The Seven. Peter Newman
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popping a thick, fibrous shoot into his mouth. ‘You’re looking magnificent today.’
The buck’s eyes sparkle, though whether this is due to the food or the compliment is unclear. Jaws set to work and the shoot squeaks, indignant. Vesper chuckles, ruffling his ears. The buck whimpers and her fingers retrace their path slowly, until they come to rest on the edge of the buck’s right ear, finding a jagged edge where things were once smooth. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll be talking to that monster when we get home. She won’t bite you again.’
The buck’s expression is forlorn.
Vesper sets off, arms waving as she talks to her father, while the buck trots alongside, chewing, enthusiastic. On her back the sword’s eye is open, staring hard into the horizon.
‘You really think the speech was good, then?’
Her father nods.
‘I know I keep asking, it’s just …’
He reaches out, putting a hand on her arm.
‘Thanks. And The Seven coming back now, what do you think it means?’
Her father shrugs.
‘Obeisance says it’s a sign of Their favour. That’s what she’s got the Knight Commander to tell everyone anyway. I’m not so sure. When I looked up, I didn’t feel hopeful, I felt … scared.’
Her father frowns, stays quiet.
Vesper slows as she approaches the hill. She expected to be excited, perhaps a little nervous, but in truth she is reluctant.
It has been ten years since she sealed the Breach. Ten years of rebuilding, renewing, trying to restore some of what was lost during the war with the infernals. During that time, she has grown into herself. Though the Empire of the Winged Eye is dedicated to The Seven, the immortals have been silent for as long as she has been alive. Her orders, given in Their name, are what shape the future now.
For the last five years she has travelled the world with her knights, the Order of the Broken Blades, meeting with demons, half-breeds and humans, a disparate group of leaders forged by misfortune and hardship. Not all of those meetings were pleasant, but through a combination of persuasion, natural enthusiasm and, where necessary, a demonstration of power, she has managed to establish working relationships with most of them.
Progress at home and abroad is slow but she is close now, so close to realizing her vision. And yet coming here that sense of triumph fades. She has been away too long, neglected things at home to work on her great vision. Now she has to face up to that.
She feels a squeeze on her shoulder and glances down to see a small silver wing draped across it. She brushes it with her fingers and smiles.
As she walks, the grass beneath her feet becomes shorter, neater, testament to the work of many goats. They dot the landscape, dull whites and patchy browns against the green, big and small, nearly twenty generations of them. There was a time when Vesper knew every goat by name. That time is long gone.
Two buildings come into view. She stops to marvel at how they’ve changed. The first, the house she grew up in, has grown. A new extension has been built on the side, lopsided. Clearly this was not built by the Empire’s engineers. Each brick is placed by hand, laboriously. But to Vesper, the imperfections add charm.
She turns to her father. ‘You’ve been busy.’
He looks at his work, then away again, embarrassed, before going into the house. She does not follow. She is not quite ready to face what awaits, not yet.
The second building is smaller, a shelter for their animals and a storehouse. As Vesper walks towards it, the buck slows, lagging further and further behind.
Inside it is dark, ripe with aged and musty smells. Vesper peers into the shadows until she makes out a shape in one corner.
Hands go to hips. ‘Wake up, you miserable thing.’
A head raises slowly, unsteady on a scraggly neck. The dark eyes do not see as well they used to but hate just as hard as ever.
‘Now, I don’t care how old you are, if you don’t stop biting everyone I’ll have you turned into stew, okay?’
The goat’s eyes narrow.
‘I’m serious this time.’ Vesper points a finger for emphasis, then reaches into her bag. ‘But I got you this. I don’t know why I bothered though, you ungrateful monster.’
She tosses a leathery strip to the goat and pats her on the head. The goat sniffs at the offering and then starts to eat it, ignoring the affection as best as possible.
Vesper goes back to the house and stops at the door. Her hand lifts as if to knock but hovers there, uncertain. She can just make out sounds from inside. Adult voices talking, and a younger voice rising above them. Yelling? Is it play or some kind of argument?
A knot forms in Vesper’s stomach and her hand remains poised.
At her back an eye opens and the wing squeezes her shoulder again. Vesper does not need to turn round to see the sword’s silent encouragement.
‘Alright,’ she murmurs. ‘I’m going in.’
She knocks once, so soft as to be inaudible. The sword frowns at her back and the wing squeezes more firmly. Vesper knocks a second time, louder.
The sounds on the other side stop.
She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then opens the door and goes inside.
Vesper passes through the hall quickly. Each glance is bittersweet, conjuring childhood memories and showing their inaccuracies. Cupboards are the wrong colour, the walls show signs of age, and everything is smaller than she remembers it.
Except the kitchen. One of the walls has been knocked through to make space for a new table. Around it, four faces gawp at her.
She waves and smiles, awkward. ‘Hi.’
As one, they rise to greet her.
It is hard to know who to attend to first. Before she can decide, Jem is on his feet, moving in close. He leans in, kissing her, arms circling her shoulders only to stiffen as they knock against the sword.
She has barely had time to register the kiss or enjoy it before he is pulling away.
They study each other, noticing the little changes. She has grown as tall as him but seems taller, standing straight where he slumps. His eyes are as sharp as ever but there are smudges underneath, hinting at sleepless nights. A good diet has softened his features, save for his smile which remains feral.
Looking at his face, she cannot tell if that smile is aggressive or not.
Before either of them can speak, another voice interjects. ‘Vesper, is that you?’
Her Uncle Harm is reaching out for her, tentative. She takes his questing hand in both of hers and squeezes. ‘It’s me.’
They embrace, and Harm’s fingertips move up to her face, skimming over cheeks, the bridge of her nose and her forehead. He nods, content. ‘No new scars. That’s a good sign.’
‘I could say the same to you.’
He chuckles. ‘It’s good to have you home.’
Of all of them, Harm has changed the least. A few extra laughter lines, a couple of grey hairs. Taking comfort from that, Vesper turns to her father and the little girl standing next to him.
She looks down.
A small face is staring back up at her.
Dark curly hair frames sullen eyes and downturned lips. The girl’s skin is darker than hers but lighter than Jem’s. The swirling lines that cover her body have become more pronounced in the intervening years, not less as Vesper had hoped. This is why her daughter has been kept away from the Shining City. The people of the Empire of the Winged Eye are not ready to deal with such