The Vaen'ka: part 4
This is fine
This is my ongoing scifi / fantasy / crime fiction serial. New chapter every week.
The Triverse is
Mid-Earth, an alternate 1980s 1970s London
Max-Earth, a vision of the 26th century
Palinor, where magic is real
Previously: Former detective Lola Styles is investigating the murder of a rebel leader in the city state of Lairn. She’s got a lead, and is investigating potential hideouts in the vicinity of the attacks…
Lairn.
3203. Early Verdant.
They devised a plan by which they could cover the area in a day or two, walking in pairs in a pattern that would leave no street unchecked. Lairn was a complex maze of streets, made harder to navigate by its artificial ceiling of canvas and clever gutterings: in the summer there were rooftop terraces to enjoy, at least once the sun had set, but the rains in the Verdant months kept everyone below cover. Even when outside, there was the sense of being indoors.
Daryla walked with Lola through a residential neighbourhood, lots of small dwellings one after another. They’d been walking for hours already. The streets were clean, though it was evidently a poorer part of the city. No inner courtyards for these people, with washing left out on the street to dry, only inches away from the pouring rain. Even then, the incessant wetness in the air meant that nothing there was ever truly dry. She missed the dry heat of Bruglia, so much more preferable than the cloying humidity of the south. Stay in the shade in Bruglia and you’d be fine; in Lairn, the heat would find you no matter where you hid.
It was the first time she’d seen Lola since they’d arrived in the city. It had made sense to split the group, rather than all showing up as a convenient package to be arrested or assassinated. It could be that nobody was watching for them, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. She pulled her mask up a little further, making sure it covered her lower face.
“You really think we’ll find something?” she asked, feeling the tension between them.
“I think so,” said Lola, perky as ever but sounding forced. There was a different tone to her ebullience when she was faking it. “It certainly looked like a pattern when we sketched it out on the map.”
“Could be coincidence.” Daryla tried peering into the windows of the houses they passed. “Or maybe whoever is responsible already thought of this, and made it look like a pattern.”
“Possibly! Though I tend to operate on the assumption that criminals aren’t as clever as we — or they — like to think. See also: politicians, police, artists, philosophers…mostly politicians.”
“That’s unusually cynical for you, Lola Styles.”
The Mid-Earther shrugged. “Must be a sign of the times.”
They walked on in silence, unsure of what they were looking for. Even if the killer, or killers, lurked in this area, if they were inside a building it would be hard to spot. There would be nothing as convenient as a sign outside, or a blood stain leading to the front door.
“I still think it’s an animal,” Lola said, as if reading her mind. “The killings were animalistic, at least. As if the bodies were being used to build a nest, or perform a ritual. So look out for derelict buildings, anywhere that looks grim. You know the way pigeons crap all over things in London, and you get that build-up of peppery sludge? That’s what I’m thinking. Disrepair, filth.”
Daryla couldn’t hide her amusement, or her disgust. “You’ve been thinking about this too hard.”
“I’ll know when I see it! We were brainstorming this all last night, me and Pylpo. Slava seemed on board with it this morning.”
Something about the way she said me and Pylpo caught in Daryla’s mind. She brushed it aside. “Well, you convinced them to get us all out on the streets wandering about like tourists. Let’s hope nobody is looking for us.”
The homes gave way to a more industrial part of the district, larger structures serving as factories and warehouses. The river flowed somewhere on the other side of the buildings, swollen and in a hurry to get where it was going. Away from the busier streets the coverings became less frequent and poorly maintained: it didn’t take long for both of them to be soaked from rainfall making its way to ground via their bodies.
Lola was powering ahead, striding rather than walking despite the rains and the muddy ground underfoot. She was on a mission, that much was evident. They’d not quite been right, the two of them, since extracting the professor from Tupu. It had been messier than any of them would have liked, and far from a simple handover, but they’d all got out alive. Professor Simova was in their custody. It had been successful, if not clean.
“How’s the place where you’re staying?”
“It’s fine,” Lola said, peering through the misty haze at the warehouses on either side of the street. “Couple of rooms.”
Interesting. “They give you the main room?” It would make sense for Slava and Pylpo to share, given they’d known each other for years.
“I’m in with Pylpo,” Lola said. She pointed beyond the rooftops at a spire that was barely visible. “What do you think that is?”
It was decidedly out of place, whatever it was. Architecturally and in height, it did not fit with the rest of the wide, low-slung storage depots. Also: In with Pylpo. Daryla already knew the answer to the question she hadn’t yet asked.
“Getting much sleep? The rains can be noisy at night.”
