Nova War

And it was crazy, he realized, even as he leaned out from the tiny ledge, all too aware of just how far he'd plummet if he lost his grip even once. But the dread of remaining in that cell – under the constant threat of unendurable torture and the fear of being trapped there for ever – was far greater.

Then – without thinking any further about it – he pulled himself out into the open air and took a firm grip on one of the thick grooves without allowing himself to look down. It had not taken long to meet trouble.

The wind had been building up into sharp gusts interspersed with sheets of rain that made the shallow handholds slippery. Yet a determination born of incipient madness made him reach down and grasp each handhold in turn, regardless of the risk. He probed tentatively with his bare feet for one toehold after the other, and the fact that the tower tapered inward slightly as it rose towards its mid-point was some small help.

Within those first few minutes of his spur-of-the-moment descent, Corso was forced to cling on for dear life as a sudden gust nearly yanked him free of the tower wall. He was tiring fast, his muscles aching and his breathing more ragged and desperate. On top of that, the surface of the wall tore at the bare skin of his hands and knees. And although he was no weakling, the terror of climbing unaided down the side of such a high building made him grip each handhold far harder than was strictly necessary, which tired him even more.

Bit by bit, he managed to work his way downwards and slightly to the side, moving with exaggerated care towards the nearest platform.

He was maybe a third of the way down, and tiring a lot faster than he'd expected, when Corso realized he was being observed. A quick glance down revealed a sole Bandati perched on the roof of one of the ramshackle buildings occupying the platform nearest. He was gazing back up at him, and Corso's feverish visions of escape suddenly gave way to bottomless despair at the absolute certainty of re-incarceration.

But his aching muscles made it even clearer that he was beyond the point of no return. There was no choice now but to continue.

So he kept going, working his way down and along, and doing his best to ignore the excruciating pain in his hands and feet. If he could just keep moving over to the side, so that the nearest platform was directly below him…

He glanced down again. Its wings fluttering in the wind, the Bandati was still watching him from its kneeling position on the central ridge of a steeply pitched rooftop. Corso realized that, rather than being a solid surface, the roof was covered with some kind of fabric drawn tight across an underlying framework.

Far below, he could see the river winding its way peacefully past the base of the tower, so impossibly distant. A dull roar began to fill his ears, drowning out all his thoughts, and the pain in his arms and legs was fast becoming unbearable.

'Hey, I need help!' he yelled down at the Bandati with what surely was the last of his strength. 'Please!'

But the alien only stared up with wide, blank eyes, its wings carefully angled against the strong wind gusting around it. Otherwise it remained perfectly still on its perch, looking more like some exquisitely designed piece of abstract jewellery than any living creature.

Weeping and cursing, Corso pressed his forehead against the tower's rough surface. Then he pulled himself together, and felt a kind of grim determination take over. He relaxed first one hand, then the other; then held on tightly with both while he did the same for each foot in turn. But that still left the burning pain in his back, shoulders and thighs, while the hammering of his heart filled his ears. Even so, he managed to force himself closer and closer to the platform, one metre to the side and downwards, and then another; relentlessly struggling down the sheer wall, wondering just how many seconds he had left before he passed out and simply let go.

He suddenly slipped, his feet coming loose. Holding on only with his fingers, he stifled a scream that came racing up from the depths of his lungs. The platform was still a long way down, but now almost directly beneath him. He reached forward with one foot, seeking out a toehold…

A new gust of warm rain slashed across his face, and suddenly he was tumbling through wind-lashed air.

Corso screamed for real as he plummeted, the sound thin and pitiful. He hit something hard with his shoulder and tumbled further, pieces of debris and torn fabric falling with him before he finally rolled to a halt. He lay there, numb at the idea he might actually still be alive.

He opened his eyes and stared up at a ragged hole in the roof above him, framing the early morning sky. There were pieces of framework all around him, and he picked up a fragment, pressing his thumb against it as he gripped it in one hand. It was extremely fragile and brittle, but it had helped break his fall.

There was a sound like rustling paper, and a moment later a winged shape darted through the gap in the roof and landed with a thump on top of a pile of dust-covered crates nearby. Corso winced as he sat up, a stabbing pain in his shoulder forcing him to move with exaggerated care. He'd almost certainly dislocated it.

'Are you lost?' said a voice coming from the direction of the Bandati. He peered at it, and its wings batted at the air reflexively, sending swirls of dust rising towards the ruined ceiling. A tiny point of light in the darkness located an interpreter bead identical to those used by his interrogators.

Corso stared back, his face now blackened by decades-old dust, unsure if he'd actually heard what the creature had said or if he'd only imagined it. 'What… what did you say?'

'Are you lost?' the Bandati repeated. 'You climbed out of the door of your house just as I was on my way to negotiate with you, and then you came down the wall in a most unusual ma

Corso coughed, trying to clear his lungs, which were full of dust. His eyes were begi

The creature buzzed its wings in what Corso later came to understand was a gesture of considerable perplexity. 'Please, I must ask you to elaborate on the purpose of such an action.'

Corso gaped at the winged alien, and it was only just begi

'I was trying to escape, you stupid, miserable, alien fucker!'

'Escape?'

'Yes!' Corso screamed, before collapsing in a paroxysm of coughing. 'Escape, damn you.'

Silence filled the air between them for long moments. Then the creature asked: 'Escape to where?' As it turned out, someone had been listening to Corso's bellowed offers of cooperation after all.

The crudely transliterated scent-name of the creature Corso had that morning encountered on the tower-platform was 'Scent of Honeydew, Distant Rumble of Summer Storms'. Honeydew was a combination of teacher, tourist guide and linguist, charged with learning as much about Corso as possible. He had in fact been on his way to talk with the Freeholder, and arrived just in time to witness the abortive escape attempt.

The sporadic torture, apparently, was at an end.

Over the following days Corso had learned something about Night's End in return. His cell was not, in fact, a cell at all. Despite its lack of furnishings, it was considered comfortable accommodation by Bandati standards, and a convenient location for positioning a new platform by any Bandati who chose to build there. The door-opening was nothing more sinister than a convenient entrance for a flight-enabled species.

That didn't make Corso feel any better about finding himself back there subsequently, but at least he had someone to talk to now.