Descended from Darkness: Vol II Read online

  Her mother's tongue flicked out to wet her lips. "You go without me." She still stared upward, backing into the hall.

  "No and no. What sort of daughter would I be if I left you here?" The time in the replete caves must have addled her mother's brain. Pimi reached for her hand.

  "You would be a living child." Her mother waved her mutilated hand in protest. "I do not want to go back. What is there for me?"

  "Your family. Your duty."

  "Neither of them saved me here. Why do I owe them?"

  "I have saved you." Pimi drew herself up, praying that it was true. She saw though, that her mother had lost her sense of self. She needed a purpose. "And now I need you to save me."

  Pimi's mother tore her gaze away from the sky. "Do not think to play my emotions. I have none left."

  "I am not playing. Look at me." Pimi held her arms out, so her mother would look at the distinctive inlaid spirals of metal on Hadan's armor. "You took me for Councilor Hadan. I am his match in build and coloring, but not in voice. If you tell the stable clerks that Councilor Hadan requires two varamids, do you think they will dare say no?"

  Some of the life came back to her mother's expression as she considered Pimi's words. "Would they not expect you to ask for the steeds?"

  Pimi pulled a scroll from her satchel in answer. "Not if I am occupied studying our plans for another raid." The effort of keeping her voice to a whisper made her sound calmer than she felt.

  Her mother's face was unreadable in the shadows. "I would not have expected such plans from you, Pimi-min."

  "I've had nothing to do but plan and think." Pimi pointed at the stables. "Now, we must go."

  The night sounds filled the space between them with the creaking cries of stargliders and the buzz of hairyworms burrowing in the rock cliffs. A varamid's sleepy chirp seemed to break her mother's daze. She adjusted her headscarf and stood straighter to show her full height. "Truth and full. You are truly my Councilor."

  With that, she led Pimi across to the stables moving with the magnificent swaying confidence of a matriarch. Pimi stopped at the edge of the paddock, and turned as if to allow the gaslight from within to fall on the scroll she held, but really so that her face was shadow obscured. Her gaze darted from the map to the great yard. The dim gaslights showed but a single guard at the main gate. She supposed that more would be in the gatehouse.

  Behind her, the sharp clap of her mother's hands broke the night quiet. "Councilor Hadan needs his varamid. You there, show haste."

  "Wha---" A young man's voice, still muzzy with sleep.

  "Did I invite you to speak?" The smack of flesh on flesh and the grunt that followed spoke the man's answer for him. "Would you care to speak to the Councilor? Go and bring the steeds for which I asked."

  No response then but the man's footfalls as he raced into the stable. Pimi's hands shook the scroll she held, blending the words to a meaningless blur. What if he saw their lie and had gone to raise the alarm? The two swords strapped to her back would give her no aid if her treachery were discovered.

  Her mother paced to her side and stood with head bowed over the scroll. "He is bringing them now," she murmured, then pointed at a line on the page... heightened activity in the border... as if they were conferring on some important point of policy.

  Pimi grunted, the only sound she trusted herself to make. Unrolling the scroll to another portion she pretended utter absorption while listening to the young man bring out the varamids. One of them squawked in protest.

  "Councilor?" Her mother gestured to the waiting varamids. Pimi rolled the scroll, stuffed it back in her satchel and turned to mount. The boy kept his eyes downturned, as she had been taught to do. He never looked at her, but even so, it did not seem possible that she would get away.

  Then, she was mounted and her mother rode beside her toward the front gates of the compound. Pimi strained to hear past the sound of her own pulse. The night sounds contained no surprises. The scrape of talons on gravel gave the only indication of their passing. Pimi could not draw breath for fear of destroying the silence.

  At the main gate, a single guard waited, leaning against the armored wood, her head tipped down in half slumber. Other guards would be in the guardhouse, no more than seven arm's spans away. Pimi's mother pushed the varamid in front and said, "Sleeping on duty?"

  The guard straightened abruptly, her blanch of embarrassment visible even in the dim gas lights. Her face whitened more when she saw Hadan's armor, but she did not speak.

