The walking citys war, p.1
The Walking City's War, page 1
part #3 of Edge of the Knife Series
The Walking City’s War
J Boothby
Edge of the Knife: Episode 3
The Walking City’s War
A Note to Readers
The Walking City’s War picks up immediately from Episodes 1 & 2 in the series, The Blasted Wastes and The Blackfeather Sea.
If you haven’t read those yet, you will probably want to start there.
Also, be sure to click through to the end of the book to see exclusive deleted scenes, only available in this edition.
Thanks for reading!
-JB
1
Blackwell
“I’m getting something,” Fehris calls from the corner. He sits on an overstuffed chair that is too tall for him, and his feet jut straight out into the air like a child’s—one with a cast on it, one without. He’s got his shoe off the good foot, and I can see his brown toes are webbed.
He’s like some sort of glowing-eyed half-otter. I’ve never seen someone else like him.
He holds a knife absently in one hand while flipping through a large, heavy book that’s covered in illustrations and text. Most of the illustrations I catch a glimpse of are of the rose, Te’loria, and of Tilhtinora being lifted into the air.
I’m standing on the terrace, staring into a telescope.
Kjat is pacing restlessly in the courtyard.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes. No, wait. Lost it. Hang on.” He drops the broadcast, sets down the knife to sneeze into his hand, and for the tenth time wipes it on the chair’s arm.
When he sneezes, his fur stands on end and crackles with static.
He picks up the knife again. “Nothing.”
I sigh. It’s been three days since we landed at Ercan’s house, up in the cliffs above the Old City section of Tamaranth. Three days of monitoring knife transmissions about the Akarii attack, and waiting for the Kerul to make up their minds on what they want to do about it. “Do you need me to take it?”
“I’ve got it.” He shuts the book. “It’s amazing that someone can write such a heavy book and say absolutely nothing new.”
He sighs. We’re all frustrated.
Ercan’s place is this large, renovated Flowermech mansion that sprawls up a cliff on a ridge that overlooks the Old City. It’s got a lot of curving, glassy domes grown from some fibrous material that was apparently as hard as stone, all of them intersecting and overlapping in geometric ways resembling the petals of a flower. Different domes are at different elevations, and tall banks of windows, like the eyes of insects, open out onto different gardens and terraces. It is furnished with classical pieces and artwork, and is empty except for the Krukkruk staff.
There’s nothing from Earth in it at all, and after everything on Nadrune’s ship I’m just fine with that.
It also has a killer view. I can watch my home city getting bombed with great clarity, through this expensive telescope, drinking this bottle of expensive bourbon.
“Where are you at with those?”
“Where am I at? I am right here.”
“What are you finding in all of those books?”
Fehris has been nose-down since we got here. I’m sure we’ve missed more than half of the transmissions coming up from the Old City because of it.
Not that it would have made a lot of difference.
Fehris sneezes again. He’s apparently allergic to all of the flowertech. “I’m finding that we should have stayed on the damn Akarii ship. I told Ercan that, but did he listen? Of course not. Even he could see that podship light up like a mech on fire when that Sister of yours was brought on board. But it didn’t make a damn bit of difference to him.”
“You think Te’loria is in the Sister?”
He blows air out between his lips. “It’s not in it. But you, the ship, and that Sister are all closely tied together somehow, and I need all of you in close proximity to figure out what we do next.”
“I’m still not sure what I’ve got to do with it.”
“You keep saying that. Your gigantic head is stuck as deep in Tamaranth’s lagoon as Ercan’s if you don’t see it yet.” Fehris frowns and wipes his nose. “Look, there’s a story about the Fall of the Third Transcendency, you know. There are lots of stories, and this one is Talovian, so who knows the real truth of it. But it puts the collapse of the whole world entirely on your race.”
My ears go up. “Really?” I shake my head. “I knew I’ve felt guilty for something. I just always wondered what.”
“Well, let me enlighten you,” Fehris says, missing the joke. “The Talovians claim that it was Dekheret’s right hand, Farsoth the Hulgliev himself, who brought about the Fall. The way they tell it, he had grown restless as the mere head of the Tel Kharan, and jealous of Dekheret. He wanted to rule everything himself. So in the dead of night, Farsoth attempted a great bridging on his own, to a secret world only just discovered. He took the best mages that he could convince. It was a powerful matrix, deep in some secret site in Tilhtinora, and at the peak of it was Farsoth with Te’loria.” He sneezes and wipes it on the chair again. “Ignore the fact for now that you don’t actually join worlds this way. It’s a story, right? As the Talovians tell it, Farsoth was so filled with his own sense of power that he opened up the bridge and found something there that destroyed him, the great city of Tilhtinora, and culture as we know it. Other worlds abandoned us, and nothing was ever the same again. Typical stuff, really.”
“What did he find?”
