The Strength of the Few by James Islington - 73

I JOG ACROSS CRAGGY, CRACKED wastelands beneath the burning afternoon sun, sweat seeping between the lines of the white face wrapping I retrieved from Caeror’s old quarters. The great black pyramid of Duat rises in front of me, filling my vision, its shadow stretching more than a mile eastward. Acidic air burns my lungs, entire body aching as I push from harsh light into deep shadow, focused on the movement near the eastern entrance. A line of iunctii trudging slowly as they haul a massive block of white stone on a sledge. Dwarfed by Duat, insignificant points of motion at the base of its enormous outline.

I’m unnoticed in my approach, despite how painfully exposed I am out here. The men ahead strain, heads down, gazes fixed on their next step alone. And as expected, the black-clothed Overseer watches them and nothing else. It won’t have been instructed otherwise, out here. Caeror and I discussed doing something like this many times.

Getting in the outer door was always the easy part.

Polished black reflects the crystal, cloudless sky as I approach. I haven’t seen Duat this close, not from the outside. Unblemished, despite millennia of being blasted by sand. Not even dust seems to cling to it. The polished dark surface rises, and rises, and rises as I draw near.

I’ve timed my approach well and though I have to jog the last few hundred feet, sweat drenching me, the Overseer is at the archway, and the obsidian folding away to reveal the darker antechamber beyond, just as I catch up. I draw my knife and slice a generous cut across each of my palms, trailing the last man inside. Still unnoticed.

The door to the outside seals again, taking with it the natural light and leaving only the dull green I would usually associate with Neter-khertet, though I know this southern entrance leads into Duat’s east. I breathe a small relief into the dark emerald glow. As determined as I am, I was loathe to open even a small hole in the outer wall; while Ka would surely have had a way to seal it—a place like Duat does not get built without fail-safes—I have no idea how long that might take, or the consequences for those living inside.

The iunctus nearest to me, finally, senses something behind him. Turns. More confusion than alarm in his stance as he takes me in.

There’s a great whooshing sound that seems to come from above; I almost grasp the crook and flail hanging from my belt in my alarm, but no one else is reacting with any particular surprise. The iunctus is still staring at me. Fazed far more by my presence than the noise. I go to take a breath, to whisper reassurance to him.

Nothing comes.

I panic. The Vitaeria in my arm keep me safe from asphyxiation, but being caught by surprise at the inability to breathe still triggers a natural terror in me that takes a moment to control. Behind the iunctus who spotted me, I see the Overseer moving methodically around the sledge and its massive cargo, waiting for each iunctus to unwrap their face before moving on.

There’s another gushing of air, this one ruffling my clothes, and I can breathe again.

“Great Overseer. Glory to Ka, but this one is not of our group.” The iunctus is backing away from me. Pointing.

I clench and unclench my hands, palms stinging, ensuring the blood still flows from the cuts.

Grab my weapons.

There’s a moment, and then they spring to life. Thrum and buzz beneath my grip, hot in my hand.

The Overseer stops. Assessing. Though its eyes don’t leave me, there’s the hint of black to them, and I know it must be communicating. Passing on what it’s seeing.

No going back, now.

The Overseer comes at me. So fast that though I’m expecting it, I’m almost still too slow.

I flick the crook up, and catch it squarely in the chest.

There’s a heartbeat where the man seems frozen in time. The energy pounding through the crook envelopes him. Distorts him, but not in the way it distorts the air around my weapons. Rather than quiver and snap back into place, his body seems to keep twisting, warping, distending and buckling.

He explodes.

Even knowing the destructive force of what I hold I stumble back, horrified as rent flesh spatters to the floor, red viscera rendered black in the eery light slashing across the stone block, thin droplets ricocheting back onto my clothes. There’s a mist where the Overseer was standing that rises and swirls and then drops again, settling into a fine paste over stone and iunctii alike.

I stand there, crook still outstretched, arm shaking as the blood-spattered iunctii scramble away with terrified moans. I knew what would happen, knew this was coming and had braced myself for it.

Still.

I glance at the trembling, huddled iunctii, a few with heads still half unwrapped, smears of dark liquid across their faces and clothes. I hold up a hand as if I can somehow calm them, reassure them. Explain why I’m doing this. Explain that I’m trying to save them.

