022 - Dark Heart

Jacob ran along the stone corridor, his feet unintentionally hitting the ground in time to the pounding of the machine. His rhythm broke as he ricocheted around a corner, bouncing off the wall in his panicked flight. A glance as he turned showed the black-cloaked figures still behind him, their shapes distended and demonic in the fluttering torchlight. Then he was running again.

Hours earlier he had been unexpectedly and unceremoniously released by the Ironguard. He had found himself looking over the immense city of Ironhaven. It was crammed with buildings and crawling with people. There was an intensity and vibrancy of life that seemed to be trying its hardest to contradict, or deny, the dusty harshness of existence beyond the walls.

He had been bewildered, by his interrogation, by his sudden freedom and by the heaving claustrophobic vista before him. He had no idea what had become of his companions. Then he saw, rising from this chaos, the calm might of a cathedral. It had stood proud and clear, reaching to Heaven, offering him familiarity and sanctuary. He had steeled himself and pressed though the city, keeping the spire in view until he reached its hard, cool stone.

The vast interior still echoed with a little of the city’s clamour, but it was muted. He found himself a pew in a quiet vestry and sat down to think. Occasionally a priest would walk through to the adjoining room, where Jacob heard brief, murmured voices, and then nothing. He saw no one come back out.

His curiosity had got the better of him. He pulled his hood up, looking once more like the priest he was no longer sure he deserved to be, and walked through the doorway.

Two Ironguard sat on either side. They looked brutish, and bored.

One on the right spoke, “Your wrist, brother.”

Jacob was suddenly glad he hadn’t re-bound his wrists after his imprisonment. The guard pushed Jacob’s sleeve up to reveal the overlapping circles of his tattoo; he spat on his finger and rubbed the ink, grunted, then waved Jacob on.

At the other end of the room was an arched corridor. He came to a door, wondered whether this was such a bright idea. Then he tried the handle and discovered it was locked.

He tried again. What if he couldn’t go back, if the guards would only let him pass one way?

Then he remembered the key. Oh he had thought himself so clever. He held his breath as he tried it in the tiny keyhole and, sure enough, he felt the mechanism catch, the bolt slide back. He had cautiously opened the door onto a flight of stone steps leading downwards and descended, locking the door behind him.

He descended into darkness. And deep beneath the cathedral, beneath the city, he had seen the machine. He had looked down into a pit and witnessed the gaping mouths of fire and the soot-stained wretches that fed them. He had felt himself sweat with the cloying heat, felt his breath come short in the barren air.

Mighty pistons pounded a rhythm like a thunderous pulse and as he had stared in horror and incomprehension at the black heart of Ironhaven someone had seen him. A black-robed figure had called to him and begun to mount the steps that wound round the sides of the pit to the level on which he stood.

Fear had grasped Jacob then, so he had run, blindly, through these deep corridors.

And now he came to a flight of steps. He ran up them, his fatigued breathing coming in heavy gasps. At the top of the steps he saw a door, bright light lancing in beneath the top and bottom. He prayed for old hinges or a rusted bolt. Acid burned in his muscles as he powered upwards and slammed into the wood of the door.

He burst into daylight in splinters of wood and stone. There were yells and curses around him as he stumbled into a crowded street. People tried to spread away from him but the drive of the crowd pressed them inwards. He thrust forwards, using his strength and his elbows to plough through the heaving mass.

The cries of surprise and anger at his exit soon merged with the hollers of the vendors and the rowdiness of a busy street full of people with places to be. All those people made him very nervous, but it was nothing compared to his fear of what was after him so he let the pull of the crowd drag him away until he washed up against a narrow alley of empty containers, back doors and overflowing bins.

He slumped down where he couldn’t be seen from either end of the alley and heaved in ragged mouthfuls of air. He held his head in his hands as his whole body shook with exertion and adrenaline. He began to cry.

014 - Flight

“Going somewhere?”

