead of them through the turnstile. “Enjoyed yourself, then?”
“Oh, my, yes. And you? Go anywhere good?”
Her friend elbowed her and Emli pretended not to notice. “Stayed with some family friends on the south coast,” she said. She wasn’t going to apologise for not being able to afford fancy holidays.
“See much of Ros?” Shalini said, sounding uncomfortable.
“A bit. She was away a while.”
They cut through the cloakrooms to avoid a cluster of lost first years. The smell was the same as always: dust and mouse and sweat, cheap perfume and bleach, familiar, foul and comforting. Emli quickened her pace.
The covered way was already full of drifts of dry, golden leaves. It had been another scorching summer and the trees had suffered. Emli resisted the urge to kick them and took the steps into the old brown terrapin in one stride.
“We’re first,” Shalini said and pushed past Emli. “First choice on desks.”
“Corner desks!” Emli said.
“Not if I get there first.”
Shalini dived towards the corner and Emli yelped and vaulted past her, sliding across four rows of desks to sprawl across the back desk, her ankles hooked through the backs of the chairs.
“Mine!” she said as Shalini protested.
By the time they’d finished bickering others were trailing in. Katie was back and Sara and Jess.
Leanna was in the far corner, voice rising over them all, “Michael cheated on Ellie? Oh, my god. When? Has she dumped him?”
“Shut up, Lee, she’s coming.” That was Rachel.
“Emli. Where’s Ros?”
“Dunno,” Emli said. Ellie and Ayesha and Tasha had claimed the last desks in the back row. Emli glanced out the window, watching friends from other forms walk past.
Ros was late.
“What do you mean, Cally Taylor’s gone to America? I need her to do my Latin.”
Ros was never late. Okay, sometimes she ended up in the wrong place but always at the right time. Emli glanced at the clock again.
Diana and Viola, the twins, came in, laughing. Heather had missed the bus, they said, despite chasing it the length of Pangham High Street.
Where was Ros?
She laughed at something Tasha said and totted up the count. Only four missing now from a form of twenty-five. Cally had left – that made three. Heather would be late. Jane –
- rushed in, wailing about lost essays and a broken alarm clock.
“Hey, Emli, where’s Ros?”
“Silly cow’s probably gone to the wrong room again,” she called back. And in the shadows of her mind she thought, What if she’s dead?
It was a stupid thing to think. She knew it was stupid. I’d know if she was. Even though I haven’t seen any news all summer. Someone would know. They woudn’t be asking me if they knew she was dead.
She looked out the window again, watching for her friend.
They might not know. She might have only just died. They might have grabbed her this morning.
“Has anyone seen Ros? She borrowed my history to copy up and I want it back.”
Emli looked over sharply. “She’s not in yet, Romy,” she said, lifting her voice.
“Ros? She’s never late.”
“You could give her a ring. I’m out of credit.” There was a phone in her bulky watch but it was meant for emergencies. They couldn’t afford to waste money on socialising.
“Ros?” Ayesha said. “Her phone’s bust. I saw her and her gran in Hestons’ uniform section last week.”
Emli, who bought her school uniform second-hand at the end of each year, bit down resentment. Ros was her best friend and she should be the first to know about broken phones or borrowed history.
The conversation turned away to holidays and romances, hated classes and who their new form tutor might be. Emli watched the clock, chewing the inside of her lip. It might not be her. Maybe one of her grandparents is ill. Or the train broke down. She could be okay. She’d better be okay.
But she couldn’t help but remember the last friend she’d lost: the blood and the fog and the air full of ashes as pale as her mother’s hair.
Five more minutes, she thought. Five more minutes and I’ll break the secret rules and go looking.
7.55am, September 05, 2024, Fernley Hall, Fernley, near Wasingham, Kennetshire, Southern England
Azella C’Tiri stared out of her window at the grey gardens and thought, I hate this world.
She wanted to return to Astaria, the garden world of universe Jacyn-Dareq 23, where the flower-mages duelled and flirted in the fragrant avenues. Or to the city of Saasiaah in Ashta, where they had been stationed before, among the winged Saisorhan. Anywhere but this grey, miserable, tech-based, unmagical hole of a universe.
“Azella! We’re going to be late!”
And as if this place wasn’t bad enough already she had to face this ignominy.
“Azella!”
At least it was Varal bellowing at her. He, at least had some sympathy. She wondered how long she could stretch the wait out before one of the others intervened. Perhaps if she lingered enough she would break some law of etiquette. There were plenty of places in the multiverse where lateness would bar you from a place forever. She didn’t know much about the education systems of Annah-Dareq 311 but it had to be worth a try.
“Zella!” Her door crashed open, bouncing off the wall with a dull thud.
“Do you mind?” she said, turning to glare at her brother.
Varal grinned back. “Wrong language,” he said. “You’re meant to using English. We’re undercover here, remember.”
“Huh.” Azella turned away again before saying, still in C’Tiri, “English is ugly.”
“You’re not still sulking, are you?”
“I’m don’t sulk.”
“Good because Himself is warming the car up. You really don’t want him to come and fetch you, do you?”
Despite herself, Azella turned away from the window. “I thought Aunt Anmi was driving.”
Varal picked her bag up and slung his arm around her shoulders. “No such luck, twin. Come on. It won’t be that bad.”
She let him steer her out of her room and along the oak-panelled corridor through the East Wing. “It’s ludicrous,” she said.
“It’s local law. You know the protocols. No breaking local laws unless their implementation will further the cause of the Dark. Don’t think you can plead that for this one. Now English – before we get downstairs and someone overhears you.”
Azella sighed and switched languages. Courtesy of the standard spell, her English was pure and natural. She had even acquired the upper crust accent of the agent who has passed the spell to her. “Why are you so cheerful?” she muttered.
Varal shrugged and she thought again that he looked ridiculous with his crimson hair cropped close to his head. In Astaria, where aesthetics were at the heart of magery, they had both grown their hair out into glimmering red banners which flared against their flowing silks. Here, they were both zipped into uncomfortable grey uniforms. He wore a blue blazer and she had a baggy, scratchy red jumper which didn’t quite match her hair.
“I hate this world,” she said.
“You’ve only been here six weeks. I think it’s great.”
“How would you know?” she said as they left the East Wing and made their way along the gallery to the head of the stairs. There were waist-high balusters on the left and she could see down into the wide entrance hall, with its checkerboard floor and mirror-lined walls. Echoing him she added, “You’ve only been here six weeks.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Varal?” She paused and narrowed her eyes to stare at him. He looked all too pleased with himself. “You don’t mean..?”
“I do.”
“Here?”
