Deep Echoes

  ~~

  Hours of hiking found her a small pond with a tributary stream from the north. Caked in bog mud, filthy and tired, she needed to be clean if there truly was a town to the south. Fighting midges, avoiding stepping on toads, Maya struggled herself and her clothes clean. It was tiring, so tiring. After dragging herself from the pure water, she lay panting on the pond's edge, refusing to think about how she'd got there.

  Somehow, in spite of the fact that her pursuers might have come to, she fell asleep. Maya awoke to the darkness of night. The stars, other suns with their own planets, watched her. For a moment she watched them back and wondered if there were other people out there, other beings staring at the night's illuminations and knowing what they truly were.

  She blinked, sat up, collected herself and her things and then trudged south.

  Just beyond the Prime Woods there was indeed a village. Though village might not be the right term: it had almost a hundred buildings, some of them stone, with streets, shops, and other amenities. But it had no roads winding towards the Great Road. How was that even possible?

  Stunned, her mind tried to work through this mystery. However, her empty stomach bellowed over such thoughts: the scent of lamb and pork and frying vegetables coming from the buildings told her there were more important things to consider. The strongest smells came from a tavern called The Axe, a brick building that was more repair than original structure. Singing escaped it too, though it was a tune she didn't know.

  Maya used the last of her strength to reach it and almost tumbled inside. Solid, well-built people with drinker's blushes and the disgruntled faces of overworked Labourers gaped at her, a stranger. She swayed on her feet and fell into the door frame. Willpower alone had kept her going thus far. Her legs stung with overuse.

  The drinkers' eyes widened, like their mouths. “Blood and fucking, what the hell happened to you?” one said, his thick beard turning his shock comical. His mouth was open, wide, surrounded by hair. Maya almost laughed.

  “Look at her: it's like she's dead,” another said.

  The room was warm, even with the door open. It felt good. “You absolute charmer,” she breathed before reaching into her robes. “Can I get some food?”

  She extended her hand with a supreme effort then wiggled her purse toward the bar.

  The barmaid, her breasts as exposed as possible without her being topless, stammered “O-o-of course!” She then hurriedly said something, words Maya didn't recognise, and the men rushed to Maya's aid, walked her to the roaring fire cloistered in a thick hovel.

  “I got lost,” was all Maya said when they asked how she'd arrived at Seed.

  Eventually the drinkers left her be and whispered amongst themselves, disappointed. Maya was glad they'd left. She didn't have the strength to deal with them. She leant forward and absorbed the flame's heat, revelling in it. It felt like bliss across her skin.

  The barmaid brought her cooked lamb with vegetables in a thick gravy. “Here, eat this,” she said kindly. She was maybe three years older than Maya, blonde and much prettier. Not that Maya minded.

  “Do you rent rooms?” Maya asked.

  “We have a room upstairs, yeah. You want it?”

  Maya nodded then snatched the plate from her. The food was gone a minute later. Every patron watched this guzzling spectacle with curiosity and a touch of admiration. At least, that's what she thought they watched with.

  “Can I have the room now?” she asked, handing the plate back.

  “Well, it's not made up or anythi–”

  “Is it good enough to sleep in?”

  The barmaid nodded, lost in the situation.

  “Good.” Maya palmed six Circles from her purse and looked at them, watched them shimmer in the firelight. The barmaid watched too, rapt.

  “It... it's this way, then,” she said.

  An initial rush of energy from her meal brought clarity. The drinkers were eyeing her like game, calculating their odds. Drained like this, she'd find fending off an attacker challenging at that moment. Eyes forward, she stood with faltering dignity and allowed the barmaid to lead her upstairs, leaving the patrons alone with the bar. She hoped the barmaid's presence would dissuade them for now.

  “How much per night? And, sorry, what's your name?”

  “I'm Bite, sire, and it's an expensive room. Very popular too.”

  Bite was a poor liar. But the risk of keeping a stranger, a target, meant she needed to charge a premium. When they reached the small landing, Maya gestured for Bite to hold out her hand then dropped six Circles into her palm.

  Bite eyed them in wonder.

  “I'd like to stay for a while. The cost includes food.” This wasn't negotiable.

  A faint, unintelligible noise was all she got in return. It was as though she'd never seen Circles.

  Maybe she hadn't. A small town, out of the way... They probably didn't use Circles, must have some cheaper, local tokens to track trades. With this sudden influx of gold into a wooden economy, Maya had just made the tavern a target for long after she'd left. She hoped the barmaid had more to her than it seemed.

  With a start, Bite snapped from her stupor. “Oh, yes! Is there anything you like to eat, sire? I can get anything in, it's no trouble.”

  “Whatever you have will do, as long as I'm not disturbed between meals. And I'll need a bath, once a day, starting tomorrow.”

  Bite nodded enthusiastically. She'd agree to almost anything if Maya parted with more gold.

