She turned. ‘They’re everywhere,’ she cried; ‘hundreds of them.’
Far off to the right, another gate was smashed in, its doors battered open, and soldiers started running through the entrance. The group of dissidents panicked, and began scattering. One shoved past Stormfire, nearly sending her flying back down the steps into the cellar.
‘Bekha,’ Aila said, grabbing her friend’s arm, ‘I can’t get caught.’
‘I don’t intend to get caught either,’ Bekha said, her eyes hardening. ‘Follow me.’
She bolted away through the warehouse as cries came from the soldiers. Aila raced after her, hearing another entrance being smashed in, and the sound of glass shattering over the concrete floor. Bekha sped into a row of offices and workshops, a layer of dust and debris covering the ground. Ahead of them, a squad of Blades burst through the doors, and Bekha skidded to a halt, then turned left. Aila rushed after her, and they came into a derelict toilet block at the back of the warehouse.
‘In here,’ Bekha cried, gesturing to a dank storeroom. They hurried inside and Bekha closed the door. ‘Where is it; where is it?’ she said, pulling boxes and crates to the side.
‘I can hear their footsteps,’ said Aila by the door as she watched Bekha turn the room upside down.
She shoved a heavy crate to the side, revealing a wooden hatch cut into the wall by the floor, then turned to glance at Aila. She put a finger to her lips, then pulled the hatch open.
‘We’ll need to squeeze through,’ she whispered, crouching down by the opening. ‘Follow me.’
She clambered through the small entrance, and Aila watched as her legs disappeared into the darkness. She heard the footsteps get closer and dived over to the corner of the room, climbing through the hatch. It was too narrow to turn in, so she eased the hatch door shut with her foot, plunging the tunnel into darkness.
‘Don’t stop,’ she heard Bekha whisper from the darkness in front of her.
Aila nodded, and began to crawl.
The next two hours were spent in utter darkness, as Bekha and Aila scrambled along a series of narrow drainage and sewage tunnels. For a while they could hear the sounds of pursuit, but they had faded slowly into the distance the further they had crawled. Aila’s clothes were wet, and stank, and her self-healing was continually patching up the abrasions on her hands and knees from the rough, concrete surface. As she was beginning to wonder if Bekha knew where they were going, she heard a loud splash ahead of her.
Aila paused, her hands feeling the ground in front of her in the darkness.
‘Watch out for the drop,’ said Bekha, her voice coming from below. ‘Wait a minute; I can get us some light.’
Aila heard the noise of someone wading through water, then a harsh creaking of metal. A grey light spilled into the tunnel and Aila squinted. The floor ended a yard ahead of where Aila was crouching, and below were concrete walls and a pool of water. Bekha was standing next to a grille in the wall, through which the dull light of evening was filtering. Aila crawled forward, then lowered herself; dropping the last few feet into the pool.
‘Where are we?’
Bekha peered out of the grille. ‘A canal by Ironbridge Fleshmarket. There’s a pavement right over our heads.’
Aila gazed down. ‘So this is rainwater I’m standing in?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Praise Malik.’
Bekha climbed up onto a ledge above the water line, then sat down. She looked exhausted, and had cuts and scratches on her face and arms.
She glanced at Aila. ‘They knew we were there.’
Aila pulled herself up onto the ledge, dripping water from her clothes.
‘They surrounded us in minutes,’ Bekha went on, as Aila sat next to her. ‘How could they have known? We’ve been so careful. And all those soldiers, just for us? Completely over the top.’ She glanced at the tunnel entrance above them. ‘And they might still be looking for us.’
Aila lowered her eyes; she had been dreading this conversation, but the time had come. If they were going to survive, Bekha would need to know the truth.
‘They probably are,’ she said; ‘looking for us, I mean.’
Bekha turned to her. ‘Why would they be? We’ve been inactive for months, and had nothing to do with the riots.’
‘They’re after me.’
‘You?’ Bekha raised an eyebrow. ‘But I’ve already told you a hundred times, your name isn’t on any wanted list.’
‘It is, you know; it’s right at the top.’
‘I, uh… what?’
‘Prepare yourself.’
‘For what?’
‘For this.’ Aila dropped her powers, and showed herself as she really was.
Bekha’s mouth opened, and she scrambled backwards, her hands flailing at the wall.
‘Don’t scream,’ said Aila. ‘This is who I really am.’
‘But… but… you’re a demigod!’
‘Yes. Hi.’ She waved.
‘Lady Aila?’
‘Yes.’ Aila blinked, then her eyes started to well as a wave of relief swept over her. The constant burden of having to use her powers, and the effort of concealing who she was, had been lifted. She put a hand to her face as a tear slid down her cheek. Not now, she told herself.
‘Lady Aila?’
‘I think we’ve established that.’
‘But, where’s the real Stormfire?’
‘I’ve been her all along. I can take the appearance of anyone I choose.’
‘You mean you’ve been lying to me for years? All this time, whenever I spoke to you, you were lying?’
Aila nodded. ‘There were things I could get away with as Stormfire that Lady Aila would never have been able to do. I did good things as Stormfire.’
‘You’re a liar.’
‘Yeah. A good one; had you fooled.’
‘You used your demigod powers on me; I feel used. I don’t even know who you are.’
‘I’m Stormfire.’
‘No, it was all an act.’
‘An act that we’re going to have to use if we want to get out of this alive. That’s the only reason I’m telling you; do you understand? I can look like anyone.’
Bekha shook her head. ‘A normal person would at least apologise, but no; that’s not the demigod way. I’m just another little mortal to you, here and gone in a minute or two; someone to use.’
Aila drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, her arms hugging her legs. Bekha was right. Stormfire was an act, a mask that she could slip on and off whenever she chose, whereas to Bekha she had been a real person, someone she had trusted; someone she had liked. Aila’s jaded conscious began to stir. Bekha had lost a friend. She thought of Corthie and took a breath, suppressing her feelings, and pushing him from her mind. Not yet.
‘I’m sorry.’
Bekha frowned. ‘I don’t believe you; you’re just trying to say whatever you think will get me to cooperate.’
‘I’ve been thinking it through, trying to see it from a mortal point of view, which, I admit, I hadn’t been doing, and I am sorry. I still count you as a friend, to me you’re still the same person.’