“Yup.”
Azella started walking again, running her fingers along the carved flowers on the balustrade. “I knew it was one of the Annah-Dareqs,” she murmured. “But here?”
“Here.”
“Do the adults know?”
“They must do.”
“But then – that means – they’re…”
“Yup.”
“And you didn’t tell me! Varal, you pig.” She dived for him and he scooted ahead, racing along the gallery to the head of the stairs.
“I’m on the stairs. You can’t push me. It’s not safe.”
Azella scowled down at him. “You’re taking advantage of my good nature, twin.”
“What good nature?”
“Beast.” But she merely hurried down the marble steps to join him. “This just makes it worse.”
“How so?”
“Because what will we be doing while they’re all out searching? We’ll be locked up in some parochial little school, writing about tedious local trivia.”
Varal laughed again. “You really are in a snit, aren’t you?”
“We were legal adults in Astaria. I object to being relegated like this. And don’t even mention Uthari – I know they come of age at thirty there. I’ve been told. Repeatedly.”
Varal took the last few steps with one leap and then slid across the polished floor with a gleeful holler. Azella sneered and followed him at a more dignified pace.
He slid back towards her. “I love this floor.” He hooked his arm through hers again and lowered his voice. “Come on. Make the best of it. And forget what we’ve been talking about. Ros is waiting for us and I don’t think we should discuss it around her.”
“Why not?” Azella murmured. “Ros is alright.”
“Yeah but she’s been taught by old Emilet C’Sira who was here before. You know how pro-Aurelian the C’Siras are. Let’s not give Lord M an excuse to remove us. You might think this is bad but imagine spending the rest of your life stuck in Citadel making nice to the Council of Consuls.”
Azella shuddered. “Fair enough.”
Varal bounded ahead. “Come on then. Ros is in the kitchen and Himself will be having kittens by now.”
“I can see you’re up on local slang already,” Azella called as she raced after him. The back corridor was lit by bare bulbs and its walls were covered in peeling, dark brown wallpaper. It always smelt a little musty.
They burst into the kitchen through the old servants’ door, making the short girl at the table jump. She wore the same uniform as Azella, although it looked less ridiculous against her fair colouring and light brown hair. She grinned quickly at Varal. “Found her, then? Come on – we’re going to be well late.”
“Where’s Aunt Anmi?” Azella said, looking around. She expected at least a guilty farewell.
“Agent Konchellah was called away. Some problem with the sensor net.” She stood up and shrugged a battered rucksack on. “Come on, Azella. We really are going to be late.”
Azella sighed heavily and trailed after the other two. “I haven’t even had any breakfast yet.”
“Well, you should have come down on time,” Varal called back. “Oh, feathers of Farailin, it’s raining.”
Azella stepped outside and yelped in dismay as the wind threw drizzle into her eyes. The gravel drive beneath her feet was slippery and she ran the last few steps to the car. Varal had grabbed the front seat so she slid into the back.
“About time,” the driver said. “What took so long?”
“Sorry,” Azella said. “My fault.” The car was warm and she relaxed, rubbing the window so she could see out. The trees in the garden were heaving and sighing in the wind, their dark leaves blurring. The sky was grey. She had been here since the end of July and she was yet to see a proper blue sky. Even the hottest days of summer had seemed grey when compared to Astaria.
The car drew away from the kitchen door and round the side of the building, the engine humming almost inaudibly.
“Are you likely to be in trouble for lateness, Rosiernanne?”
Ros, beside Azella in the back seat, shook her head. “No, sir. Not on the first day. Not as she’s new.”
“We’ll drop Varal off first then,” the king said.
“Thank you,” Varal said. “Shame there’s not a male version of Ros around to sponser me.”
“Should I be complimented or insulted?” Ros murmured, wiping the rain off her glasses.
He chuckled. “Maybe I should have said one Ros is not quite adequate.”
“Definitely not a compliment,” Ros shot back.
Azella let them bicker. She’d come to like Ros over the summer when the ‘prentice agent had visited every day, tutoring the twins in the ways of this world. This was a long assignment – five years, at least, and they needed to assimilate thoroughly.
They were purring down the drive now and Azella glanced back at the Hall. She had lived in six different worlds in her fifteen years, in six different homes. She wasn’t sure yet if she cared for this one, with its pillared frontage and the two wings slanting back into the wooded grounds.
“Getting used to it yet?” the king said gently.
She met his blue-eyed gaze in the mirror and managed to smile. If Varal was right coming to this world was the king’s dream. He was no blood kin to her but he had taken her when she’d been an orphaned baby. She owed it to him to try to settle.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“Good,” he said and turned his attention back to the road.
As they drove through the suburbs of Wasingham they left the rain behind them. As they neared the centre of town they hit heavy traffic. Azella stared out of the window at the red brick terraces; at the tiny gardens of scraggly grass and broken paving stones; at broken cars and empty bottles on windowsills. There were signs in several windows and she practised her English script by reading them. Most said To Let or Rooms Vacant although some seemed to be political slogans.
Behind them a train rattled over the bridge, its brightly painted sides a flash of colour against the grey sky.
“That’s the train after the one I get,” Ros said. “Takes about fifteen minutes from Fernley Halt and then fifteen more to walk up to school. It would take Varal longer, though. Wasingham High is further out of town.”
“And we finish later,” Varal complained. “Not fair. How come I get an hour more a day?”
“Because you’re going to a boys’ school,” Azella said sweetly. “And everyone knows girls are so much more intelligent that they don’t need to spend so much time in school.”
“Hey!”
“No fighting in the car,” the king said over them as Ros bit back laughter. “Settle down, all of you.”
A light ahead of them changed and they made about ten metres before the traffic slowed to a crawl again. Behind them a horn blared as someone tried to cut into the bus lane.
The king sighed and rolled his broad shoulders. He was too tall to fit comfortably even in an expensive car like this one. “This seems a good opportunity to speak to you all,” he said, switching into C’Tiri. “Rosiernanne, can you follow?”
“Don’t go too fast,” Ros replied slowly in the same language.
“This is really for the twins. I want you all to be very careful. This is not a world where our existence is known. We cannot afford to betray ourselves. The Dark has been growing stronger here for the past ten years.”
“Oh!” Ros said, her eyes widening.
The traffic was solid and he turned to look at her. “That is why Decurion C’Sira has been recalled and why we have finally been sent here. C’Sira is a good man and a excellent agent but he is not strong enough to guard against the rising of the Dark.”
“But why?” Ros said in C’Tiri. “Why here?”
Azella was watching the king’s face in the mirror and she saw the emotion in his dark blue eyes, the sorrow and the betrayal. Then his masks returned and he said, “We cannot know. We have many suspicions but none we can prove.”