But then I remember Ahmose. How he died. And I know there’s no point.

I drop my hand again. Wipe away the worst of the gore from my face with my tunic.

“Glory to Ka,” I mutter in frustration. I turn to the inner door, and swing at it with my crook.

A chunk of thick black rock the size of my head explodes outward, tumbling into Duat.

To a background of more low groans from the iunctii I attack the door with hurried fury, blow after blow clearing more of a hole; beyond I can see the stunned, horrified stares of a few frozen passersby. I must look a sight. Smashing my way into their city from the wastelands through their unbreakable walls, blood and eviscerated flesh coating my face and arms. Hard to blame them for their fear.

There are three Overseers approaching. Sprinting toward me from some sort of guard house nearby. I attack the door with renewed fervour, flail flicking and crook crashing against the obsidian, palms stinging with every blow. Chunks burst away with a shattering roar, rapidly widening the opening. The weapons, I vaguely note, continue to seem unaffected by the impacts. That’s good. If these break, there’s no secondary option.

The gap is large enough now for me to leap through and I do so, coming immediately face-to-face with the first Overseer. She swings a blade that describes a wide, lazy arc at my neck.

I move smoothly to the side. Under. Flick out with the flail, watch as it snakes and snaps into her arm.

Flicker. Thrum . She’s a pile of pulsing, quivering red flesh.

Blood and pieces of gore and bone spray into the two men behind her but it doesn’t give them pause; they dive through the red haze, the mist coating their faces a horrific crimson as the fearful cries behind them intensify. The iunctii’s fierce determination means nothing as I bring up my crook to meet the first blow, shattering the blade that attempts to cut through it. I almost stumble at the unexpected success, but recover in time to pivot and bring the flail squarely across at both the bodies hurtling at me.

Flicker. Thrum. Flicker. Thrum .

Shouts and screams from up the street, though they retreat in a hurry; no one, wisely, is choosing to face me. Within twenty seconds I’m alone, even if there must surely be at least a few pairs of eyes peering at me from within the safer confines of nearby buildings.

It doesn’t matter. This will be enough to draw Ka’s attention here, maybe even activate Gleaners within the city itself. But it’s also too far from Duat’s centre. Likely not even close to enough of a threat to draw out the ones guarding his pyramid.

I hurry forward, doing all I can to ignore the hot, sticky liquid clinging to my skin and clothes, and slip into the shadows of a maze of alleys.

Duat’s main streets are bustling at this time of day, but this area is quiet; I stop, strip away the wrappings and tunic and hurriedly use them to wipe my hands and face as best I can, removing the worst of the blood before discarding the sodden and stained garments. Then I retrieve the bundle I hid here a few days ago. Put on the clean clothes, and study my reflection in the distorted mirror of an obsidian statue, scrubbing away a few extra traces I missed. Dishevelled, certainly, but good enough to not specifically draw attention.

I breathe until I’m calm, wrap my hands using fresh cloth strips. Conceal my now dormant weapons beneath my robe again.

Move confidently into the unsuspecting crowd.

It’s not long before I spot more Overseers swiftly navigating in the direction of the destroyed entrance, but I use the skills Netiqret taught me to their full effect here. Pause when I have to, slow or speed up incrementally, weave and blend seamlessly. The people here know something’s happened; Duat’s eastern entryway is only a few streets over and the crashing of rubble is not something that’s often heard in the city. But no one seems to notice anything about me. No one seems to be looking for anyone in particular.

I progress unnoticed for almost ten minutes before reaching the tunnel entrance, gasping my relief as it seals shut again behind me. Heart still pounding, but the first part is done.

As I catch my shaking breath, I can’t help but wonder again at whether the information the Nomarch gave me can actually be trusted. I would once have assumed that after seeing what my weapons can do, Ka’s systems would naturally tighten security around him—regardless of what came after. No matter what disruption threatened the city.

I suppose I’m about to find out, either way.

I strip away the bloodied cloth around my hands and then take up the crook and flail again, gripping grimly as the thrum thunders through the triangular passageway. I don’t expect to run into trouble, but it’s too narrow down here to react quickly if I do.

