Page 110 of The Song Rising

We had to meet the others. Pushing our way past bewildered denizens and protestors, we moved at speed through the streets of the Old Town. A few hours ago, the streets had been calm—now a protest had started in the middle of the night, seemingly at the drop of a hat. A creeping sense of déjà vu was coming over me. When we reached the bridge, I stopped.

“Whatisthis?” I whispered.

The Edinburgh Guildhall was burning from inside. Tongues of flame whipped from its windows. Its clock face was red, indicating the highest level of civil unrest, and a vast banner had been draped over its façade. Letters taller than a Rephaite declaredNO SAFE PLACE. NO SURRENDER. In front of it, Inquisitors Street was a bottleneck. Hundreds of people were caught between the Vigiles in front of the inferno and the weight of other human beings. They were being herded from all sides, like animals in a pen. Others were climbing on to the Gothic monument on the street to get out of the crush, or trying to reach the bridge so they could flee into the honeycomb of Old Town. The night was full of cries and shouts for help.

I stared at the tableau unfolding before my eyes.

The others were waiting for us on the bridge. Nick was supporting Eliza. Lucida, whose face was hidden by a hood, went straight to Warden and spoke to him in Gloss.

“Eliza.” I stopped beside her. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s been shot,” Maria said.

“I’m okay.” Sweat glazed her brow and throat. “It’s just a scratch.”

I knew from Nick’s face that it wasn’t. “One of the soldiers saw us. We ran straight into them on our way to the depot.” His pupils were full stops. “I need to treat her.”

“We did our best,” Maria said, grim-faced, “but this is it, Paige. We can’t take on the soldiers.”

Eliza made a strangled noise and pressed a hand over her side. “We’re going,” I said. “Are the stations open?”

“They’re open, but . . .” Maria motioned to the crowd. “We don’t have any choice. Let’s go.”

Nick grasped one of Eliza’s arms. I took hold of the other and checked that the Rephaim were with us before we slipped into the horde.

The Underqueen’s great descent, followed by her great retreat. Underqueen or not, in this throng I was as powerless as I had been in Dublin as a child.

“Dreamer,” Nick shouted against my ear, “can you—”

His lips kept moving, but the roar drowned him out. “What?” I shouted back.

“Are ScionIDE close?”

The æther was so disarrayed, it was almost impossible to concentrate on my sixth sense. I dislocated. With my hearing subdued, I drifted to the edge of my hadal zone. My spirit could sense activity in the æther for up to a mile, but I didn’t need to go half that far to feel the legion of dreamscapes converging from the other side of the buildings.

Soldiers.

I snapped back, gasping. My white breath mingled with Nick’s as he said, “What is it?”

“They’re here. They’re already here.”

Rain drummed on the streets around us, plastering strands of hair to my face. Nick wrapped one arm around Eliza, tucking her close to his chest, and used his free hand to clasp mine. Maria shoehorned her way between two men and reached for Eliza. Behind us, the transmission screens changed from public safety announcements to images of the street, as if to show us the folly of our actions. The PA system activated with three chimes, and Scarlett Burnish’s voice boomed through the citadel.

“Martial law is now in force in the Scion Citadel of Edinburgh. ScionIDE soldiers will neutralize any denizen deemed to be resisting the imposition of the Inquisitor’s justice. The powers of both the Sunlight and Night Vigilance Divisions are now vested in the commandants of ScionIDE. All denizens should cease seditious activity and return to their homes immediately.”

Panic. I remembered the taste of it, the smell of it, like it was yesterday. The crowd jostled and heaved. A wave of movement undulated from one end of the street to the other, passing from person to person, knocking them back like dominoes in a line. Someone bellowed, “Alba gu bràth!” I was flattened against a stranger, and Nick’s weight pressed on me until my lungs ached. He braced his shoulder against the nearest protestor, growling with the effort of holding a breathing space open for both of us. I felt for Warden, reaching through the rain. I thought he was gone—that he had left me—until a gloved hand took mine.

Shouts rose up, calling for people to get out of the way, to go home, to do what Burnish ordered. Scarlet light jetted from a flare; projectiles cartwheeled overhead. Somewhere in the confusion, a child was crying.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps. Perfectly, regimentally synchronized. Over hundreds of heads, I beheld the vanguard. They were riding on horseback, like before. Birgitta Tjäder was at the front, leading the mounted soldiers.

“Martial law is now in force in the Scion Citadel of Edinburgh. Defiance will be viewed as sympathy with the preternatural entity, the Mime Order.Substance SX will be deployed to disperse sympathizers.”

Substance SX. I knew exactly what that was. It had left a scar on everyone it had ever greeted, if it hadn’t choked them where they stood. “It’s the blue hand!” Voices screamed its name. “Let us out!”

Ahead of me, I could just make out Maria climbing over the ticket barrier. Eliza looked over her shoulder at me as she followed.

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