Lynx, Azella thought with a curl of excitement in her gut. Lynx is here.
“Green light,” Varal said and the king nodded as they moved forward a few more metres.
“The last war hurt them badly and they have been near-dormant since then. Of late, though, they have begun to stir again, across the known universes. We have been sent to prevent Annah Dareq 311 from being the start of the next war.”
“Light guard us,” Ros said shakily. Azella felt sorry for her. At least she had never known C’Tiri. She belonged to no world and she had no people. She did not know enough of C’Tiri to mourn it as the older survivors thought she should.
“So, be on guard,” the king said. “Watch your reactions. Show no knowledge of things you should not know. And watch your language – local swearwords, please. You should all be doing that automatically.”
Ros and Varal both shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Azella smiled smugly. The king raised an eyebrow at her and she stuck her tongue out before she whined deliberately, “Are we nearly there yet?”
“I need the toilet,” Varal added.
Ros chuckled and added, “I’m starving.”
The king flung his head back and laughed, his normal deep rumble. “You girls might be faster to get out and walk.”
Ros peered out the window. “It’s just the traffic,” she said. “Once we’re past the graveyard it’ll clear.”
Sure enough within minutes they were surging through the backstreets towards the Wasingham High. Varal hopped out of the car and waved cheerfully before he headed off down the drive. Azella waved back, hoping he’d be alright. They might bicker but her life was better than it had been before they found him.
She found herself sinking into silence as they headed back towards the town centre. It was inevitable now. In a few minutes she would be there among strange girls of her own age. She had never been to school before let alone in such a strange universe.
“Most people are nice,” Ros said softly. “And the ones who aren’t won’t bother you. They have their favourite targets. And the teachers are okay.”
Azella shrugged.
“What about your form tutor?” the king rumbled from the front.
“I don’t know. We’re getting a new one.”
“You’ll have someone equally new on your side then, vashakela.”
Azella managed a smile.
“Where shall I drop you, Rosiernanne?”
“Oracle Road, please. By the side gates.”
A few minutes later they were standing on the pavement opposite the school. There were a few girls opposite, dressed just like Ros and Azella, trailing through the gates. It was depressing to be so anonymous, Azella thought, watching the car draw away.
Ros sighed and pulled her towards the gates. “Does he have to call me Rosiernanne,” she grumbled. “Bloody mouthful. Even teachers call me Rosie.”
“That’s Himself,” Azella said. “He probably thinks it’s more polite.”
Ros showed her how to work the palm scanner at the gate and they waited while the computer tried to match her hand to the prints she’d contributed at the end of last term. Eventually it beeped them through and they set off briskly along the side of the carpark. To their right, beyond the car park, an large area of black ground was fenced off.
“Netball courts,” Ros said, interpreting Azella’s bewildered look. “Tennis in the summer, though.”
None the wiser, Azella followed her between two square buildings which appeared to be coated in dark brown gravel.
“Maths block,” Ros said. “Rooms P, Q, R and S. Year Eleven form rooms. We’re in S which is good because R stinks of pot noodles and P and Q have damp.”
“Right,” Azella said blankly.
Ros glanced at her watch. “We’re late but only just. Come and meet Emli.”
Azella followed her obediently as she ran up the steps and into the room, calling, “Hey, people. Hey, Em. Good summer?”
Azella slipped in behind her, glancing around nervously. Be on guard, she thought uneasily. Not here, surely.
Ros was in the back corner of the room, talking eagerly to a tall girl with honey-blonde hair pulled back into a long plait. Startlingly, a wide streak of white ran through the blonde, marking her. As Azella came up behind them she said, “Why are you so late, Ros?”
“Oh, I got a lift with Azella,” Ros said. “You must meet Azella, Em. She’s just moved to Fernley.”
But the blonde was already staring over Ros’s shoulder at her. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue and Azella felt as if she was being measured. She disliked it and lifted her head to meet the other’s gaze.
“I’m Azella C’Tiri,” she said and to her surprise saw the hostility in the other’s eyes turn to horror.
Prelude: A Strange Encounter
11pm, Saturday 24 January, 2009, London
The grey mists had risen off the river, thick and chill. Peering out from the front seat of the car as her husband drove, Janet Holmes could barely see the verges of the road. The buildings on each side of them were mere looming shadows, smudged charcoal shapes which could be as insubstantial as the fog. The only guide was the orange sodium glow of streetlights and the occasional blur of other headlights. The road was slick with ice and the car skidded every time Tony accelerated past a crawl.
Janet, who had been dozing since just after they left their daughter’s house, said brightly, “Isn’t this Dickensian, darling?”
Tony grunted in reply, concentrating on the road.
“I half expect some modern day Magwitch to come looming out of the mist. It was Magwitch, wasn’t it? Or am I getting muddled with Oliver Twist?”
“Neither, I hope,” Tony said. “Not round here.”
“Wherever are we?” Janet said, rubbing a clear space in the condensation on the window. “I can’t see anything that could be a landmark.” She hadn’t meant to doze off; she didn’t like to admit that a glass of wine tended to send her to sleep these days.
“Frilsey. The flyover’s closed.”
Janet glanced out the window again, uneasily. There were dim patches of light down sidestreets she had assumed were street lamps or shopfronts. Now she wondered if they were campfires.
“Did we have to come this way? There’ve been all those car-jackings down here and that poor woman who was in the paper the other week. It’s not safe.”
“If you want to get home before midnight,” Tony snapped. “It’s too bloody cold for any of the gangs to be out.”
Janet shivered and reached forward to turn the heater up. “Poor souls,” she said. “It must be awful round here in winter. You hear such terrible things. I wonder if Stephanie’s got the kids into bed yet – they were ever so wide awake when we left.”
Tony grunted and she knew he wasn’t listening. She didn’t really mind – she was used to it after thirty-eight years of –
“Christ!” Tony slammed the brakes on and Janet was jerked forward as the car skidded, tyres squealing on the icy road.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked as they slid to a halt. Then she looked up and saw the figures in the road. Grey and bulky in the mist, they began to close in on the car.
“Oh, God,” Janet said, her voice squeaking. This couldn’t be happening. Not to them. They’d never even been burgled.
The approaching figures stopped, forming a tight circle three-deep around the car. The glare of the headlights reflected off shiny, black jackets; the whites of their watching eyes and the bands of white cloth they had all tied around their upper arms. They all looked hungry, the bones sharp beneath their skin. They all looked alike, despite the varying hues of their skins and their different builds. Male and female alike, their eyes seemed hard and there was a cold anger in their faces which made Janet shrink back into her seat.