Lola glanced back at her. “Sure, yeah, it’s fine.” Hesitant. An awkwardness, like she already knew that Daryla knew.
“You two sleeping together?”
Stopping, Lola turned and stared at Daryla, her mouth moving but no words coming out. She wasn’t a good liar. She didn’t enjoy lying, and would avoid it even to the point of compromising herself.
“What?” is all she said.
“Are you fucking?” Daryla smiled. “It’s not a problem, I’d just like an answer.”
The rains poured. She blinked the water from her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Lola said, “it just sort of happened. I’m really sorry. Things have been weird with us, and I always feel like the outsider in the group—”
Daryla held up a hand. “I get it. And it’s Pylpo. I’m not blind. It’s hard to say no to her. Trust me, I know.”
“This isn’t how I normally behave,” Lola said, stumbling over herself. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. It’s not a problem. These things happen. I’ve never quite seen the point of monogamy, not when there are so many interesting and beautiful people out there. It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine, and that annoyed Daryla all the more.
“I’m still sorry it happened in the way it did, behind your back,” Lola said, starting to walk again, in the general direction of the spire. “When we’re done here, and back at the camp, let’s have a proper talk. All of this is all so new to me, and I need to get my head straight.”
“Here’s a secret, Lola: it always feels new. That never goes away.” Daryla smiled, but it felt fake. “You can’t keep using that as an excuse.”
Lola looked down at the ground, shook her head slightly, wiped the rain from her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “I know.” She nodded again. “I know, and that’s why we need to track down what’s been happening here. I need to find out who is responsible.”
Daryla needed a way to make herself care less. Once they were done here, she’d head downtown in the evening and find a high class brothel in which to spend some coin. That’d take her mind off it. Think about anything other than a spoiled Mid-Earther brat who didn’t know how good she’d had it.
They turned into a side street, away from the main thoroughfare. The few people that had been milling about in the entrances to the warehouses, or workers on a break from a factory, dropped away until it was just the two of them. The side street narrowed to become an alley, drenched piles of rubbish strewn about and spreading gelatinous, unidentifiable liquids.
“Does this match your pigeon shit theory?”
Lola threw her a grin. “Feels like we might be heading in the right direction.”
She was deflecting, putting up a shield of enthusiasm. It was very Lola. Daryla scolded herself for caring, for allowing someone to get under her skin. It was much more fun when everyone was her plaything.
They emerged into a small square, hemmed in on all sides by newer buildings. In the centre was a church, Daryla recognising the sword motifs carved either side of the tall entrance doors, and the engraving of Unihex above the narthex. The church’s base was square, designed to fit into the space, and its spire tall, stretching up and up above the surrounding rooftops.
She felt in her bag, running her hand around Yana’s tether cube. A gentle squeeze would send a ripple along the invisible strands that connected it back to her, and to the other cubes with each of the party. A crude but effective method of communication over distances. The bag contained other treats: grenades containing Maxim’s elemental powers, trapped within shells also designed by Yana; climbing equipment; binds for restraining a variety of body types.
“We should call the others,” she said.
Lola was already at the doors. “It might be nothing,” she said. “We should take a look first.”
Impetuous. She was trying to prove something. Daryla took a step forward, reaching out a hand. “Lola, wait—”
But one of the creaking doors was already opening, and then Lola disappeared inside, waving a hand for Daryla to follow. Hurrying after her, Daryla squeezed the tether cube once, then ducked inside.
The church had clearly been abandoned years earlier, probably decades. The remains of wooden pews were strewn about the floor, many of them smashed to pieces. The roof was mostly intact, save for one corner where a small waterfall splashed from high above onto the stone floor. The interior seemed large, parts of the upper floors having collapsed to reveal the main structure, all the way up to the tip of the spire. There were no birds fluttering about the broken ceiling beams or nesting in the cracked window frames. Light entered the church at oblique angles, perhaps once intended to highlight the faded murals on the walls.
The air was dense with decay, a smell of death enveloping Daryla as she entered. Her throat caught and she had to fight the urge to retch. Lola was several steps further in, a finger to her lips, her other hand pointing towards a pile of discarded clothes and other detritus.
No, not clothes.
Bodies.
She gestured at Lola: time to go. Reaching into her bag, she squeezed the tether cube again, twice, hard.
One of the bodies was off to the side, away from the pile. It looked less diseased, less decomposed. A more recent victim, perhaps, its skin a deep blue in the dim light.
Lola was pointing towards one of the half-ruined upper floors, mouthing something. Daryla squinted against the gloom, and saw a shape crouched on the rafters, shadowed and hunched. It was impossible to make it out; it could easily have been a statue.