Jacob jumped at the unexpected voice from behind. Cassidy shoved him sideways, standing and grabbing her pistol off the ground in a quick snap. She aimed into the brightness of the courtyard and her face shifted from startled, to relieved, to annoyed.

“Garth!”

“Um... bad timing?” The big lad's cheeks reddened.

Cassidy put her pistol away and wiped her face again, her eyes weren’t streaming anymore, but there was still grit stuck to her cheeks.

“What are you doing here, idiot?”

“Nice to see you too. Ellis didn’t say?”

“Didn’t say what?” She rounded on her brother.

“Ah,” Ellis looked nervous, “I can’t come with you, Cass, you know I can’t leave Fairfield.”

“But,” her jaw clenched, “Firebrand?”

Jacob went back to the horse he had been given, pretending to check the tack. He had ridden before, but not often, and he wouldn’t have had a clue if the gear was on incorrectly. He just wanted to give Cassidy some space.

Ellis put a hand on Cassidy’s shoulder. “You know Hazard isn’t fit for riding anymore, Garth’s taking Firebrand.”

“Why him?” She glanced sideways, “No offence.”

Garth smiled, used to Cassidy’s abruptness, and perhaps he had a little more compassion than Jacob had given him credit for.

“Three girls with one man? Jacob may be built like a bullhorn but that’s just too much temptation to put out there.” He gestured widely: out there, beyond Fairfield, beyond the world they knew.

“I can handle myself.”

“I know, but the less that’s put to the test the better, right?”

Garth reported that the coast was about as clear as it was going to get. In the day that had passed the Grinders seemed to have dried up with the rainwater. There were bound to be people watching, but with the change in numbers, the disguises, it might be the best chance they had. After all, they were just a farmer and his hands going home after trading at the caravan.

Cassidy kept finding little reasons to delay but after a final moment with Ellis, they eventually left. They rode north, to Breckle Forest. The road was baked into hard, crumbling ridges, everything went back to dust far too quickly.

Heading north made Jacob nervous, but he knew they were planning just a few hours ride before they cut west. It was calculated to throw off anyone that might see them leave and then take them around the top of Ironhaven.

Except for a few leercats slinking along parallel to their path they saw little else by way of life until they approached the everpines of the forest. The trees were well-suited to the sandy ground and had a better time of it than most crops. There were bird cries and animal calls in the woodland, but Jacob had never been any good at identifying them.

Protected from the sun there was still a fresh, moist smell to the cool shade of the close trees and the horses’ steps were muted by the carpet of brown needles. Garth slowed them down and peered carefully into the undergrowth to their left before he called them to a halt.

“I can’t believe it’s still here.”

Jacob looked into the forest. He couldn’t see anything.

“It’s an old hunting path. My da brought me here a few times after grabbits and Shy Deer. Never did catch anything.”

Cassidy jumped down, “Be best to lead the horses through, keep a tighter path.”

Garth nodded, “Makes sense. I’ll go last, see if I can’t lay some misleading signs.”

Jacob carefully dismounted, sore already and glad for the change. He tried not to look too obvious as he rubbed his thighs.

“You’ve done this before, Garth.”

He grinned, “Misspent youth.”

A deep voice rang out from the shadows ahead of them, “Must’ve been, to lead you here.”

“Bandits.” Cassidy’s pistol was back in her hand. She must have spent hours practicing that draw.

“No such luck, Miss.”

Another man’s voice, from the right hand side of the track.

“Ironguard. And you’re surrounded. Don’t be stupid.”

Cassidy and Garth cursed. Frida went pale. Nelya bristled, looking quickly left and right.

A man stepped out from behind a wide trunk. Jacob could see the ends of a big crossbow and a quiver of arrows slung on the man’s back. In his hand was a heavy-looking black pistol, an antique about twice the size of Cassidy’s, straight edges, clip loaded, an unusual thing to see, and deeply dangerous. His face was rough, pocked and stubbled, and his dark eyes looked as vicious as his weapon.