Yet they did not move.
Tony took her wrist in his hand and squeezed gently, trying to reassure her.
“What are they waiting for?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. Don’t move.”
“My phone’s just here. I could...”
His fingers tightened and she followed his gaze. One of the tallest of the men had moved out of the ring and was approaching Tony’s window. He leant down to squint in at them and then gestured to Tony to wind the window down.
Tony shook his head.
Janet squeaked nervously.
“I’m not making it easy for them,” Tony muttered, locking the doors.
The man gestured again and Tony ignored him, clutching the steering wheel and staring straight ahead.
Now he had a gun in his hand. He gestured towards the window with its butt, as if to break the glass, then drew back slightly.
“Tony,” Janet whispered. “Please.”
Tony buzzed the window down a few inches. “What do you want?”
“Tony!” When they’d been students together he had played drums for a band called Blue Tom and the Thunderbeasts and protested against the Vietnam war. These days, whenever he lost his temper he seemed to forget he wasn’t young and wild any more but a overweight bank manager on the brink of retirement.
“We need your car,” the man said. He spoke slowly as if to a frightened child.
“My car!” Tony exclaimed.
“Now that doesn’t seem too bad, dear,” Janet said, babbling with nerves. “We’ll just let this nice gentleman have the car and we’ll walk along and get the bus and everything will..”
“He’s not having my car! Do you know how much I paid for this…”
“We need it,” the man said again and reached through the window.
Tony hit the window control and the man swore and whipped his arm away from the rising pane with a swiftness which belied his size. He leant close to the window and now Janet could see the long scars along his cheekbones, pale against his dark skin.
She could hear the others now, shouting and jeering. They began to move forwards again and she cringed, scrabbling through her handbag for anything she could use to defend herself, wishing she’d bothered to go to those self-defense classes with her daughters.
The shouting stopped. Janet looked up. All she could hear was the purring of the engine and the clank of of boats from the river to the south. Then, as swiftly as they had arrived, the circle drew back, opening a wide path to the side of the car. Even the man at the window drew back, as if with respect.
The fog seemed to thicken, pale and stifling around the car.
A woman came walking between the gathered youths. She was slow and silent, like the fog, and as she passed they bowed their heads to her in acknowledgement. Her hair was white, as pale and thick as snow, and it hung to her waist in loose curls. She was wrapped in a cloak as red as blood and, where the hood hung down behind her shoulders, Janet could see that it was lined with silvery fur. Her face was as fine-drawn as the other youths but something was wrong with the way she walked and she seemed somehow misshapen.
With a swift gasp, Janet looked again. The white hair had deceived her. This woman was no older than her own daughter Stephanie and she was heavily pregnant.
Suddenly, she paused. She made no sound but what colour there was drained from her cheeks.
The man who had threatened them left the car and went swiftly to her side. He bent down to her, murmuring a question, and only then did Janet register how small the woman was, no more than five two at most.
She shook her head and made some quiet reply. Then she began to move forward again. The man offered her his arm but she ignored it to make her slow way to the car.
She stopped outside the window and said quietly, “We mean you no harm.”
She had a heavy accent which Janet did not recognise but beneath it her English was not the usual urban patois but the careful inflections of received pronunciation.
“You may depart freely if you so desire.”
“Lynx!” the man protested.
She ignored him and looked past Tony to Janet. Now Janet could see her eyes and she shivered. She had worked for many years as a hospital receptionist. She had seen despair before. She had never seen such sorrow as she saw in this woman’s brown eyes. The woman held her gaze and said, “But if you have any charity in your souls, I would request your aid.”
“What in…” Tony began but Janet laid her hand on his arm and said, “Hush.”
Janet turned back to the young woman outside the car. It could be a trap but it seemed too complicated. What if it had been Stephanie standing there, alone and in need?
Lynx’s fists curled and her eyes flickered closed again. Five minutes, Janet thought. Oh, dear.
“I think your friends are alarming my husband, dear,” she said briskly. “We can only fit two of you in the car.”
After a moment Lynx nodded and turned. She stumbled a little as she moved, as if frustrated by her cumbersome body. “Go!” she said clearly. “Go back and wait!” Then, more softly, “Mole. Come with me, aye?”
Nobody moved.
She frowned and then said, gazing out at the shadowy gathering. “I will return. I swear to you. I will not leave you.”
Like a whisper, they went, fading back into the fog. Janet, uneasy, could feel their presence just out of sight. Bracing herself, she got out of the car.
“Jan!” Tony hissed.
She leant back into the car and whispered, “Just look at that poor girl for a moment, darling. She needs our help.”
Then she trotted round the car and opened the back door. “Here you are, dear. I’ll sit in the back with you and Mr Mole can sit up the front with Tony.”
The tall man grinned bashfully and said, “Just Mole.” Then he turned back to Lynx, “You okay with this, boss?”
“It isn’t always shameful to ask for help,” Lynx said and clambered into the back of the big estate.
Janet could have swore she heard Mole mutter, “That was not what I meant.”
She slipped in beside Lynx and watched Mole fold himself into the front seat beside Tony. “Nice car, man.”
“Mole,” Lynx said warningly and then gasped, her nails digging into the seat.
“Queen Mary’s, I think, dear,” Janet said. “It’s closest. Who’s your doctor.”
“I don’t have one. I am a medic, of sorts.”
“But, my dear..”
“It was my choice.” Those dark eyes were hard now.
Janet gulped and clung to the door as the car skidded. “Are you strapped in?”
“I’d rather not. It isn’t… comfortable.”
Janet thought to argue and then reconsidered. Instead, she stared out of the window and hoped that the fog would clear.
In the front seat Mole was trying to make the car stereo work. “Wicked,” he was saying. “I’ve never used one that was still in the car.”
Lynx shifted slightly. In the dim light Janet could just see sweat gathering on her brow. “You’re allowed to scream,” she said softly. “Under the circumstances.”
“I – will – not.” And the younger woman turned her head away to look out the window.
Loud music suddenly pumped out, making Janet jump. Mole roared with laughter. “Classic cheese. What is this, man? Seventies?”
“Mole,” Lynx said again, more threatening, and he turned in his seat to look back at her.
“How’s it going?” he asked, his brow creased with worry. Looking at him now, Janet thought he was barely more than a teenager, despite his size and his scars.
“As could be expected,” Lynx said coolly. “It’s a natural process.” But her hands were still clenched into the seat.
Janet glared at Mole who sat down again as Tony muttered at the road. They were out of Frilsey now and some of the roads had been gritted.