The low roof makes me stoop as I hurry along, the humming pulse of my weapons echoing in front of me. No one appears, though; a taut and anxious hour later, I’m finding my way through the hidden entrance Netiqret first showed me, then beneath the river and up into the west.

When I finally emerge from the base of a green-lit obelisk, not fifty feet from the Infernis, all seems quiet.

I take a breath, ignoring the fresh burning in my lungs from proximity to the green-lit water. The razor-thin black bridge across it, not far away either, is empty at the moment. This angle shows again that it has no supports, no columns at all to hold it up.

It’s Duat’s artery. Its jugular. Aside from the secret, broken ways below, it is the only path between east and west.

I collect the fresh white cloth I left stashed for the purpose, wrap myself again, and make my way to the bridge’s entrance. There are few iunctii out at this hour, most still working. None give me a second glance.

When I come within sight of the bridge, though, three Overseers are waiting.

Vek . Better than the usual half dozen that guard the way across, but I was hoping my disturbance earlier might have drawn more away; if it had, there was a chance I could have used another iunctus and gained access without even alerting the Nomarch. No time to second-guess myself now, though. Three won’t stop me, but nor can I prevent them from sending for reinforcements.

Once I start, I’m going to have to be quick.

I cut away the wrapping on my palms. Reopen the wounds with a gritted-teeth hiss. Then I walk toward the Overseers. Posture deferent until the last second, when I reach beneath my robe with bloodied hands.

The Overseers see the threat, and attack.

Slide to the right and slash. Flicker. Thrum . Roll under a swipe and stab. Flicker. Thrum . Stumble to my feet and meet an overhead strike; the woman’s blade becomes dust and I lunge forward through the red mist created by the other two corpses, crook taking her in the forehead. Flicker. Thrum .

It’s over in ten seconds. I stand there, panting, hand cupped over my mouth, doing everything I can not to inhale the crimson that falls gently to the ground around me. I’m becoming gradually inured to the horror of these weapons, but the quivering piles of flesh around me still make my stomach twist. Still drag me back to the naumachia.

I don’t have time to linger on it, though.

I start onto the bridge.

My footsteps echo, the only other sound the rushing of water far below. I jog, leaving red footprints in my wake. Awfully, awfully exposed up here between the massive statues that line the way. But the bridge is long. I can see flashes of black in the distance where Overseers from the opposite side are running toward me.

I’m far enough in. Well over the water. I stop and without hesitation, plunge my crook down onto the reflective surface beneath me.

There’s the barest of resistance. A deep thrum .

Cracks spiderweb out from the point of contact, a terrifying splintering sound accompanying the sight. A groaning, and then shards of shimmering stone crumble and begin the long fall to the green-tinted poison below.

I take a heartbeat to feel my relief, and start dragging the crook along the width of the bridge.

There’s a screaming, a rending. The Overseers will be sprinting but they’re still thousands of feet away. My weapon carves more from the bridge. More. Dust cakes to the blood on my face and clothes, turning it from red to an ugly dark brown.

I finish with a last, triumphant hacking motion, a clear line of air now between the eastern and western sections of stone.

Nothing happens.

I gather myself, then step over the narrow gap and stamp forcefully. The bridge doesn’t budge.

“Alright,” I mutter, breath short with anxiousness.

I’d wondered about this; the bridge appears to be one seamless piece with the city on either side, plenty of anchoring on both shores. I need to cut another line farther along, then. Sacrifice an entire middle section to the depths.

The Overseers are almost halfway to me, and I can see more streaking black from the closer western side now too. I burst eastward. Falter for a second as Gleaners suddenly stream into the air from the temple ahead, arms at their sides, silhouetted in gold by the pyramid and then lit green from below as they arrow in my direction.

The Nomarch knows what I’m trying to do.

The plan is working. Gods help me.

I force myself to keep running, occasionally slashing my crook at the ground beside me as I go, shards exploding outward each time. Anything to weaken this section. I make it twenty feet. Fifty. Gleaners and Overseers alike are boiling from the city at both ends of the bridge. I hear faint cries as people begin to spot the flying monstrosities.

I’m tempted for a moment to think it done, but I know deep down it’s not enough. I’ve drawn their attention, but all I’ve really achieved so far is vandalism. Escaping now could mean those Gleaners clouding the air ahead simply return to their posts. I need them to be needed. I need to do damage .

