The Seven

‘Yes, but he’s just as bad as your father. Most of the time he finds Reela’s behaviour funny. They’re getting her into bad habits and stopping me from sorting it out.’

‘I’ll talk to them before I go, okay?’

‘Okay. Thank you. Look, it’s getting dark. We should probably get back inside.’

‘Let’s just stay out here a bit longer.’

‘It’s getting cold.’

She takes his hands in hers. ‘But I’m warm, remember?’

A different kind of glint appears in Jem’s eye. ‘I think so, but it’s been a while. I’m going to need some serious reminding.’

Vesper steps in close, sliding her hands around his waist, kissing him. His nose is like a lump of ice against her cheek, his hands startling on her hips.

She kisses him again, pulling him more firmly to her.

It turns out that Jem does not need much reminding at all. In fact, his memory is very good on the subject. Despite this or perhaps because of it, they stay out long after the suns have set.

CHAPTER TWO (#u623a9590-ce75-5864-bda2-24c4ec5e15d2)

Vesper leaves the next day. Her father watches her march towards the coast with the buck and her personal guard of Seraph Knights, the Order of the Broken Blades. Each member is devoted to Vesper, owing her a personal debt. Their armour glints in the sunslight, pride adding crispness to their movements.

When they are nothing more than a spot on the horizon, he remains, and when that spot has vanished entirely, he remains.

Finally, when even that memory of it has undeniably gone, he sighs and turns back towards home.

Business resumes in the Shining City, each denizen returning to their appointed tasks. But something has changed, excitement infusing even the simplest of actions. The twin statues of Duet that stand either side of the southern road are cleaned. The gardens that curl, unkempt, around the great platinum pillars are cut back. Buttons are polished an extra time, bodies held slightly straighter, a mix of worry and excitement fuelling the drive towards perfection.

Without anyone explicitly arranging anything, the choirs of children meet for additional devotion sessions. When squires train, they lament their mistakes far more, and the knight instructors punish them all the harder.

In quiet industry and whispered speculation, a few days pass.

Like most of the citizens of the Shining City, the Knight Commander spends his spare moments looking up at the sky. Sometimes, at night, he thinks he sees the Sanctum of The Seven, a new star glimmering in the heavens. With the Bearer of Gamma’s sword abroad, and Obeisance in silent meditation, out of his reach, it is up to him to prepare the Empire for whatever is coming next.

And there is an undeniable sense that a change is coming. He likes to think that the return of The Seven is a reward for their good work, that finally he and his people are worthy to receive the blessings of their immortal guardians again. He does his best to ensure that worthiness, exhorting his people to work harder, to be better, than they ever have before. Each day, the Shining City behaves as if it were on parade, its citizens outfitted in their best, moving purposefully through corridors that gleam. Every corner is scoured, every piece of equipment cleaned, and any inhabitant that does not come up to the Knight Commander’s high standards is given tasks that keep them out of sight.

When the call finally comes, he is prepared, his armour finely polished, and a score of officers are on standby to be given the word, whatever word that will be.

The familiar form of Obeisance is projected in front of him, lines of light describing her shape. Despite the magnitude of the occasion, she does not seem any different, but then he does not expect her to. Obeisance communes with The Seven daily, her life a string of abnormal events threaded together by brief periods of sleep. Their wonder is her mundanity.

‘Knight Commander.’

He salutes. ‘Obeisance.’

‘Do not look so solemn, old friend. Rejoice. For we live in glorious times. The Seven have spoken, Their light shines upon us again, and we have been chosen as the instruments of deliverance.’

‘How can I serve?’

‘You are to gather the fleet for Their pleasure and prepare Alpha’s sky palace for travel. Have them assemble on the southern coast, at Greyspot Three.’

‘If I may, Obeisance, Greyspot Three is a civilian port with a troubled history. Skylanding would much more suitable for such a historic occasion.’

She does not reply immediately and he wonders if she is considering his words or if there is interference.

‘You misunderstand, Knight Commander. You are being given an order, not a recommendation. In any case the sanctum has begun its descent, and Alpha has already taken wing. He is on His way to you as we speak. I trust everything will be ready when He arrives.’

‘He’s coming here? Now? I don’t see how –’

But her image has already winked out. Cursing, the Knight Commander blinks the flickering afterglow from his eyes and starts barking orders.

Minutes later the Knight Commander is standing at the base of the silver steps. Somewhere high above is the Sanctum of The Seven, and in the space between them, diving through the ether, is Alpha.

He has had to run to get here, and beneath his armour the Knight Commander is sweating. Behind him a row of Seraph Knights have formed up, hastily, several rows of soldiers rushing into position at their backs. He hears the last stamp of boots, the snap of people standing to attention. Then silence.

They all stand in perfect formation, watching the sky for the first sign of Alpha’s arrival.

Though his body is still, the Knight Commander’s mouth continues to move, organizing, giving orders via comms link, coordinating the fleet. To meet Alpha’s needs he has taken from all over the Empire, stripping the coast and the nearby colonies of protection.

He checks in to see if Vesper’s father, the Champion, remains in the Shining City but he has already left, on foot. The Knight Commander shakes his head at the bizarre custom. The Champion has not gone far, is only just reaching the gates but he does not call him back. This is to be a historic moment, and he has no wish to share it.

With magnification from his visor, he makes out a speck directly above, growing quickly, and his heart starts to pump faster. Despite the fact he is standing still, he continues to sweat.

In the scant time that remains the Knight Commander considers what kind of greeting would be appropriate, and how best he can appear both humble and strong at the same time.

Meanwhile, Alpha continues to dive.

Thoughts flicker, disjointed, through the Knight Commander’s mind.

Perhaps I should have summoned Alpha’s sky palace here instead of sending it to Greyspot Three.

Would it be better to sing in honour of Alpha’s arrival or remain silent?

Is it odd that I have not called the citizens here to greet Him? Surely it is better to have a small, perfectly formed greeting, than a great, ugly one. There were too many to organize in the time. This is better. I’m sure this is better.

A song would be more appropriate, I think. Yes, a song would be best, and I should lead it. The image of him singing, his knights a supporting chorus, is pleasing. It seems right. But which song? He wonders.

Alpha is close now, wings drawn tight to his sides. The Knight Commander takes a breath, still unsure which note to begin with.

He’s coming in awfully fast. A nagging sensation begins to build in the Knight Commander’s stomach, a sense that something is wrong. He’s not going to stop. He’s going to crash into us. Is this some kind of test? A test of our resolve?

He can almost hear Obeisance admonishing him for trying to predict the actions of The Seven. If Alpha were a sky-ship or even a bird, then perhaps there would be a danger of him not slowing down in time. He is far beyond either of those things, far beyond anything the Knight Commander can imagine. Shaking the doubt from his mind, letting the awe grow within him, the Knight Commander begins to sing.

Flawlessly, as if rehearsed, the knights join in.

Alpha continues to dive, to accelerate.

He’s not going to stop! He’s not going to stop!