“Just be glad we’re not the Grinders. We’re bringing you in alive.”

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010 - Visions

Ellis’ words hung in the air. He watched Jacob expectantly.

Jacob looked down at his exposed tattoo. The twin circles, heaven and earth converging. To him, now, pride and shame, faith and confusion. In Cassidy’s face he saw mistrust, in Frida’s, wariness. Nelya peered in wide-eyed curiosity.

The big lad, almost as big as Jacob, looked up but chewed on his fingernail disinterestedly.

Jacob slowly wound the binding back around his palm and up his arm.

“My faith is my own. I am not the threat here.”

“Oh right,” Cassidy scoffed. “Since when have you preachers ever kept your faith to yourself?”

“Just as all Outliers will throw a stranger to leercats as soon as look at him? As all Darklanders will offer your flesh to their knife and Death the moment your back is turned?”

Nelya growled at him. Cassidy opened her mouth to retort but a slow, dry chuckle cut through the tense atmosphere. They all turned to the old woman at the table, still hunched over her bowl of misty soup.

“Heh,” Her voice was like rustling papers. “And so goes today’s lesson in tolerance.”

She looked straight at Jacob. Her skin was withered and lined and he thought she might be the oldest person he had ever met. He was amazed she was even alive. Her rheumy eyes, as milky as the liquid in front of her, couldn’t possibly see him, but he felt as if she was peering into his soul.

“Alice,” Ellis said in a voice full of doting reverence. “We have disturbed you.”

“Grey Alice, they call me.”

She was still staring blindly at Jacob and he shifted uncomfortably.

“You have a preacher’s mind, but a heart of green.”

Cassidy gasped, “Alice, with all respect -”

“Oh hush, Cassidy. So impetuous, it is your weakness and your strength.” Alice paused sadly, “Just like your father.”

Jacob frowned, a heart of green was how those of the outliers' Earthbound religion, Domarah, described themselves. A false religion, of course, but you could wish for worse doctors were you ever wounded; their herb lore was second to none. He felt offended, but knew that was not Alice’s intent.

“And you,” Alice’s unseeing eyes went unerringly to Nelya. “Quiet, jumpy thing. A Darklander, eh, girl? Far from home. Are you looking for something, or running from it?”

Nelya’s eyes went even wider but she didn’t say a word, just looked from person to person, spooked. Her breathing quickened.

“But I’m keeping you.” Alice chuckled again. “Ellis, take them up.”

“Of course, my lady.” He sketched a wide bow to Alice, equal parts humour and respect.

“And Garth, close the door would you, there’s a draft in here.”

Cassidy looked guiltily over at the open hatch in the floor as Garth ambled over. He pulled it up, secured it and began putting the planks back in place.

Ellis led them from the room to a wide corridor with a number of closed, heavy-looking doors. At the end a square shaft plunged down to darkness and Ellis casually swung himself out onto a ladder made of metal rungs hammered into the walls. He began pulling himself upwards, closely followed by Cassidy and Frida.

Jacob leaned cautiously into the shaft and looked up. Above them he could see the light from another opening spilling in, providing a twilight illumination by which to climb. He swallowed hard and gingerly reached for the ladder, testing the first rung within reach. He stepped out and, without looking down, hauled himself up the ladder firm grip by firm grip. Jacob guessed the next floor up was ground level.

The corridor they climbed into had a strange scent, it was faint and Jacob sniffed, trying to get a better sense of it. Something like flowers.

“This way.”

Ellis led them to a door with two men stood by it, large and mean looking. Their eyes skimmed over Cassidy and Ellis but scrutinized the other members of the party.

“We’re here to see Cameron.”

“Course you are.”

“C’mon, weapons on the table.”

Cassidy easily gave up her rifle and a short knife. Ellis added a knife of his own to the pile. Frida hesitated only a moment before parting with a pistol and her own knife. Jacob shrugged, he had never carried a knife outside of his pack, and his pack was back at his lodgings.

