Nethereal (Soul Cycle Book 1) (27 page)

Jaren marched under the red sky in a column of soldiers and pirates; living and dead. Sulaiman Iason strode at its head, resplendent with his blood-red cloak and gleaming arm. Sulaiman’s face was stern as always, but his blue eyes held a joyful glint that made Jaren uneasy. Stochman hovered at the prefect’s ear, buzzing like fly, which made Jaren furious.

Sulaiman has honor,
Jaren thought,
but he’s plain crazy. Meanwhile, Stochman is stupid and conniving. I can’t trust them, but I only have to put up with them until Nakvin’s aboard.

Before the first day was out, Jaren saw a sheer white pyramid towering over the distant mountains. This peak, the Freeholders said, was the Ogre Fang: tower of the Fourth Circle's baal.

After two days, the mountain dominated Jaren’s field of view. He craned his neck to see the summit thrusting dagger-like into the sky. It commanded clear views of every possible approach. His stomach lurched as he realized the futility of trying a surprise attack.

At the end of the third day, the company reached the glacial valley at the mighty peak’s feet. Sulaiman ordered the men to make camp amid a forest of Ice pillars resembling the teeth of colossal beasts. While the others slept, Jaren shared his concerns with him and Stochman. “If he knows we're coming, can't he just kick us out of the Circle?”

Sulaiman, who'd had centuries to study their foe, shook his head. “He has shut the gates to guard his prize. He retains the means to harm us, but in this the baal cannot trust the eyes and ears of spies. He must see us himself or sense another usurping his dominion.”

“We might be safe now,” Stochman said, “but what if Gibeah does come for us?”

The prefect stirred the campfire with a splintered bone. The flames’ warmth seeped into Jaren’s numbed limbs.

At length, Sulaiman spoke. “I have given the question much thought. She of raven hair and silver eyes is apt to be our shield.”

Stochman’s mouth puckered. “Would you elaborate as to
how
?”

“At first I deemed the lady Steersman a base cambion,” Sulaiman said. “I amended my judgment when I learned the words of Gibeah's messenger.”

“He looked like he’d seen death itself,” Stochman said. “Kept spouting riddles. If you ask me, the poor bastard’s touched.”

“Arrovet is perverse,” Sulaiman said, “but he has lived longer in the Circle than any man save me alone.”

“He called Nakvin by another name,” said Jaren, “like he mistook her for someone else.”

Sulaiman fixed grim eyes on Jaren. “Zebel,” he said in a near-whisper, “consort to Mephistophilis of the Eighth. Pray you never meet her.”

Jaren voiced a thought that had plagued him since the last stand on the bridge. “Nakvin is Zebel's daughter, isn't she?”

“They are the same blood,” Sulaiman said. “It was not unheard-of for demons to make trysts with men, though the practice had all but ceased before my day.”

“I knew something was seriously wrong with her!” Stochman said. He was about to say more, but Jaren cut him off with a cold stare.

“Nakvin’s not much older than me,” Jaren told Sulaiman, “and I'm far younger than you. If demons had left the Middle Stratum by your time, why would the Nine Circles start dealing with humans again?”

“They had need of something men possessed.” Sulaiman said as he rose. “We’ve dwelt on the matter overlong. The baal cannot banish us, but he may give battle at any moment.”

“What do you suggest?” Stochman asked.

“At first light I will send a small party to scout each side of the mountain. When the ship is found, your crew will set out to reclaim it.”

Jaren bit his lip when Sulaiman said “your crew”, implying that the ship and the pirates were under Stochman’s command.

“Meanwhile,” Sulaiman went on, “my men will ascend the main path to the summit, drawing out Gibeah's strength.”

Stochman grimaced. “You don’t expect us to capture the ship by ourselves?”

“I will accompany you,” Sulaiman said, “in case Gibeah discerns our ruse.” He cast a piercing look at Jaren. “And to safeguard our bargain.”

Early the next morning, Jaren was helping Sulaiman and Stochman lay out wool coats and rope in preparation for the climb when a chill colder than the glacier’s wintry air seemed to blow right through him. Peering over his shoulder, he saw a familiar cloaked shape. “Vaun,” he said. “I was starting to think you got lost.”

