Penult (The Liminality, Part Four)

Chapter 49: Retreat

I ran down the central lane as fast as my legs could carry me with John keeping pace at my heels. We found the promenade in chaos. Casualties from the fighting on the lower terrace were sprawled all along the rim, being triaged by flesh weavers. Some of the wounds we saw were truly—horrible: bashed in faces, shattered limbs with bones poking out.

In the living realm, these souls would be screaming in pain, but things were different here in the Liminality. A body could withstand unfathomable beating and keep on ticking. Pain was an afterthought.

Soldiers blocked the stairway. Work parties were busy bolstering the retaining walls along the rim with stone scavenged from ruined buildings.

We tried squeezing through a gap in the wall but a guard held me back.

“You don’t want to go down there mate. The Pennies are kicking our ass down there. We’re about to evacuate whoever’s left.”

“But we need to get to the armory.”

“Step back, please. Ain’t nobody going nowhere.”

A Frelsian officer stepped to the fore. “What’s going on?”

“I need to get down there. To the grotto.”

“Not possible. Our last few units in the forest are executing a delaying action. Don’t expect them to hold up much longer.”

“The stuff in the armory. Did they get it out in time?”

“I seriously doubt it.” A wounded Frelsian hobbled over to us and leaned against the wall. “The bastards broke through both flanks, encircled our front line. We broke out but they pushed us all the way across the terrace.”

“The clearing. Do we still hold it?”

“Yeah, but not for long.”

I burst away from the guards, hopping the makeshift wall they had thrown up to block the stairs. No one gave chase expect for John who eluded the grasp of a guard with a nifty pirouette. We flew down the stairs to the damaged first landing where the repair crews had abandoned their work half done.

John and I picked our way carefully down the damaged sections carefully. The steps had been stripped away down to slick, steep bedrock. Sheer cliffs dropped away to the talus heaps below.

“You really didn’t have to follow me,” I said.

“But I want to help.”

A series of hollow thuds erupted from the edge of the lower terrace. The Pennies had apparently transported several root cannons up onto the mountain. The projectiles they fired were shaggy and massive. The whole cliff shuddered when they struck. Sheets of rock sheered away and collapsed.

We inched out way down, making use of whatever remained of the stairs when we could as a slow but steady barrage persisted.

Mantid riders still patrolled the cloud forest but now they had been driven back within a stone’s throw of the clearing. Trees shuddered and fell. A battle raged unseen beneath the canopy.

No stairs remained at the base. John and I had to hang by our fingertips and drop the final ten feet because the lowest landing had been demolished. The heavy blackout curtain that had enclosed the entrance to the grotto lay crumpled in a heap. We dashed into the cave which was awash in the last rays of the setting sun.

Contrary to what the Frelsian soldier had told us, it looked like most of the weapons and equipment had been salvaged. The insect saddles along the side wall remained in place, but then again there were too few bugs surviving to put them to use.

I wound my way through a mess of broken crates and empty shelving to the back of the room where I had seen the wings. More of grotto’s ceiling had come down and covered all that remained in grit and dust. I poked around and pulled up a set of wings that seemed intact. There were bits and shreds of membrane and a few salvaged joints but only one complete set.

These were not mine, nor were they one of the copies we had fabricated. The membranes had the platinum sheen of the originals Luther had confiscated from the Seraph Petros.

“There’s only one set, John. Here, you take them.”

“What? Me? Nah. I ain’t putting on no wings.”

“John, I mean it. Put these on! There’s no way you’re making it back up those stairs without them.”

“Fuck that. You take them. You’re way more important than me.”

“Put them on! And I want you fly straight back to the gardens and give these to Bern and Lille.”

His jaw went slack. “What the fuck? Fly? I can’t fly.”

“Shut up and strap on those wings!”

Another projectile crashed low into the cliff-side and one corner of the grotto entrance collapsed. John pulled the wings over his shoulders and yanked the straps tight.

He tried flapping his arms and not surprisingly, nothing happened.

“This ain’t gonna work. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Use your shoulders. Just squeeze your blades together, that’s all you need to—“

But John was already hurtling towards the ceiling of the grotto, nearly beaning his head on the stub of a stalactite.

“Whoa! I’m … I’m doing it. I’m flying!” He careened around the cavern, eyes wide, guffawing like a goofball.

“Gentle movements now. Flex one shoulder at a time, but go easy. Just a twitch. Just tense them up a bit. That’s it! That’s how you steer. Now get your ass out of here before this whole place comes down on us.”

I guided him to the entrance and once he was out in the open air, he soared up the side of the cliff like a runaway balloon. I watched until he had safely cleared the rim and I stepped out into the clearing, my sword ready at my side as the mantid riders drifted back. An arc of trees surrounding the clearing began to shake. The shouts and grunts of battle drew near.