At least until it moved, rising up to a standing position, then leaping from its perch and gripping one of the columns supporting the church’s walls. A sound of fingernails scraping on slate echoed through the chamber as the figure descended, rapidly, landing in the centre of the floor, beside the pile of bodies. It looked down at the bodies, then at the two of them, and charged.
Ignoring Lola, it barrelled straight past her, knocking her off her feet, and bore down on Daryla’s position. Quickly casting a seizure spell, not caring about subtlety or precision, Daryla aimed for any sensitive points within its nervous system. She didn’t know what it was, but it was humanoid and had limbs, which meant veins and arteries. Any of them would do. She pinched the vessels shut in the legs, then the neck, but the creature kept coming. Was it countering her?
She pulled a blade from its sheathe and dropped into a defensive position. The creature jumped towards her and she dodged to the side, trying to read its movements, to discern its capabilities. It was fast, and silent.
Having passed her, the creature kept going, using its momentum to run halfway up the entrance doors, slamming them shut, and somehow pivoted back towards her. She dodged again but this time it adjusted its attack. What she had initially taken to be knives were in fact long, curved claws, slicing at her. Batting one away, she tried again to find a weak spot within the creature’s mind, but it was attacking too quickly. She grabbed at one of Maxim’s bombs, throwing it without having time to check what it was.
A burst of flame illuminated the church and the creature: it was aen’fa, or perhaps had once been aen’fa. Its limbs were elongated, its nails long and sharp, its jaw extended. The eyes caught her: mad and furious, not those of a thinking being but of a rabid animal. The fire burned its face and shoulder but did nothing to slow it down, and it knew the space more intimately than she did.
Her foot caught on a piece of broken masonry and she stumbled — only for a moment, but it was enough, the claws on one of the creature’s hands burying into her shoulder and pushing her to the floor. She cried out and stabbed at the creature’s neck with her dagger: it went in, but didn’t seem to cause it any pain.
Then she felt it: a numbing sensation, an abrupt tiredness, as if all her energy was leaving her. She couldn’t feel a connection to her powers: she reached up towards the shafts of light, trying to wield at least a basic spell, but there was nothing. There was a paralysis, like the feeling of being half-awake and not in control of her body.
The creature was salivating, its slop dripping onto her face and into her mouth, even as she tried to fight herself clear. There was nothing she could do.
Then a huge plank of wood swung into view, moving at speed, and collided with the creature. What might have once been a bench splintered into pieces and, more importantly, sent the creature reeling backwards, its claws suddenly withdrawing from Daryla’s shoulder. She gasped at the pain, but was still unable to move or draw magic.
Lola stood holding a small remaining piece of the shattered bench, her face a mix of terror and fury. “Get away from her!” she shouted at the creature.
Daryla tried to shout RUN! but her throat refused to cooperate.
Having found its footing and shifted its attention towards Lola, the creature stepped nervously side to side, as if assessing the new threat.
It was an immense, inconceivable physical effort, but Daryla managed to pull another dagger from her belt and threw it clumsily towards Lola.
She never had a chance to pick it up. The creature pounced, Lola darting to one side but only by centimetres. She was too slow. The creature grabbed at her, seizing her head such that she couldn’t move. Lola’s eyes bulged, turning towards Daryla.
Grabbing at Lola’s arm, the creature sliced down with its claws, severing the limb. Daryla cried out but there were no sounds.
Lola stared at the stump of her shoulder and the blood pouring from it.
The creature sliced again, and one of her legs was gone.
Lola crashed to the floor.
The creature was no longer silent, now shrieking and shouting an awful cacophony of violent noises.
Daryla couldn’t see Lola’s body, the creature now positioned between the two of them. She could see the woman’s face, pale and empty, her mouth agape.
There was nothing Daryla could do. She couldn’t even move from where she lay. It was too late.
The sound of wood being destroyed. She turned her head towards where the doors had been, but it wasn’t who she was expecting, who she’d hoped for. She didn’t recognise the five figures that were bursting into the church — arrows already flying, blades drawn, and magic electrifying the air.
Meanwhile.
Thanks for reading. I can only apologise for the events of this week’s chapter. More on that in the notes below.
has an envious habit of hitting the nail on the head, or of neatly vocalising random thoughts I’ve had floating around in my mind. His latest is exactly that, perfectly encapsulating the ‘feel’ of social media in the 2020s in a way that I’ve not been able to put my finger on until now:
Ted talks about the importance of community, and how you can’t really fake it. Opening up my writing to ‘the community’ was the secret ingredient for me, way back in 2014. That’s when I started serialising my work online, and it’s turned out to be a thrilling way to meet writers and readers.
wrote about just that, from his point of view of being traditionally published. This piece really chimed with me, and links in with my ‘one reader is enough’ notion:
The latest Substack promo thinkpiece1 from
touches on related territory:
This made for startling reading about how IP/tie-in novels work for the writers involved:
Especially this bit:
You have to be able to write 120k words in about 45 days and then be cool about major edits--and turn them around in a week.