“So you don’t know if it’s a girl or a boy then?” Janet said brightly.
“No,” Lynx said.
“My Stephanie has two boys. Harry and Jack. Harry’s three and Jack’s one.”
“I fear I will have a daughter.”
“Oh.” Janet plowed on. “Have you thought of a name yet?”
Lynx turned her head away sharply and gazed out at the mist. “Yes.”
“Is there anyone you want me to call, dear?” Janet was certain by now that Mole was not the baby’s father. He was too young, too deferential and too unafraid.
Lynx was silent for a long time. Then she said, firmly, “No.” The word ended on a gasp. It was almost a minute before Lynx straightened again and stared out of the window.
“Are we nearly there?” Janet asked nervously.
“Five minutes,” Tony muttered. “How’s the kid?”
“I’m twenty-seven.” Lynx sounded amused.
Tony snorted. “And I’m fifty-eight, girl. If you’re not a kid that makes me an old man and I’m not done yet.”
Mole laughed and after a moment Lynx said softly, “You are both very kind.”
“It’s the decent thing to do,” Janet said fiercely.
Lynx started to speak and then cried out quietly. When she looked up she said wearily, “I have seen much of courage and much of honour. I know righteousness and glory and passion all too well. It’s been too long since I met simple decency.”
“Next turn,” Tony said into the sudden silence.”
“You can uncross your legs then, boss,” Mole said cheerfully.
Janet laughed and then sighed in relief as they swung into the hospital car park. “Drop us off out the front,” she said briskly. “I’ll take these two up to Maternity.”
“You’ve been here before?” Mole asked.
“I work here.”
“There’s a lucky chance,” the young man said.
“I can’t believe in innocent chance anymore,” Lynx said softly, “but this time I am glad.”
Janet and Mole hopped out of the car as soon as Tony stopped and jammed as they both tried to help Lynx out. She raised an eyebrow and Janet stepped back. Mole held out his hand and after a moment the young woman took it reluctantly. Mole levered her out of the car gently and Janet began to lead them inside.
Before they had gone a few steps another contraction hit and Lynx stumbled. Mole steadied her, his hands around her shoulders. After a moment she straightened and moved away, taking a slow step forward, her lips set.
Mole muttered something obscene and picked her up, carrying her as if she was a child, balanced delicately.
“I would be obliged if you would set me down,” she said and Janet saw that she had stiffened as if in pain or anger.
Mole grinned cheerfully and started towards the doors. “I could carry you and junior in one hand, boss.”
“Please put me down.”
“And freeze my ears off while you walk it? Not bloody likely.”
Janet held the door open and hurried them through the main waiting area and along the covered way which connected the maternity unit to the main hospital. There weren’t many people about at this hour and they all moved aside, some with quick smiles.
She had never in her life been quite as relieved as she was when they made it into the warm, brightly lit, maternity reception and the receptionist called for help.
Mole settled Lynx into a wide seat and the sat down himself. In the lull before the nurses came Lynx reached out to touch Janet’s wrist.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I owe you a debt. What are your names?”
“Holmes,” Janet said, stammering slightly. “Janet and Tony. But you don’t owe us anything, dear. It wouldn’t have been right to just drive off.”
Lynx smiled then, a sweet, soft grin which made her look much younger. “I will ensure my Warren know your names. And they will not harm you should you ever cross their path. More than that is not in my power.”
Her fingers tightened on Janet’s wrist. This time she moaned and Janet thought she heard a word in it, which could have been a name or could have been a curse she did not know.
“My daughter grows impatient,” she said weakly.
“They’ll have you sorted soon,” Janet said brightly. “And Tony and I will wait, of course.”
Lynx shook her head. “It would be better if you didn’t. I have incurred a debt to you tonight. I will not draw you further into danger. I think you should go home now. Go home and forget you ever met us.”
Her hand at Janet’s wrist seemed very warm and for a moment Janet felt dizzy.
Then nurses came and bustled Lynx away. Janet, who was feeling rather warm now she’d come in from the cold, thought she should go to find Tony so they could wait together.
As she wandered back along the corridors the dizziness came again. She had to sit down in the main waiting area and catch her breath. Drat that wine, she thought. I should have stuck with grape juice.
Tony was waiting in the car park, the engine still running for warmth.
“Did you find the file you wanted?” he asked, long-suffering.
“File?” Janet said, puzzled. What file? Whatever was she doing here at this hour? Then she remembered the job she’d planned to finish over the weekend.
“Oh, no,” she said. “It wasn’t there. I must have taken it home already. I’m turning into such a silly old thing.”
“Let’s get that silly old thing home, then,” Tony said with a chuckle.
As they drove north, away from the Thames, the fog began to ease. Janet, worn out by her darling grandsons, dozed off into uncomfortable dreams and fog and silence and eyes full of sorrow.
Chapter One: Enter Azella
7.55am, September 05, 2024, The Oracle Girls Grammar, London Road, Wasingham, Kennetshire, Southern England
Emli Auroron eyed the traffic with dislike as she skidded to a halt at the crossing. She knew she wasn’t the only one who walked to school but the traffic seemed to get worse every term. Which in her opinion, she thought as she waited, was bloody stupid, considering the way the price of petrol was rocketing. On the other side of the road the battered Victorian buildings of the old school stood behind high fences. There were already a few other girls trailing towards the side gate and she could see more further down the road, conspicuous in their grey and crimson uniform.
“The lights are changing. Please cross carefully after the beep.”
“Oh, shut up,” Emli muttered at the crossing and sprinted across the road. The reek of the traffic seemed to get worse by the week, as more and more cars converted to cheaper vegetable oils. A bus, stinking like a chip shop, lumbered past as she headed for the gate. Someone waved at her and she grinned and waved back cheerfully. She had enjoyed the summer but it had been too long since she’d seen anyone her age. It would be quite nice to pretend to be a normal teenager for a while.
She was early enough that she didn’t need to queue at the gate. She pressed her palm to the scanner and waited patiently while the computer tried to match her palmprint to the student register.
“Hey, Em! Emli!” A couple of the girls in her form were hurrying up behind her and she smiled and waved with her free hand.
“Like I’ve never been away,” she said. “Good summers?”
“Too short,” one said. “Went to Rome, though.”
“Lucky you,” Emli said, lifting her hand away as the gate bleeped. “Sight-seeing?”
“Oh, yeah, I saw some sights. I just sat there and watched them walk past. Tall, dark and handsome.”
“Shalini!”
Emli laughed and slipped ahead of them through the turnstile. “Enjoyed yourself, then?”
“Oh, my, yes. And you? Go anywhere good?”