“You thought, or you hoped?” Vaun asked.

Sulaiman rounded on Vaun before Jaren could answer. “Thrall of Teth,” he growled, “have you forgotten my ban?”

“You banned me from the Freehold,” said Vaun, “which this certainly is not, unless you presume to take the baal’s place.”

Sulaiman advanced on masked man. “Lacking cause to suffer your company, I shall extend the ban to my presence. What business have you here?”

“I sleep little and can move unmarked,” said Vaun. “I passed the night walking the mountain's base and saw a great green eye staring from the cliffs below the western summit.”

“A tale I’d trust, were it told by my scouts,” Sulaiman said.

“That will take time we might not have,” said Jaren. “I understand your doubts, but Vaun has as much at stake as we do, and he’s been right so far.”

Stochman scratched his chin. “Mr. Mordechai has been fairly objective,” he said.

Sulaiman’s eyes flashed between Jaren and Vaun. “Ready your men,” he said. “We ascend the west flank at once.”

It was noon—or the Fourth Circle's version of it—when Sulaiman called a halt in a high snow gully. Jaren had expected a difficult climb, but he’d been unprepared for the mountain’s brutality. Of the ninety men laying siege to the slope, fourteen of the living—mostly navy—had joined the ranks of the dead. Luckily, most of them caught up with the group.

Though the climb had begun in freezing darkness, Jaren was sweltering in the glaring light. Let Sulaiman defy the heat in his crimson cloak and steel breastplate. Jaren was glad to unfasten his Freehold coat and recline in the soft snow.

After only fifteen minutes, Sulaiman gathered the sailors and pirates around him. “The time of our final division has come,” he said. “We must catch the baal at unawares, or our cause is undone.”

The prefect singled out Stochman, Jaren, Nakvin, Teg, Mikelburg, and Deim. “You will accompany me to the summit cliffs, and thence aboard the ship.” He waved his hand over the assembly. “The rest will await our summons here.”

“Why split up?’ Stochman asked. “The more force we bring to bear, the better.”

“Stealth is our ally at the outset,” Sulaiman said.

“Exactly,” said Jaren. “We send a small boarding party into the hangar. They’ll secure the airlift and bring up the rest.”

Skeptical furrows lined Stochman’s brow. “The lift can only bring up twelve at a time. Attacking at full strength is a better option.”

“We were at full strength when the demons boarded,” said Teg, “and they didn’t just crush us; they barely noticed us. Force size doesn’t matter if your weapons can’t do shit.”

Sulaiman cleared the snow from a level slab of rock. “If you bear unworked arms, lay them before me,” he said.

Jaren surrendered his zephyr. Teg and Mikelburg laid down their guns. Last of all, Stochman proffered his single-action pistol.

The ancient priest bowed his head and stretched his hands out over the slab. “Oh Midras, who art the light and judge of souls,” he intoned, “grant us thy protection in the long night, and shed thy light upon our path.” His invocation finished, Sulaiman stepped back and motioned for the men to reclaim their weapons.

Teg inspected one of his zephyrs. “It looks the same,” he said.

“I have consecrated the steel to our purpose,” Sulaiman said. “Any demon struck by it will fall as surely as a man.”

“You're delusional,” Stochman said. “That was no Working
I've
ever seen.”

Jaren holstered his gun. “We'll find out soon enough,” he said.

“Where's
your
weapon?” Deim asked Sulaiman.

The priest had already started up the slope. He looked back over his shoulder and said, “My sword is the fire of justice which kindles only before my foes. Until then, I stoke it upon the coals of my heart. Come! The shadows lengthen.”

Night was falling when the boarding party reached the summit cliffs. They’d climbed most of the way under clear skies, but Jaren saw black clouds gathering overhead. The wind drove against his skin like cold needles. “Storm’s blowing in,” he said.

Teg leaned against the rock face and rubbed his lower back. “We were lucky the weather held this long,” he said through clenched teeth.