  Pimi's mother did. "Open the gate. The councilor and I are going out. I caution you to tell---"

  An alarm undulated in a rising wail, echoing off the face of the sandstone cliffs so that it seemed to come from everywhere.

  Gas lights flooded the Deep Yard with their bright hiss. In the barracks a clamor arose as warriors raced outside, some still donning their armor.

  It had been too much to hope that Hadan's body would stay undiscovered until morning.

  As if unwilling to admit defeat now that she had committed herself, Pimi's mother bellowed at the bewildered gatekeeper, "Open by order of Councilor Hadan."

  The gatekeeper, isolated and still groggy, slid back the massive steel bar that held the gate shut.

  Before she had it fully open, Pimi's mother pushed her varamid forward; its long taloned feet threw the ground behind it with each stride. Behind them, the din of warriors rose as they mounted varamids to chase Pimi and her mother.

  Pimi squeezed the flanks of the varamid and leaned forward over its long neck, urging it to speed past the gate and down the twisting canyon road that lead from the mountain city. The road, so simple for the Abarine to defend, gave no easy egress; the first bend lay a scant thirty-four arm's spans past the city gate.

  As Pimi's mother rounded the bend, she pulled back on her varamid's reins. Four strides more and Pimi could see around the bend.

  An army of men and women filled the pass.

  They were trapped as surely as an irarad snared from the sky with a net. Pimi pulled her varamid to a halt, having nowhere else to run. Beside her, Mother half stood on the back of her varamid.

  She would not be returned to the seraglio if she was caught. Neither of them would be allowed to live. Pimi reached over her head and fumbled a sword free of its sheath. Holding it aloft, she bellowed as if disgorging all the helplessness she had held inside.

  An answering shout rose from the throats of Abarine men and women as they raced forward to pin Pimi and her mother between the two forces. How had she thought this would work?

  In that frozen moment, an officer broke from the ranks of the soldiers behind them and brought his varamid beside hers. Not until he was close did she recognize him as Uramikk from Hadan's apartment.

  Uramikk kept his attention on the force facing them, watching for some signal. "Councilor. Did you plan to parley?"

  She whipped around to face him. He still thought her to be Hadan. Pimi turned back to the front, as her mind caught up with her body. The troops in front of her must be from Repp-Virja. Flashes of Hadan's conversation crystallized... other sorties might... stay within their borders.... The Abarine had not been chasing fugitives, they had been following their leader into battle.

  If Uramikk thought she would parley, then that is what she would do. Pimi grunted, and kicked her varamid into motion. Her mother's varamid followed with the flocking instinct of its kind.

  The ranks toward which they rode leveled their weapons at her. Sweet goddess on the mount---the Repp-Virji thought she was attacking them. Pimi pulled up her varmid sharply.

  Beyond what she had seen at the theater, she had no idea how someone would signal that they wanted to parley. And she could not say anything without Uramikk realizing that she was not who he thought she was; only the night and the armor hid her identity.

  She swung off the varamid.

  Uramikk said, "Councilor---"

  Pimi held up a hand to stop him, keeping her face turned toward the Repp-Virji.
Her legs wobbled as she strode forward four paces. The soldiers kept their weapons aimed at her, but made no move to attack, though surely they would willingly kill her at the slightest signal.

  The line of men and women stirred and a group of four tall women stepped out to meet her. They stopped eight paces away. One said, "Speak, Councilor Hadan. I have at my back the combined forces of four of the Deep Houses of Repp-Virja with a warrant for your execution. Will you surrender for the sake of your followers or will you force us to lay open your gates by force?"

  Pimi did not speak. Her voice would carry to the man behind her, as clearly as to the women in front. She dropped to her knees with Hadan's sword held out in front of her and tilted her neck so far back in supplication that she stared at the sky. The cold stars glared back at her.

  Someone pulled the sword from her grasp. Pimi squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the sword to come down on her own neck. If they killed her and her mother lived, it would be worth it.