  Maya dropped her purse back into her robes. “I mean it about not being disturbed. I'm carrying weapons and anyone who comes in without food or bath water will find this out.” She said this as much for the locals' benefit as Bite's: doubtless the girl would share such gossip with all of them when they were done here.

  Still, the barmaid's nod was less vigorous this time. She looked pale. Poor girl.

  “Good. I'm here?” she asked, pointing at the less worn of the two doors. The other was probably Bite's room.

  Bite lifted a thick iron key came from a chain on her belt. “Y-yes, sire. Here's your key.”

  “For safety, can I have your copy?”

  Her brow furrowed. “I suppose so, yeah. Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” Maya took both keys and, without speaking, entered her room.

  Spacious with old furniture and a single window hiding behind thick curtains. Perfect. She locked the door, undressed and fell face first into bed. Sleep came quickly, bringing dreamless rest.

  14

  That night, dinner was more strained than usual. Snow had hoped that Scar's presence would lighten things up, but he didn't seem in the mood for pleasant conversation after spending the day with his daughter. His parents barely talked. Scar was quiet, distracted.

  Snow felt awful. At his Dad's suggestion, he'd spent the afternoon alone. For hours, he'd contemplated his stupidity and how pathetic he was for making them come here... but he made an effort as they ate: he told stories and jokes, tried to get a good mood going. But only his Dad responded, and even then it was with weak smiles and distracted nods.

  “Honestly, Pitch, you shouldn't encourage him. It's terrible manners to joke at the table, young man. Just be quiet and eat,” Wire snapped at him. And he thought of her as Wire now: she deserved nothing more.

  “Like everyone else? Sullen and miserable?”

  Wire scowled. “Snow! Don't talk to me like that?”

  Standing, Snow glared at her. This was enough: he was a miserable wreck, he had brought them here, but he could not take any more. “What, you mean like how you talk to Dad?”

  “How dare you!” Wire punched the table. The cutlery rattled in indignation. “I'm your Mother and you can't...”

  Scar sighed. “Oh shut up, Wire.”

  “Wh-what?”

  Scar turned to her, his face stern, focussed. “I told you to shut up. The boy's right, you treat Pitch like filth.”

  Snow tried not to grin.

  Wire looked to Snow
, to his Dad, and finally at Scar. She rose to leave, but his Dad reached out and grabbed her arm without looking up from his meal. “Sit. Please.”

  If his Dad hadn't said please, Wire would have stormed off. And there would have been apologies and arguments for hours afterwards. Instead, she sat and took a bite from her thin steak. Snow tried not to stare, instead attacked his own food.

  They ate in silence, and the evening dissolved with basic platitudes. Everyone retired to their rooms for the night, Wire again separate from his Dad.

  But Snow did not go to sleep. He couldn't after that meal. Instead, he felt the urge to escape from his situation. So he crept downstairs to read Scar's notebooks. Kept with his model of Geos, they were thick tomes drawn and written by hand and filled with hidden, forbidden knowledge. That wouldn't stop him though as Sol couldn't do much worse to him now, and he knew how to jack simple locks from his friends...

  Friends... friends he wouldn't see for months. How could Sol damn him so? The question made him bitter.

  This anger disappeared when Scar's desk clicked open under his careful attentions and a cache of lore and wisdom greeted him. He rifled through Scar's notebooks, waiting for something to pique his interest. Then he noticed the 'Disciple Lexic,' the book of Disciples. What could be more interesting? Opening it, Snow saw a hideous drawing of a Disciple, more accurate and terrible than any he'd seen at school.

  All Disciples are golden statues, strange mockeries of men. Each looked the same, impassive, bland faces with blank eyes and hands strong enough to crush a skull with ease. Instead of using arrows, they fire things called bullets – strange, pointed metal slugs – at incredible speeds. If pressed, they could outrun a galloping steed. But they have the Weakness, a massive structural flaw in their shoulders that can be struck to kill them instantly. Most of the Disciple Lexic detailed ways to strike at this, to pick it out at range and reduce the risk of hand to hand combat.

  Beyond their Weakness, Disciples are susceptible to drowning and have difficulty in standing up once knocked down. A few strong men can apparently bowl one over, and the process for one to get upright again was complex. This was listed as one of the safest ways to fight them in melee because it reduced their efficacy.

  He spent an hour, as long as he dared, reading and learned more of their Weakness and, even better, some forbidden knowledge of how they worked: electricity and, ironically, tubes called wires. He absorbed this and more, a man's experience of fighting creatures which aren't even alive. The sorrow, death, and frustration almost leaked from the book and the screams of the dead seemed to echo with each turn of the page but it was good knowledge, something that ought to be shared. Even if each word, each mote of knowledge, had been bought with the souls of the faithful.

  Snow realised he must be getting tired to think like that. Closing the notebook, he returned it to Scar's desk, re-locked the drawer and snuck back to his room. He fell straight asleep but was plagued with nightmare of Disciples led by Wire, sweeping down over Aureu to teach them not to disrespect her.