Her friend elbowed her and Emli pretended not to notice. “Stayed with some family friends on the south coast,” she said. She wasn’t going to apologise for not being able to afford fancy holidays.
“See much of Ros?” Shalini said, sounding uncomfortable.
“A bit. She was away a while.”
They cut through the cloakrooms to avoid a cluster of lost first years. The smell was the same as always: dust and mouse and sweat, cheap perfume and bleach, familiar, foul and comforting. Emli quickened her pace.
The covered way was already full of drifts of dry, golden leaves. It had been another scorching summer and the trees had suffered. Emli resisted the urge to kick them and took the steps into the old brown terrapin in one stride.
“We’re first,” Shalini said and pushed past Emli. “First choice on desks.”
“Corner desks!” Emli said.
“Not if I get there first.”
Shalini dived towards the corner and Emli yelped and vaulted past her, sliding across four rows of desks to sprawl across the back desk, her ankles hooked through the backs of the chairs.
“Mine!” she said as Shalini protested.
By the time they’d finished bickering others were trailing in. Katie was back and Sara and Jess.
Leanna was in the far corner, voice rising over them all, “Michael cheated on Ellie? Oh, my god. When? Has she dumped him?”
“Shut up, Lee, she’s coming.” That was Rachel.
“Emli. Where’s Ros?”
“Dunno,” Emli said. Ellie and Ayesha and Tasha had claimed the last desks in the back row. Emli glanced out the window, watching friends from other forms walk past.
Ros was late.
“What do you mean, Cally Taylor’s gone to America? I need her to do my Latin.”
Ros was never late. Okay, sometimes she ended up in the wrong place but always at the right time. Emli glanced at the clock again.
Diana and Viola, the twins, came in, laughing. Heather had missed the bus, they said, despite chasing it the length of Pangham High Street.
Where was Ros?
She laughed at something Tasha said and totted up the count. Only four missing now from a form of twenty-five. Cally had left – that made three. Heather would be late. Jane –
- rushed in, wailing about lost essays and a broken alarm clock.
“Hey, Emli, where’s Ros?”
“Silly cow’s probably gone to the wrong room again,” she called back. And in the shadows of her mind she thought, What if she’s dead?
It was a stupid thing to think. She knew it was stupid. I’d know if she was. Even though I haven’t seen any news all summer. Someone would know. They woudn’t be asking me if they knew she was dead.
She looked out the window again, watching for her friend.
They might not know. She might have only just died. They might have grabbed her this morning.
“Has anyone seen Ros? She borrowed my history to copy up and I want it back.”
Emli looked over sharply. “She’s not in yet, Romy,” she said, lifting her voice.
“Ros? She’s never late.”
“You could give her a ring. I’m out of credit.” There was a phone in her bulky watch but it was meant for emergencies. They couldn’t afford to waste money on socialising.
“Ros?” Ayesha said. “Her phone’s bust. I saw her and her gran in Hestons’ uniform section last week.”
Emli, who bought her school uniform second-hand at the end of each year, bit down resentment. Ros was her best friend and she should be the first to know about broken phones or borrowed history.
The conversation turned away to holidays and romances, hated classes and who their new form tutor might be. Emli watched the clock, chewing the inside of her lip. It might not be her. Maybe one of her grandparents is ill. Or the train broke down. She could be okay. She’d better be okay.
But she couldn’t help but remember the last friend she’d lost: the blood and the fog and the air full of ashes as pale as her mother’s hair.
Five more minutes, she thought. Five more minutes and I’ll break the secret rules and go looking.
7.55am, September 05, 2024, Fernley Hall, Fernley, near Wasingham, Kennetshire, Southern England
Azella C’Tiri stared out of her window at the grey gardens and thought, I hate this world.
She wanted to return to Astaria, the garden world of universe Jacyn-Dareq 23, where the flower-mages duelled and flirted in the fragrant avenues. Or to the city of Saasiaah in Ashta, where they had been stationed before, among the winged Saisorhan. Anywhere but this grey, miserable, tech-based, unmagical hole of a universe.
“Azella! We’re going to be late!”
And as if this place wasn’t bad enough already she had to face this ignominy.
“Azella!”
At least it was Varal bellowing at her. He, at least had some sympathy. She wondered how long she could stretch the wait out before one of the others intervened. Perhaps if she lingered enough she would break some law of etiquette. There were plenty of places in the multiverse where lateness would bar you from a place forever. She didn’t know much about the education systems of Annah-Dareq 311 but it had to be worth a try.
“Zella!” Her door crashed open, bouncing off the wall with a dull thud.
“Do you mind?” she said, turning to glare at her brother.
Varal grinned back. “Wrong language,” he said. “You’re meant to using English. We’re undercover here, remember.”
“Huh.” Azella turned away again before saying, still in C’Tiri, “English is ugly.”
“You’re not still sulking, are you?”
“I’m don’t sulk.”
“Good because Himself is warming the car up. You really don’t want him to come and fetch you, do you?”
Despite herself, Azella turned away from the window. “I thought Aunt Anmi was driving.”
Varal picked her bag up and slung his arm around her shoulders. “No such luck, twin. Come on. It won’t be that bad.”
She let him steer her out of her room and along the oak-panelled corridor through the East Wing. “It’s ludicrous,” she said.
“It’s local law. You know the protocols. No breaking local laws unless their implementation will further the cause of the Dark. Don’t think you can plead that for this one. Now English – before we get downstairs and someone overhears you.”
Azella sighed and switched languages. Courtesy of the standard spell, her English was pure and natural. She had even acquired the upper crust accent of the agent who has passed the spell to her. “Why are you so cheerful?” she muttered.
Varal shrugged and she thought again that he looked ridiculous with his crimson hair cropped close to his head. In Astaria, where aesthetics were at the heart of magery, they had both grown their hair out into glimmering red banners which flared against their flowing silks. Here, they were both zipped into uncomfortable grey uniforms. He wore a blue blazer and she had a baggy, scratchy red jumper which didn’t quite match her hair.
“I hate this world,” she said.
“You’ve only been here six weeks. I think it’s great.”
“How would you know?” she said as they left the East Wing and made their way along the gallery to the head of the stairs. There were waist-high balusters on the left and she could see down into the wide entrance hall, with its checkerboard floor and mirror-lined walls. Echoing him she added, “You’ve only been here six weeks.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Varal?” She paused and narrowed her eyes to stare at him. He looked all too pleased with himself. “You don’t mean..?”
“I do.”
“Here?”
“Yup.”
Azella started walking again, running her fingers along the carved flowers on the balustrade. “I knew it was one of the Annah-Dareqs,” she murmured. “But here?”