That strikes me as very fast. An entire novel in less than two months sounds like a horrible old time to me. I really value having space in-between writing sessions — that’s often when my best ideas pop up — and this wouldn’t afford any of that vital downtime.
Related: God, I loved those Timothy Zahn Star Wars novels when I was 13.
I’ve mentioned Jeff the land shark several times recently. Turns out a lot of people are mentioning the little fella at the moment:
Inexplicably, I only discovered
’s work this time last year, via her Substack. I was drawn to The Cull, and then to Black Cloack, both comics that she serialises on the newsletter. Being an ignoramus, it was only later that I realised how big of a deal Kelly is, having written all sorts of stuff, both creator-owned work and for Marvel and DC. Oh, and she contributed the Energon universe this year with Scarlett, which was enormous fun. And, yes, she co-created Jeff.I’m just…when can I borrow Kelly’s time machine? Clearly she has one, to be able to produce so much good stuff in such a short space of time. And so varied. Ungh.
#notjealous
Oh, lastly: if you’re doing the Babylon 5 rewatch with me, apologies for no new episode this week. Without going into details, it’s been a helluva week. I’ll be back on the B5 blog next week. Anyone ne who fancies it can catch up here.
Author notes
Oof.
OK, right. I knew this was coming.
Breathe.
I did not enjoy writing this chapter.
You know the whole flashback structure I’ve been using this season? That’s in there not only because it made sense for the narrative, but also to provide a sort of escape valve for this week’s chapter.
Without the flashback chapter, imagine how this chapter would have played out. More shocking, perhaps more effective in some ways. But that’s not what my writing is really about. I’m not writing Game of Thrones here. I don’t like to wallow in nihilism.
There’s no getting around how awful this chapter is, and what has just happened. It definitely did happen. But due to the flashback structure, we already know that Lola somehow survives. That takes the edge off. Sands it down a bit, hopefully without losing any of its impact.
Put simply, I didn’t want readers to have to spend a week wondering if Lola was dead. Can you imagine? And I was planning this storyline months back, probably years. Now that we’ve descended yet further into the Dark Timeline of the real world, the last thing I want to do with my fiction is add to the pile.
That said, Triverse is about stuff. It has to resonate. There are consequences for things wot ’appen. This is a deeply traumatic event, and knowing ahead of time that Lola survives doesn’t do anything to diminish that.
But it does retain a glimmer of hope.
I try to write optimistic fiction. Bad things happen along the way, often to good people, but in general if you’re reading one of my books, I’m not going to leave you feeling awful about the world. Even when I explore the dark side, there’s always a way back.
So, we finally met a vaen’ka. Nasty little buggers. This one, at least. They are Triverse’s vampires, essentially. In case you hadn’t realised (how could you not realise?). More on the vaen’ka next week.
There were a few pieces that needed to be in place for this week to work. Lola had to be in a place where she wasn’t thinking entirely straight: where she was perhaps more gung-ho than usual, less cautious. Her determination to prove her worth led to her entering the church, when she would normally hang back and call for backup. Her fling with Pylpo also heightened her stress and sense of guilt, of letting Daryla down.
At the same time, she was with Daryla. The ninja witch who took out an entire bunch of soldiers in Tupu and killed rampaging monsters while they were in the Bruglian Wastes. It was fair enough to think that Daryla could handle anything, could protect the both of them.
There’s always a bigger fish, etc.
We’ve not had much Daryla POV stuff. Every chapter I run through different POV ideas, trying to figure out which characters would be best to tell that piece of the story. In this case it really had to be Daryla, in order to capture her helplessness and make it clear that her magic was being sucked out. It also afforded an opportunity to get in her brain about Lola’s affair with Pylpo: her outward shrugging off of it, compared with her inner turmoil, and her subsequent irritation at caring. She’s not used to caring for things, I think.
Right, this was an exhausting one, so I’m going to go lie down.
See you all next week.
I genuinely enjoy Hamish’s writing, but I do find it amusing how they’re essentially ads disguised as long-form essays.
Of course they’re ads! The religion isn’t gonna spread itself :)
Not my Lola! But then, you did warn me.