“Does it matter? Some great black bird-things. Some historians actually think it was Lasser Arbellin, Dekheret’s nephew, who called the birds. Now there was a twisted man! But what’s really interesting about the Talovian version is that they say another Hulgliev, or a pair of Hulgliev twins, caught Te’loria when it fell from Farsoth’s grasp. These Hulgliev, who aren’t named, supposedly stole away with the rose and hid it with the Hulgliev people, so that no other race would ever again benefit from its power. It took the great Lasser Arbellin, his personal army of Bloodknives, and all of the great Talovians to bring the world back together. And that’s why you’ve been hunted ever since, at least according to the frogs.”
“So you’re thinking we’ve recovered the ship of the Hulgliev who stole the flower.”
What can I say: some days I think quicker with bourbon.
“Exactly!” Fehris hops up and starts pacing. “Well…not exactly. I have yet to see the Talovians get much of anything right. But parts of the Talovian story are echoed in the story on the walls of the ship. At least the part about two Hulgliev brothers taking the rose at Farsoth’s request and hiding it away somewhere—somewhere only a Hulgliev might find it. That, plus the Hulgliev skeleton we found? There’s only one of them, but it could line up. And you did say that the ship seemed to have some sort of affinity to you when you were flying it, which wouldn’t have been out of the realm of possibility in Dekheret’s—hang on, I’ve got something,” Fehris says, interrupting himself.
He sends me a tracer and forwards the broadcast.
I let the image take shape around me.
I’m standing at the waterfront, seeing Akarii podships coming down on me in formation, much the way I’d watched them from Nadrune’s city.
But this is no drill. Mages attached to the combat netting on the ships’ exteriors throw down lances of fire, cutting through defenders who are manning the guns on the Tamaranth walls and the rooftops of buildings; from the hatchways of the podships fall those large shimmering balls of flaming death.
Whoever sent the images has a vantage point near the Alabaster Tower. I recognize the position of the lagoon, the long dark curve of Hechinger’s Bridge, and some of the buildings that make up the Warrens. From where he or she stands, we can see that parts of the city are on fire, and off near the Tower are more flashes of battle.
The Akarii ships make another pass, and then communication breaks off.
I shake my head. With the networks all down, lots of people are resorting to low-power point-to-point transmissions like this one, from knife to knife, to get information out to the rest of the world.
With these, we’ve patched together a view of what’s happened so far: hours after we landed at Ercan’s place, Nadrune began her aerial bombardment of the Old City.
The city guard had taken the majestic white grohvers into the air. Those large winged-and-feathered lizards have been part of the city’s defenses nearly forever, but everyone knew it was largely a symbolic gesture.
The podships easily out-maneuvered the grohver, and the Akarii bombardment quickly brought down the power grids—and with it, many of the wards around key governmental buildings.
Official protests from the Chancellor had gone out to the other major Families, but got little reaction. Some ships set out from the harbor to engage the fleet directly, but I’m guessing they had about as much success as the grohvers did.
The Akarii then began landing small divisions of Tel Kharan with the podships, and the marines spread through the Old City, slaving mages that stood up against them and getting stronger as they went. They secured the Council Chambers and the Chancellor’s residence, the tall energy transmission towers, the twisting streets of Warrens where the merchants gathered for the daily markets, and even the Alabaster Tower where the Twin Sisters were housed.
We relay transmissions to a Kerul operative even farther out in the suburbs, and they’re passed on from there. Some of them are from the Chancellor Aart himself, who still remains at large, moving from shelter to shelter. His t
Some of the broadcasts are from others in the city’s service, Council members mostly, who give updates on the Akarii occupation and who call out to other families and smaller cities for assistance.
No one is answering. Right now, Tamaranth is pretty much on her own.
Many of the transmissions are Nadrune’s propaganda. We don’t relay those. She’s working hard to portray herself as the next coming of Dekheret, and if I try to be somewhat objective about it, she’s doing a good job.
Some even feature me, which pisses me off. Me standing next to her, like we are the best of friends. The two of us speaking in her quarters and watching the podships fly—you get the sense that I helped plan the whole invasion.
Someone has patched together an image of Nadrune, the Sister, and me, which looks totally fake if you study it closely. But it’s getting passed around a lot, and we’re told that the podships are dropping leaflets with the image into some of the residential areas of city.
Other transmissions tell the broader story of the battle. People in several districts are working to get their part of the city walking again, and are sharing technical information.
One transmission shows one of the Akarii podships, evidently shot down, lying half submerged in the lagoon as the tide retreats around it. A riderless grohver perches defiantly atop it and cleans blood from its feathers with a long blue tongue. That one is faded from many forwards, and it flickers in and out with static, but we pass it along anyway.
Talovians, who hate everyone most of the time, have begun to riot in the Stellar Downs and in the Commons.
A lone mage placed herself before the historic entrance to the Warrens, and held off a full division of the marines with awesome skill. That’s an incredible scene to watch, filled with screaming civilians in Festivaal costumes, masks, coats, and bowler hats running for cover. In the center of the chaos, the mage rises up in the carved lacquer armor of an ancient grohver-rider. She catches and holds all of the Tel Kharan’s force, spinning it in the air before her, and then throws it back at them, until two more divisions finally bring her down.
