The Seven

‘Yes.’

The sword looks at Vesper, its hum felt more than heard, whisper-like. She nods. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

‘You once promised to stand between me and the Malice, do you remember?’

‘Yes.’

‘And while we are at peace, do you promise to stand between me and rest of The Seven?’

‘Yes.’

The First leans closer, bracing itself against the invisible force of the Malice’s anger. ‘You truly don’t know, do you?’

‘What are you taking about?’

‘The Seven. They have awoken and the fires of their rage burn in the north.’

‘But there’s no hostile force in the north.’

‘They see it differently.’ Vesper’s face falls and the First continues to speak. ‘The Seven are gathering Their strength. They call out to Their agents, who in turn call out to others. Factions within the colonies that came over to me have already begun to rebel.

‘They are coming south. I believe They are coming for me.’

Vesper’s hand goes to her mouth. She thinks of her family, despairs. Have they become another sacrifice? And what will The Seven do to her? What kind of example will they make? Such thoughts are dispelled with a shake of the head. ‘You knew this all along. That’s why you came to speak with me. You’re afraid!’

‘Yes. I am afraid. We are united in fear.’

She looks up, defiance colouring cheeks. ‘No, we are united in more than fear.’

But when the advance scouts of The Seven’s armada appear on the horizon, she goes straight to Samael, and he pushes The Commander’s Rest harder until it seems to fly across the wavetops.

The First returns to its fleet and they too accelerate, doing their best to keep pace with the sleeker vessel.

The scout ships fade from view but they are not forgotten.

Delta forces herself to look. In one hand she has a skull, in the other, part of a skeleton. The skull is ordinary, that of a human male, the skeleton belonging to a different man, one that has experienced the touch of the taint, turning the bones asymmetrical.

Even without attending to the essence echoes around them, she can tell their end was abrupt, anguished, and at the hands of her brother, Alpha.

A compulsion makes her walk around the ruins of Greyspot Three. Where normal eyes see only the present, pyres, ashes and charred buildings, Delta’s see shimmering where the power of her kin was used. Her ears attend to the fading hum of energy, her body sensitive to the softvibrations in the air. Together, these sensations allow her to follow in her brother’s footsteps. She stops at each place he sang, identifying the corpses he has made, choking on her brother’s righteous anger that still lingers, remorseless.

There are so many dead. So many of her people, dead, that it overwhelms her. Finally, on the edge of Greyspot Three, she stops, and thinks.

Her role is to love her siblings, to make a better world with them, and yet she cannot feel love for what has happened. Cannot help but judge.

She has asked how it came to this, and they have pointed to her brother. But this is unsatisfactory. She knows that Alpha did this, knew it the moment they arrived. What she does not understand is why he did it, nor why it was done in such a manner.

The need for answers bubbles in her, converting despair to action.

Jem pulls on the Vagrant’s sleeve, lowers his voice. ‘How long do you think She’s going to be gone for?’

The Vagrant looks in the direction Delta went, shrugs.

‘Then let’s go before She comes back.’

The Vagrant nods and strides off towards the docks.

Reela strides after him, little legs working double time to keep up. With a last glance at Delta, Jem follows her.

The air here is smoke-heavy, smelling of burnt rubber and cooked meat. The Vagrant covers his mouth and, for different reasons, the two behind do the same.

The ragtag array of ships usually found in port are gone, their wrecks thickening the water. Most are sunk, some still sinking, the odd stray mast protruding from the surface in final salute.

The Vagrant looks out to sea. Alpha’s sky palace has already lumbered from view, leaving an empty, peaceful vista.

After a moment’s contemplation, he frowns and walks along the corrugated jetty, amber eyes searching.

‘What are you doing?’ asks Jem. ‘We need to get out of here. If we follow the coastline far enough we’ll hit another port. Maybe we could get passage on a ship there. Or we could go inland, find somewhere remote, where nobody else goes. Somewhere with lots of goats!’

The Vagrant pauses to direct a hard stare over his shoulder.

‘What? You love goats!’

The Vagrant turns back to his task, dismissive.

‘Look, it doesn’t matter what we farm or even if we farm. We have to get out of here, now. The Empire will be coming for Delta and we don’t want to be here when they arrive.’

Jem checks again to see if he can see Delta, only to find she is a hundred metres away, and that he is staring directly into her eyes. She seems purposeful, angry, and he looks away quickly, shame dousing him like a sudden blast of icy water. ‘We have to go,’ he says, then again, louder. ‘We have to go!’

He hears a splash, turns back. The Vagrant is reaching down, pulling objects from the water like a magician from a hat. Each one is tossed onto the jetty. Jem examines the objects, seeing nothing more than broken junk.

The Vagrant plunges his arm under, pulls hard. The water nearby bubbles and a small sea-shuttle bobs up from the depths, cheerful. No longer bound to its stricken mother vessel, the sea-shuttle floats easily, only a few dents marring its flanks. Built for speed and short-distance travel, the sea-shuttle resembles a triangular dart, a shallow deck cut into the topside.

Reela looks wary of the boat but allows herself to be lifted onboard. Jem needs no encouragement, jumping on as soon as there is space to do so.

‘How do you turn this on?’ asks Jem.

The Vagrant frowns at the blank display.

They try a few experimental prods at the screen and search around the sides of the steering column. Neither of them are familiar with the design.

Nearby, Reela carries out her own experiments, touching places at random.

The Vagrant smacks the steering column.

Nothing happens.

‘Don’t break it!’ says Jem.