  "Wait!" To Pimi's right, her mother said, "I beg you."

  Pimi opened her eyes and spun to face her mother. If she told them who Pimi really was, then the entire host of Abarine would fall upon them.

  Her mother's neck was tilted back in supplication, with her hands pressed to her crop as if ready to void all for them. Pimi gestured sharply to her mother to kneel. After a moment of hesitation, her mother lowered her eyes in submission and knelt.

  Without looking at him, Pimi repeated the gesture at Uramikk. Her toes curled inward as she sought something to grip in her fear. The wind carried the sounds of armor creaking as the Abarines waited with her.

  With a muttered curse, Uramikk cast his sword upon the ground. "You are right. We are out-numbered."He knelt beside her and Pimi nearly fell forward to embrace the ground in relief.

  Behind them, hard metal rang on the ground as men and women followed suit. She knelt, trembling from anxiety and fatigue until hands hauled her to her feet. As she was dragged forward, past the troops who had the task now of accepting the Abarines' surrender, she wanted to see what happened to her mother, but she kept her head down so none could peer inside her helm. Pimi prayed that with her surrender her mother would not be harmed.

  They stopped in front of a cart and roughly turned her. Two of them held her, while a third ripped off her helmet. Pimi fought her instinct to tilt her head back and kept it bowed so her face would not show. The night wind played across her naked scalp, chilling her.

  Someone undid the buckles of the armor, peeling it away from her. As they did, the truss loosened and the slack skin of her crop spilled in an empty sack at her feet.

  The woman holding her armor gasped and stepped back. "You're not --- Where is Councilor Hadan?"

  "He's dead. Please." Pimi lifted her head and leaned toward the woman. "The Abarines think I'm him. Don't let them know."

  The woman flung Hadan's armor to the ground. "And who are you, little replete?"

  "I'm Kejaridoti Pimi from Aaropp-Yraarja." Pimi hurriedly explained everything that had happened since the Abarine took her captive. When she'd finished, she looked around at the assembled troops. "Grateful though I am, I don't understand why you are here."

  "The Abarine have only ever taken repletes. Not worth escalating tensions over, you understand. But your mother and yourself... that was quite the affront." The woman who had pulled the helmet from her head came closer and Pimi recognized her as Duurir's mother, Matriarch Imji. "Councilor Hadan would not return you, and we could not let him take such liberties."

  A man's familiar voice exclaimed wordlessly. Then Duurir appeared at her side like a manifestation of flame. "Pimi!"

  He took her head in his hands and tipped it back, his own bowing in deep welcome. "I had all but given up hope."

  Pimi stared at him, nearly falling. His hands cradled her face. The warm rough pads on his thumbs could not belong to a wraith. "But Hadan killed you in the storeroom."

  "He knocked me on the head." Duurir lowered his hands as if suddenly conscious that he held her. "Nothing more. "

  She kept staring at him, unable to believe that he was there and alive. His face was as she had remembered him; blue spots marching down his brow from his headscarf.

  Pimi touched her bare head. Until that moment, she had forgotten that her head was naked. His hands had been on her bare scalp and Pimi hadn't even noticed the intimacy.

  "Are you hurt?" Duurir's dark eyes widened.

  "No." Pimi looked past him into the night that had once more fallen around them. "Is my mother safe?"

  "Thanks to you." His eyes skipped down, resting briefly on the loose skin of her crop.

  Pimi drew herself erect. So much had changed since she'd seen him last. "Will you take me to her?"

  "Of course." He looked as if he would say more, but Pimi gestured for him to lead the way.

  She was her mother's daughter, and no clothes or headscarf or crop could alter that. Later, when she knew her mother was safe, there might be time for courtship.

  Dying with Her Cheer Pants on

  Seanan McGuire

  Bridget ducked behind the remains of a burned-out Impala, crouching low as the zap-zap-zap of blaster fire split the October night. The sound was already familiar enough to turn her stomach. Not just because it meant another survivor had been spotted---because there was nothing she could do to help whoever it was. She huddled against the wheel, making herself as small as possible. She didn't think she'd been seen. She'd know for sure in a few minutes, when the patrol reached her position. There was nothing to do but wait.