“You too, girl.”

Nelya’s hand was on the hilt of her knife. She looked back and forth between the two men, sizing them up. The closer man took a step towards her.

“You’ll get them back,” Cassidy said, placing a hand on the guard’s chest, halting him. “It’s just a precaution.”

For a moment it looked as if Nelya was going to hold out stubbornly, but she relented and put her knife and bow down. Her hand lingered on the blade before she stepped away.

“Right, you’re in luck, boy. They’re all in.”

Ellis opened the door and a billow of thick smoke wafted into the corridor in its wake. There was that smell, not-quite-floral, thick and heady. As they filed in Jacob waved his hand in front of his face but couldn’t help inhaling the vapour. He felt light-headed.

The room was dim inside and Jacob saw it was lit with tiers of candles that ringed the walls. At the far end of the room three men were sat behind a broad desk, conferring. They stopped talking and looked up at the new arrivals.

Jacob gasped, a reaction echoed by Frida and Nelya. The men had white hair and pale skin, they all had the same thin lips, high cheeks and slender noses. All three were identical, with the same milky, blind eyes as Grey Alice, and the same impossibly piercing gaze.

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006 - Hungry Shadows

The world hadn’t finished showing Jacob the grotesquery of death, and he certainly hadn’t got used to it. He swallowed heavily to keep down the bile welling up in his gut.

He could hardly believe a man’s flesh could go from healthy to this blackened, unholy state so rapidly, but he had seen it with his own eyes, had watched it crawl across the preacher’s body like a hungry shadow. And this girl, Cassidy, claimed it was something condoned, maybe even commanded, by the old city families, which meant even the Lords and ministers might be complicit.

No, that couldn’t be true. The High religion, his religion, preached peace. With realism, sure, you needed a guard to keep unruly elements in check, to protect a city from the outlands and worse. And the guard could attract some bullies into its ranks, a necessary evil, but poisoners and assassins? Surely not.

Unless something was rotten in Ironhaven. He recalled the dead man’s final, rasping words, unheard by the others as he slipped Jacob a slender key.

“The inner sanctum, the unholy truth...”

A truth that might have cost this man his life.

A set-up, Cassidy had suggested, and maybe she was right, but maybe someone wanted this man silenced, too. Two scrub grouse with one bullet. He would keep that to himself for now.

“Whatever the reason,” he interrupted the girls, “They're not going to hang around for long if they're looking to catch us poor fools in the act.”

Cassidy looked indignant. “Who are you calling a fool?”

“He’s got a point,” Frida cut in. “We should get rid of the body, and fast.”

“Obviously.”

Jacob took a deep breath, and wished he hadn't, the air was rank. He prayed the day would get no worse.

Cassidy smiled at him, “You’re a big man, Jacob. Grab his legs.”

He grimaced.

“Is that going to work?” Frida pointed to where the flesh had torn at the shoulder joint. “I don’t think he can take it.”

Jacob balked at the thought of the man’s flesh parting and tearing as they lifted. That soft, shredding sound from earlier replayed itself in his mind.

“We’ll wrap him back up.” Cassidy nudged the preacher’s open robes with her foot, “Pick him up by his robes.”

Frida looked revolted, but she nodded. None of them liked it, but it had to be done.

“So where are we taking it?”

Cassidy thought for a moment. “I know a place. We can take the back streets. With a pinch of Earth-given luck everyone will be distracted by the caravan.”

Jacob gritted his teeth. He rolled his neck and shoulders, stretched and squared up with the corpse. All procrastination of course, delaying the vile inevitability of the task. But as he was about to reach for the preacher’s robes there was a frantic knocking at the door, and an out-of-breath voice.

“Hey. Let me in.”

Cassidy looked up, startled. “Who?”

Jacob thought he recognised the strange accent. “The Darklander girl?”

Cassidy slipped the bolt and the wild girl dived in, shoving the door shut behind her.