“Here.”
“Do the adults know?”
“They must do.”
“But then – that means – they’re…”
“Yup.”
“And you didn’t tell me! Varal, you pig.” She dived for him and he scooted ahead, racing along the gallery to the head of the stairs.
“I’m on the stairs. You can’t push me. It’s not safe.”
Azella scowled down at him. “You’re taking advantage of my good nature, twin.”
“What good nature?”
“Beast.” But she merely hurried down the marble steps to join him. “This just makes it worse.”
“How so?”
“Because what will we be doing while they’re all out searching? We’ll be locked up in some parochial little school, writing about tedious local trivia.”
Varal laughed again. “You really are in a snit, aren’t you?”
“We were legal adults in Astaria. I object to being relegated like this. And don’t even mention Uthari – I know they come of age at thirty there. I’ve been told. Repeatedly.”
Varal took the last few steps with one leap and then slid across the polished floor with a gleeful holler. Azella sneered and followed him at a more dignified pace.
He slid back towards her. “I love this floor.” He hooked his arm through hers again and lowered his voice. “Come on. Make the best of it. And forget what we’ve been talking about. Ros is waiting for us and I don’t think we should discuss it around her.”
“Why not?” Azella murmured. “Ros is alright.”
“Yeah but she’s been taught by old Emilet C’Sira who was here before. You know how pro-Aurelian the C’Siras are. Let’s not give Lord M an excuse to remove us. You might think this is bad but imagine spending the rest of your life stuck in Citadel making nice to the Council of Consuls.”
Azella shuddered. “Fair enough.”
Varal bounded ahead. “Come on then. Ros is in the kitchen and Himself will be having kittens by now.”
“I can see you’re up on local slang already,” Azella called as she raced after him. The back corridor was lit by bare bulbs and its walls were covered in peeling, dark brown wallpaper. It always smelt a little musty.
They burst into the kitchen through the old servants’ door, making the short girl at the table jump. She wore the same uniform as Azella, although it looked less ridiculous against her fair colouring and light brown hair. She grinned quickly at Varal. “Found her, then? Come on – we’re going to be well late.”
“Where’s Aunt Anmi?” Azella said, looking around. She expected at least a guilty farewell.
“Agent Konchellah was called away. Some problem with the sensor net.” She stood up and shrugged a battered rucksack on. “Come on, Azella. We really are going to be late.”
Azella sighed heavily and trailed after the other two. “I haven’t even had any breakfast yet.”
“Well, you should have come down on time,” Varal called back. “Oh, feathers of Farailin, it’s raining.”
Azella stepped outside and yelped in dismay as the wind threw drizzle into her eyes. The gravel drive beneath her feet was slippery and she ran the last few steps to the car. Varal had grabbed the front seat so she slid into the back.
“About time,” the driver said. “What took so long?”
“Sorry,” Azella said. “My fault.” The car was warm and she relaxed, rubbing the window so she could see out. The trees in the garden were heaving and sighing in the wind, their dark leaves blurring. The sky was grey. She had been here since the end of July and she was yet to see a proper blue sky. Even the hottest days of summer had seemed grey when compared to Astaria.
The car drew away from the kitchen door and round the side of the building, the engine humming almost inaudibly.
“Are you likely to be in trouble for lateness, Rosiernanne?”
Ros, beside Azella in the back seat, shook her head. “No, sir. Not on the first day. Not as she’s new.”
“We’ll drop Varal off first then,” the king said.
“Thank you,” Varal said. “Shame there’s not a male version of Ros around to sponser me.”
“Should I be complimented or insulted?” Ros murmured, wiping the rain off her glasses.
He chuckled. “Maybe I should have said one Ros is not quite adequate.”
“Definitely not a compliment,” Ros shot back.
Azella let them bicker. She’d come to like Ros over the summer when the ‘prentice agent had visited every day, tutoring the twins in the ways of this world. This was a long assignment – five years, at least, and they needed to assimilate thoroughly.
They were purring down the drive now and Azella glanced back at the Hall. She had lived in six different worlds in her fifteen years, in six different homes. She wasn’t sure yet if she cared for this one, with its pillared frontage and the two wings slanting back into the wooded grounds.
“Getting used to it yet?” the king said gently.
She met his blue-eyed gaze in the mirror and managed to smile. If Varal was right coming to this world was the king’s dream. He was no blood kin to her but he had taken her when she’d been an orphaned baby. She owed it to him to try to settle.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“Good,” he said and turned his attention back to the road.
As they drove through the suburbs of Wasingham they left the rain behind them. As they neared the centre of town they hit heavy traffic. Azella stared out of the window at the red brick terraces; at the tiny gardens of scraggly grass and broken paving stones; at broken cars and empty bottles on windowsills. There were signs in several windows and she practised her English script by reading them. Most said To Let or Rooms Vacant although some seemed to be political slogans.
Behind them a train rattled over the bridge, its brightly painted sides a flash of colour against the grey sky.
“That’s the train after the one I get,” Ros said. “Takes about fifteen minutes from Fernley Halt and then fifteen more to walk up to school. It would take Varal longer, though. Wasingham High is further out of town.”
“And we finish later,” Varal complained. “Not fair. How come I get an hour more a day?”
“Because you’re going to a boys’ school,” Azella said sweetly. “And everyone knows girls are so much more intelligent that they don’t need to spend so much time in school.”
“Hey!”
“No fighting in the car,” the king said over them as Ros bit back laughter. “Settle down, all of you.”
A light ahead of them changed and they made about ten metres before the traffic slowed to a crawl again. Behind them a horn blared as someone tried to cut into the bus lane.
The king sighed and rolled his broad shoulders. He was too tall to fit comfortably even in an expensive car like this one. “This seems a good opportunity to speak to you all,” he said, switching into C’Tiri. “Rosiernanne, can you follow?”
“Don’t go too fast,” Ros replied slowly in the same language.
“This is really for the twins. I want you all to be very careful. This is not a world where our existence is known. We cannot afford to betray ourselves. The Dark has been growing stronger here for the past ten years.”
“Oh!” Ros said, her eyes widening.
The traffic was solid and he turned to look at her. “That is why Decurion C’Sira has been recalled and why we have finally been sent here. C’Sira is a good man and a excellent agent but he is not strong enough to guard against the rising of the Dark.”
“But why?” Ros said in C’Tiri. “Why here?”
Azella was watching the king’s face in the mirror and she saw the emotion in his dark blue eyes, the sorrow and the betrayal. Then his masks returned and he said, “We cannot know. We have many suspicions but none we can prove.”
Lynx, Azella thought with a curl of excitement in her gut. Lynx is here.