Fat snowflakes started pelting the mountain in sheets. Jaren stared into the storm as if the clouds could reveal Gibeah’s machinations.

A cacophony of human and inhuman cries echoed from far below and to the south. Jaren forgot the blizzard.

“The baal has loosed his army!” Sulaiman yelled over the blustering wind.

“It’s the best diversion we could ask for,” Jaren called back. “We need to reach the ship!”

Deim jabbed a finger toward the peak. The
Exodus
loomed dark against the clouds far above, anchored to the sheer cliff by its grappling claw. “Easier said than done.”

Sulaiman turned to Nakvin. “Climbing is vain. All now depends on you.”

The Steersman brushed wind-whipped hair from her face and shook her head. “He'll just block me again.”

“Gibeah spends his power on the storm,” said Sulaiman. “You can take him off guard.”

“Even if I get us aboard, he’ll know the second we set foot up there,” Nakvin said.

Jaren studied the great black hull above and noticed several rows of circles inscribed in the port wing’s ventral surface. “Would it be easier to go by yourself?” he asked Nakvin.

“I think so,” she said reluctantly, “but what about you?”

Jaren pointed to the circles. “Get into the hangar. Then airlift us up.”

“No chance!” Stochman said. “I won’t risk being left behind.”

“It’s our only chance,” said Jaren.

Sulaiman brooded for a moment; then declared his judgment. “The Magus will go alone. Then she will bring us.
All
of us.”

Jaren laid his hand on Nakvin’s shoulder. “I’m counting on you,” he said. What he thought was,
This is our chance.

All right,
Nakvin thought back.
I'll try.
She closed her eyes.

Jaren watched as the space where Nakvin stood warped like the surface of a rock-rippled pond. Then she was gone.

The hangar was blessedly quiet when Nakvin arrived. Though free of demons, the vast emptiness instilled her with existential fear. Eager to finish her errand, she hurried across the gleaming white deck to the airlift station.

The smell of rancid blood warned her of what she would find.

The airlift, with its dozen circular hatches arranged on the deck in three staggered rows, came into view. A red-brown crust caked the pearly circles and the slender pylon topped with an oblong console that stood close by.

Nakvin crept forward. The sound of ringing metal made her hold her breath until she saw the shell casing rolling away from her foot. The small brass tube came to rest against one of countless others scattered around the lift.
The sailors must’ve made a stand here,
she thought.

Luckily for Nakvin and her friends below, the airlift was easy to operate. Each circle projected a cylinder of invisible force that would seek out a target’s sending stud and draw him into the hangar.

Nakvin approached the console. She wished that the sinking sensation she felt was the airlift lowering her from the ship, but what she saw made that scenario impossible. Two bullet holes punctured the blood-spattered screen. The sailors had done worse than waste their lives. They’d left everyone else as good as dead.

Waiting below the blizzard-wracked cliffs, Teg kept close watch on the quickly deteriorating situation. The wind carried the roar of distant battle and a chill that pierced bone.
Nakvin’s been gone too long,
he thought with growing unease. Every second the pirates spent on the mountain brought their plan closer to failure.

Teg, Deim, and Mikelburg huddled near Jaren. Stochman stuck close to Sulaiman. The boarding party had divided along predictable lines. It would be interesting to see who crossed them first.

When Stochman trudged forward, Teg felt surprised even as he touched the grip of his zephyr. He’d been sure that Sulaiman would make the first offer—or threat.

Stochman’s thin face turned inside his hood to fix narrowed eyes on Jaren. “What’s taking her so long?”

Jaren betrayed no sentiment. “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you send up and ask?”

“I don’t want to distract her,” Jaren said.

“Our only eyes inside the ship are in that woman’s head,” said Stochman. “If she’s been caught or killed, we need to know. Make the call.”

Jaren’s hand slowly rose to his ear. “Nakvin,” he said, “What’s your status?”

A long moment passed in silence.

“She must be having technical—” Jaren started to say, but Teg didn’t hear the rest. He was too busy drawing on Stochman, who’d leveled his own pistol at Jaren.