“You gotta-” She clamped a hand over her mouth and choked at the putrid stench in the room. She pointed at the corpse.

“Urgh. He looks like Death’s own bitch.”

“We know.” Jacob said.

“You gotta move him.”

“We know,” Cassidy replied, “You came back to tell us that?”

“No. Saw some big men, armed men, stalking the caravan. All seriousness and business. Asking questions ‘bout a preacher.”

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002 - Jacob

Jacob had been in Fairfield three days when the trouble started and things went to rot quicker than a blight fly infested corpse.

He was sitting in The Oasis, the bar at the centre of the trading town, contemplating a mug of the thick, grainy beer they served there. He scratched at the stubble of his recently shaved head with his thick fingers. It was remarkable how a few small changes made all the difference: shaving his head, leaving his hood back, standing to his full height and walking with his arms loose by his sides instead of clasping his hands... people saw him merely as a big stranger and not as a missionary of the High.

His lower arms and palms were bound with rags of cloth, hiding the tattoo on his right wrist - the two overlapping circles of the true religion, Heaven and Earth converging.

The man who walked into the bar was hiding nothing, though. He was a priest and proud of it, nothing wrong with that but these city preachers were so supercilious, so arrogant. Jacob had quickly realised the people in this town were suspicious and mistrustful of the High, some to the point of hatred. The burble of conversation around the bar petered to a pregnant quiet. Jacob couldn’t believe a local preacher would come here alone.

“Wayward children, I have some work that might help you towards a reward in Heaven.”

He couldn’t believe a local preacher would be so damned foolish.

As Jacob stood he loosened the bandaging on his arm but made sure to keep his tattoo out of sight, a subtle flash when he was closer should be enough to make the fool listen to some sense. To his left he heard a glass tankard smash, a handy makeshift weapon. He really had to get this idiot out of here before someone decided to make his trip to Heaven all the sooner.

“Well? Do I have any volunteers or do you all wish to remain forever Earthbound?”

A bottle flipped through the air from somewhere in the shadows at the rear of the bar. It smacked into the preacher’s forehead and ricocheted into the wooden doorframe. The bottle shattered and the man staggered back a step, clutching his head. A rattling wave of cruel laughter swept the room, almost covering the sound of footsteps thumping across the ceiling and down the back stairs. The girl on the watchtower above them must have seen the preacher coming, must have guessed what might happen; if it was something more serious she would surely have rung the warning bell.

“Another donation for you, Brother.”

This time it was a tin mug that span out of a rough, working man’s hand and the preacher flinched as it whipped past his face. Another round of raucous laughter filled the room, but distracted this time, Jacob was moving through the tables, drawing some of the attention.

The girl from the watch tower reached the bottom of the stairs then, quickly scanning the room, assessing the situation. Jacob’s eyes met hers and he could tell she was trying to work out whether he meant to help or harm. Years of farming difficult fields had built him big as a bullhorn, he abhorred violence but he looked dangerous.

More missiles were being readied and he felt the restlessness in the room, held in fragile check only by his passage and the girl’s arrival. He reached for the priest’s shoulder and flashed his tattoo with a quick twist of the wrist, hoping the man would notice it, praying no one else would.

“It’s time for you to leave, I think.” Jacob said in a firm, low voice. “Suicide will not open Heaven’s gates.”

Jacob recognised the stubbornness in the set of the man’s face and his heart sank.

He was about to take a step towards the doorway, pushing the priest with him, when something came in the other way. A lithe, rough-looking girl, her dark skin crawling with scratchy black tattoos, burst through the door and careened into the back of the preacher.

The surprised priest thudded into Jacob’s chest and the girl span away into a crouch. She yelled something at them in a language Jacob didn’t understand, though from the tone it didn’t sound polite. The girl’s alarmed eyes flicked back and forth between the bright doorway and the dim interior, as if she couldn’t decide which held the worse fate.

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