“Green light,” Varal said and the king nodded as they moved forward a few more metres.
“The last war hurt them badly and they have been near-dormant since then. Of late, though, they have begun to stir again, across the known universes. We have been sent to prevent Annah Dareq 311 from being the start of the next war.”
“Light guard us,” Ros said shakily. Azella felt sorry for her. At least she had never known C’Tiri. She belonged to no world and she had no people. She did not know enough of C’Tiri to mourn it as the older survivors thought she should.
“So, be on guard,” the king said. “Watch your reactions. Show no knowledge of things you should not know. And watch your language – local swearwords, please. You should all be doing that automatically.”
Ros and Varal both shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Azella smiled smugly. The king raised an eyebrow at her and she stuck her tongue out before she whined deliberately, “Are we nearly there yet?”
“I need the toilet,” Varal added.
Ros chuckled and added, “I’m starving.”
The king flung his head back and laughed, his normal deep rumble. “You girls might be faster to get out and walk.”
Ros peered out the window. “It’s just the traffic,” she said. “Once we’re past the graveyard it’ll clear.”
Sure enough within minutes they were surging through the backstreets towards the Wasingham High. Varal hopped out of the car and waved cheerfully before he headed off down the drive. Azella waved back, hoping he’d be alright. They might bicker but her life was better than it had been before they found him.
She found herself sinking into silence as they headed back towards the town centre. It was inevitable now. In a few minutes she would be there among strange girls of her own age. She had never been to school before let alone in such a strange universe.
“Most people are nice,” Ros said softly. “And the ones who aren’t won’t bother you. They have their favourite targets. And the teachers are okay.”
Azella shrugged.
“What about your form tutor?” the king rumbled from the front.
“I don’t know. We’re getting a new one.”
“You’ll have someone equally new on your side then, vashakela.”
Azella managed a smile.
“Where shall I drop you, Rosiernanne?”
“Oracle Road, please. By the side gates.”
A few minutes later they were standing on the pavement opposite the school. There were a few girls opposite, dressed just like Ros and Azella, trailing through the gates. It was depressing to be so anonymous, Azella thought, watching the car draw away.
Ros sighed and pulled her towards the gates. “Does he have to call me Rosiernanne,” she grumbled. “Bloody mouthful. Even teachers call me Rosie.”
“That’s Himself,” Azella said. “He probably thinks it’s more polite.”
Ros showed her how to work the palm scanner at the gate and they waited while the computer tried to match her hand to the prints she’d contributed at the end of last term. Eventually it beeped them through and they set off briskly along the side of the carpark. To their right, beyond the car park, an large area of black ground was fenced off.
“Netball courts,” Ros said, interpreting Azella’s bewildered look. “Tennis in the summer, though.”
None the wiser, Azella followed her between two square buildings which appeared to be coated in dark brown gravel.
“Maths block,” Ros said. “Rooms P, Q, R and S. Year Eleven form rooms. We’re in S which is good because R stinks of pot noodles and P and Q have damp.”
“Right,” Azella said blankly.
Ros glanced at her watch. “We’re late but only just. Come and meet Emli.”
Azella followed her obediently as she ran up the steps and into the room, calling, “Hey, people. Hey, Em. Good summer?”
Azella slipped in behind her, glancing around nervously. Be on guard, she thought uneasily. Not here, surely.
Ros was in the back corner of the room, talking eagerly to a tall girl with honey-blonde hair pulled back into a long plait. Startlingly, a wide streak of white ran through the blonde, marking her. As Azella came up behind them she said, “Why are you so late, Ros?”
“Oh, I got a lift with Azella,” Ros said. “You must meet Azella, Em. She’s just moved to Fernley.”
But the blonde was already staring over Ros’s shoulder at her. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue and Azella felt as if she was being measured. She disliked it and lifted her head to meet the other’s gaze.
“I’m Azella C’Tiri,” she said and to her surprise saw the hostility in the other’s eyes turn to horror.
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no subject
Date: 2005-05-16 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-16 09:37 pm (UTC)Try not to slap Azella. I assure you she'll improve on further acquaintance and she's meant to be one of the good guys ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-05-17 05:34 pm (UTC)I know you're probably not looking for nitpicks, but I figured I'd just point this one out:
"As they drove through the suburbs of Wasingham they left the rain behind them. As they neared the centre of town they hit heavy traffic."
The two sentences have an identical beginning and structure.
*charges off to chapter two*
no subject
Date: 2005-05-17 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-20 10:25 am (UTC)Reading this through again, still finding it hard to like Azella, she's just such a snob *chuckles* I do like Ros though and Varal, of course, though I think my perceptions of him are coloured by the Varal running around in comments.
"And watch your language – local swearwords, please." - I love that line ^_^
Thank you for posting this here as a refresher! I did need it.
no subject
Date: 2005-05-20 12:02 pm (UTC)I think Azella's more snotty than snobby. Brat of a child. Varal is irrestible - the Varal in the comments is definitely straight from this era, as is comment-Tiger a lot of the time.
I love Himself. Being able to write more about him is a reason to write more of this in itself.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-24 09:45 am (UTC)“And freeze my ears off while you walk it? Not bloody likely.” <- *grins at Mole* 'e's lovely, 'e is.
Ooooooooooooh. Very curious prologue this. ^-^ And very nice to Lynx as well. ^-^ All before Atlantis and the rest too. Very intruiging. I promise, I'll leave that adjective alone now. Wonderfully intruiging beginning, though.
walked to school[,] but the traffic
Shalini dived towards the corner and Emli yelped and vaulted past her, sliding across four rows of desks to sprawl across the back desk, her ankles hooked through the backs of the chairs.
*cackle* <- That sounds so much like our year every class. It's a miracle anyone ever remembered where their seats were...
And that's all I caught for you. This is a lovely beginning. Very interesting to see Azella again and to see how different she became. Always nice to have that happening.
*smiles sheepishly* For all my reading, I still feel like I've only brushed past your characters and worlds. Makes it a bit harder to comment on the stories sensible, but all the more intruiging to read. You've got so much history and story going on... It's inspirational, me dear. ^-^ Absolutely lovely.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-26 03:28 pm (UTC)I love Mole. He's been around for a long time, as minor characters go, and I've always been very fond of him.
*chuckles* Well, once you'd nabbed your spot in the form room, you didn't have to fight for it again, but different people sat together in different lessons.
I think you're the only person who's met young Azella before reading this (as I wrote this months before I started Dark Wings). I'm glad it works that way round too.
I've barely touched on a lot of the background in what I've written so I can understand you beeing confused.
Thanks for the comment :)