I wonder, sadly, if anyone will ever know her name.
Why am I up here, you’re wondering, and not down with the fighting? Honestly, I’m struggling with that myself. I feel like I should be down there, in the streets, making a stand somewhere and helping in any way I can to do some damage before the Akarii decide to move out of the Old City into the rest of Tamaranth.
But Ercan convinced me to wait, and he had some good points:
1. I’m not part of the city guard.
2. I don’t have an army with me.
3. I’m just one person, and even if I took the podship in now, I’d probably end up like that woman. Heroic and dead.
He wanted some time to see if he could mobilize more of the Kerul families, and is talking with them now.
But I don’t have to like it.
I feel like I want to chew someone’s leg off.
And Fehris is awfully close by.
There’s also the small matter of what to do about Mr. Capone and his expectation of a podship delivery. I haven’t completely figured that one out yet, either, though I have an idea.
I’m staring at Kjat now, out the window.
She paces back and forth in that courtyard that’s loaded with bright, exotic plants. She’s walking swiftly, talking to herself, kicking at rubble and watching the horizon.
She’s edgier and more restless than I am, if that’s possible.
I’ve tried to talk with her twice since we landed; I don’t think she’s eaten anything or gotten any sleep, and it’s clearly weighing heavily on her.
What did that fight in the warehouse do to her?
What happened to her on the Akarii ship?
She’s not talking.
She senses me watching her, and turns. I catch her eye. She jerks as if shocked, gives me a dark glance, and then turns away, muttering and gesturing.
Frankly, I wonder if she’s gone mad. Only one way to find out.
I walk out into the courtyard. “Are you all right?” I ask.
She looks up into the sky, head tilted as though she’s listening to something else, and then looks back at me. She nods, and then shakes her head. “I…I need time, Blackwell. I’ve got it for now, but I need time to…to get this under...to get this right.”
Her eye twitches and she shudders.
I reach out to clasp her on the shoulder—just camaraderie, really, but she backs away from my hand. I nod and back away.
I give her some space.
Back in the garden room, Fehris is deep in a book again, so I go in search of Ercan.
I follow the sounds of shouting from deeper in the mansion, and find him in some sort of cage.
It’s in the center of a large, elaborate, circular room that has no windows and only one door. In keeping with the house’s Flowermech architecture, the cage is shaped like a blossom descending from the ceiling, with metallic petals that enclose him.
It’s crawling with aether.
A Kruk with a knife stands off to one side working a set of controls.
When I come in, Ercan is standing and shouting in the center of it about some sort of bureaucratic procedure that I can’t make any sense of. For a minute I think he’s gone mad too, but then I realize if I stand just the right way I can see what looks like a great hall projected on the interior of the cage, and many overdressed and tall-wigged people sitting there and looking bored, or standing and shouting back at Ercan.
This goes on for some time.
I look at the Kruk, who’s operating the device. She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling and shrugs but says nothing.
I’ve never seen Kruks as calm as they are in Ercan’s house.
I catch Ercan’s eye and he holds up a finger.
I wait. Ercan shouts some more at the images. They shout back at him. Then he makes an impassioned plea for the Kerul to come to aid Tamaranth.
He’s a great speaker, poised and articulate, and really compelling.
To be honest, in the warehouse I thought he was a little out of his element. No here. He looks like a different man.
He is a different man—a confident, passionate leader.
There’s some more shouting. Ercan wraps it up, sits down in the elaborate chair behind him, and gestures to the Kruk.
The Kruk drops the feed of aether and turns a large metal crank to lift the cage.
Ercan keeps a carefully bland face until the cage is fully retracted.
“What does ‘consistent with traditionally established Family best practice’ mean, anyway?” I ask.
Ercan stands and curses. He kicks his chair over, takes off his powdered wig, and throws it into a corner. It squeals when it hits, and scuttles under a chair.
“It means we’re going to get crushed into the lagoon by a single Akarii fleet. They want tradition? I’m talking about tradition! I’m trying to make them see fucking tradition, Blackwell! Nadrune is a tyrant, and Kerul has a long history of always, always standing up against tyrants. We don’t roll over like this. We even ran Dekheret through her paces before we agreed to support her, and she came and asked us first. Asked us!”
“Not much luck, then.”
“Shoi, the Family Chair, is supportive. But all of the old men, way up in their mansions in the hills, all they want to talk about is stability, concessions, and not angering Nadrune too much. Maybe she’ll just let their comfortable trading relationships continue, they’re thinking. You know they even suggested we give the podship back? Who do they think they’re dealing with? I have half a mind to…”
“To go to war?”
“We’re already at war.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I must be confused. I thought we were sitting in a mansion up on a hill and talking.”
Ercan looks at me, opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it again.
It’s strange to see him in his richly embroidered shirt, the finely tailored Kerul suit, the ceremonial sheath and jeweled knife at his chest. I sort of miss the dirty bowler hat. “Point taken,” he says.