  It was still hard to believe that aliens were real, not just science-fiction bullshit for the geeks in the computer club to obsess over. Maybe they'd been science-fiction bullshit once, but not anymore. This was real. Some guy on CNN had called them blasters when the aliens first landed, before anybody had a clue how destructive their quaint-looking little ray guns really were. He'd laughed when he said it.

  That was sixteen hours ago, nine hours before the start of the homecoming game, and eleven hours before the game's untimely end. Nobody was laughing now, least of all Bridget, who'd been chosen for the unenviable duty of leaving the safety of the gym and crossing the ruins of town to get what Amy was saying the squad would need.

  (They'd all put their names into the sacred gym bag, and when Maddy---who was Squad Leader, even though there was barely any squad left---pulled out Bridget's name, she couldn't argue. The gym bag's word was law.)

  She wished she'd been allowed to stay in uniform. She would have felt safer that way, more confident, more in-control...more like herself. A Fighting Pumpkin was always a cheerleader on the inside, but there was still an undeniable security in being a cheerleader on the outside, a safety of sorts in their matching orange and green uniforms. Present a united front. Look your best, and you'll be the best. But she would have been too visible if she'd worn the school colors outside; they would have stood out like a floodlight against the scorch marks and gummy ash covering everything in town. Better to blend in. Better to make it back to the gym alive.

  The blaster fire tapered off. Bridget managed to huddle down even further as she waited to hear the slithering sound the aliens made when they moved. She didn't want to see them almost as badly as she wanted them not to see her. She'd seen the aliens on the morning news, before the shooting had started, but it hadn't prepared her for the reality of them. The TV couldn't show the way they smelled, or the way their sticky-looking skins seemed to bend the light, as if even it didn't want to touch them.

  (Amy had described them best. She'd looked at the pictures being flashed across the emergency broadcasts, sniffed, and said they looked like what you'd get if you let Dr. Frankenstein play with a giant squid, a spider, and a Pomeranian. She then went on to explain that Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster. As if anybody cared. She would never have made the squad if she weren't the only one who could do a perfect back-handspring every single time. Plus, it was good to have a brain around, if o
nly because the principal kept refusing to cancel finals.)

  Finals were cancelled now, along with Homecoming, cheerleading, and everything else about the world that mattered. The only question left was whether the human race was getting cancelled. Things didn't look good for the home team.

  The sound of tentacles slapping against broken pavement drew closer to Bridget's hiding place. She clapped a hand over her mouth to block the sound of her breathing, squeezing her eyes shut. They'd pass or they wouldn't. If they passed, she'd start running. If they didn't...

  If they didn't, the sacred gym bag had been wrong. She wasn't the one.

  The slapping sounds passed the car, getting softer as the alien patrol moved on to search for more survivors. You missed one, thought Bridget. She still stayed where she was, counting slowly to a hundred. The sounds didn't resume. Uncurling herself, she rose, her precious burden clutched against her chest.

  Bridget ran.

  The invasion started at 5:30 a.m. Central Time on the third Saturday in October---Homecoming Weekend for high schools across America. The aliens came in enormous saucer-shaped ships before scattering out in smaller vessels that looked sort of like flying Winnebagos. Those outer space motor homes touched down wherever there were people, opening their doors and spilling dozens of squid-spider things into the streets. Some people panicked. Some people fired guns at them, but the bullets just bounced off their invisible shields. The aliens kept moving, seeming to ignore the people of Earth, no matter what those people did.

  The adults promptly went out of their minds, which is basically what adults are for. At least half the squad was under house arrest, but of the fifteen girls on the Fighting Pumpkins Varsity Cheerleading Squad, fourteen were at the locker room on time. Jeanne was fifteen minutes late; her father actually locked her in her bedroom when she said she was going to the game with or without his permission.