So, to the echoes of distant screams, with the impossible fear of what is bearing down on me itching at the corners of my eyes, I begin to cut again.

I’m almost halfway through carving the second line, the bridge finally beginning to feel as though it’s giving slightly, when the first wave of Overseers reach me. I stop long enough to deal with them. They’re not warriors, not strategic, do little more than leap at me. Flicker. Thrum. Flicker. Thrum . Red mist coats me; I see more approaching through it, see the golden sky darkened by shadows that are almost here. Flicker. Thrum . I keep slashing the ground where I can, explosions of stone between explosions of flesh. Stomach churning. Heart hammering in my chest. Everything flashes of nightmares and blood and fear.

The Gleaners are coming. They’re almost on me. They’ll be too much to deal with.

I grit my teeth and, going down on one knee, drive the point of the crook as hard as I can into the bridge’s remaining sliver of surface. The ground beneath me gives a slow shudder, a groan, as the weapon sinks deep into the black stone.

Then there is a splintering, a cracking that seems to come from all around, too loud and violent. I rip the crook back out. Overseers silently pour at me from both sides. The air is thick with Gleaners, from the temple and from Neter-khertet, screams of terror and disbelief even over the pained rending of the ground beneath me, the citizens of Duat seeing what may become of them for the first time.

Cracks run and grow with frightening rapidity beneath my feet. The ground starts to wobble and twist and groan, making me stumble. The Gleaners are fifty feet away. Twenty.

I sprint clumsily for the side of the bridge. Too late.

The ground vanishes from beneath my feet, and I am slipping. Falling. The bridge screams and crumples around me. The Overseers closest flail and yet still have their gazes fixed on me, seem intent on getting to me even as the obsidian shatters like glass around them. But they are as vulnerable to the effects of gravity as I am. They topple.

I flick out my flail a couple of times as Overseers get near, but I’m not even sure if I make contact. The green-lit water rushes up to meet me and I use both flail and crook to shield myself from overhead as I hit it feet-first, the burn of poison racing through my nerves.

There’s an enormous crashing above, even from underwater as I sink. Pressure as there’s hit after hit on my weapons, masses of stone raining down on me, split and eviscerated by my protective stance and clouding around me. Huge chunks graze past me, opening wounds on my arms and shoulders that then sear with renewed agony in the acidic water. I gasp involuntarily and the burning is inside me, in my mouth and throat and lungs. I thrash, do all I can to keep my crook and flail above me. They, and my embedded Vitaeria, are the only things keeping me alive.

Something fastens around my leg.

I open my eyes, ignoring the pain enough to see, and almost drag in another lungful in sheer horror.

The Overseers have hit the water too; many are simply floating, heads caved in from rubble, but some are still conscious and those are swimming for me. Many have lost limbs and trail thick fountains of liquid dark behind them as they thrash toward me, staining the water an ugly black against the green. The skin on all of them is boiling, peeling, sluicing away in grotesque clumps. Yet still they come. One is close enough to be pawing at my leg, scratching it with its nails, though much of the rest of it has already melted away.

I bring my crook down and jab it into the monstrous thing’s face. It disintegrates into pockets of flesh that float away through a cloud of black blood.

Even with my pursuers clearly succumbing to the Infernis, the terror of it all is more than enough for me to start swimming lower, my strokes frantic as I try to escape the crowd of disintegrating nightmares following me. At least the Gleaners have remained above; I can see the swarm of them hovering, images wavering and shaking from the continued impacts of the collapsing bridge. I ignore them; the river is not awfully deep and I scan desperately along its floor, fighting through the pain of the experience and looking for the drainage that I know exists.

There . A slightly darker shadow nestled next to one of the lines of green light, impossible to see from above. No more than five feet wide.

I scrabble toward it, panic and pain almost too much to bear.

The Overseers, I think, have stopped following. The acid too much for them to take, finally shutting down their bodies. It doesn’t matter. I can’t go back up. The Gleaners will spot me in a second.

The current becomes stronger, sucking me downward as I approach the hole, and before I know it I have little choice in my destination.

I allow myself to be drawn into the darkness.