Above the Clouds

The only sound was the the crackling of flames and her own pulse thumping in her ears.

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, still trying to shrink back from the heat that was menacingly close to her face, while her hands dropped from Rachel’s arm and moved slowly to her sides.

“Now, now,” Rachel tutted in her ear. “Do you really think you’ll have time to save yourself and her?” There was a hissing sound and Sarah’s eyes snapped open in time to see Rachel’s fingers flick lazily and a fireball arch through the air towards Helena.

“No!” Sarah shouted. Or tried to shout - the arm around her throat made it more of a croak.

Helena leapt to one side, landing in a crouch. The fireball hit the sandstone balustrades behind her, sending chunks flying off into the sky. Flames sputtered where she had stood. She looked up at Rachel, her face white. Even in her own mounting panic, Sarah could see that, after all Helena had said about having to put Rachel down, there was still a part of her that wished she didn’t have to.

She tried to speak again.

“You won’t...kill her. You need her,” Sarah sputtered, fingers itching at the nearness of her pistol but not daring to move too obviously. She tried pulling at the Shock Jockey and felt it sputter out before it even reached her fingertips. Out of salts...goddamn

“Hmm,” Rachel hummed in her ear and Sarah felt it run down her spine, electrifying. “But you, Sarah.” Her fingers dug into the bones of Sarah’s shoulder, making her wince. “I don’t need you.”

The last thing Sarah saw was Helena was crouching like an animal in front of a hunter, before the arm around her throat tightened and made the air turn grainy and then black.

When she woke, her arms ached and her head was hanging forward, like her neck was made of rubber. Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to assess her situation.

Standing position. Arms tied over her head. Boots still on but barely touching the - ground? Floor? The wall against her back felt smooth and cold.

Something was making a tapping sound. It echoed slightly, like it was bouncing off...tiles.

Sarah carefully lifted her eyelids a fraction, glimpsing whiteness.

“How long are you going to pretend to still be unconscious, Sarah?”

Rachel’s voice echoed too. The tapping had stopped as she did, so close that Sarah could smell her - lilies over a layer of something metallic and vaguely medicinal. She opened her eyes.

“Where’s Helena?” were the first words out of her mouth, voice still a little hoarse. She coughed.

The room was long and tiled in white, bare of furniture except for a medical trolley - meticulously clean, and covered with an array of gleaming utensils laid out on a white sheet -  and one deep porcelain sink with a small white towel hanging over the edge. There was one door, ajar enough to see a row of huge windows letting in the sun, the morning light falling half an armchair next to a low table with a gramophone resting on it.  Fear began to worm it’s way up her spine.

She hung from a pipe at one end of a row of tarnished shower heads. There was what she hoped was rust around the drain hole in the middle of the floor. When she tried to move her feet, she realised they were bound as well.

Rachel looked at her steadily, silently. She gestured and a figure stepped into view, wearing the black robe of a priest, blue eyes bright and shining with conviction. The last time Sarah had seen those eyes, it had been through the waters of baptism, and the man had nearly drowned her.

He carried a glass of water.

“Love the Prophet, because she loves the Sinner.” His voice held that same devout zeal that Sarah had heard in Helena’s voice on the voxophones. “Love the Sinner, because she is you.”

Her hands twitched as he came closer, then she began to struggle against the bonds around her wrists, kicking her heels against the wall, while Rachel looked on with her head tilted slightly.

“Without the Sinner, what need is there for a redeemer? Without Sin, what grace has forgiveness?”

The man stopped in front of her.

“I see the baptism didn’t take, False Shepherd,” he said, searching her face as if looking for a sign of remorse.

Sarah stopped moving, tempted to spit in his face, and coughed again. Her mouth was too dry, and she glanced at the glass warily, wondering if it was drugged.

“It’s just water, Sarah,” said Rachel lightly, as if her thoughts were utterly transparent. “Let her drink, Brother Daniel.”

He bowed his head in response, and lifted the glass to Sarah’s lips. She drank, her eyes flicking between the uncomfortable closeness of his face, and Rachel, her white gown spotless against the white tiles, ivory cane under pale hands. The silver of her nails matched the silver of the cane handle matched the silver of her eye. She was only a few feet away, the nearest Sarah had gotten to her in this entire time.

Involuntarily, her gaze took in the severe white gown that covered every inch of Rachel’s skin, apart from head and hands, but outlined every curve. When she made it back up to her face and saw the tiny smirk on the red lips, her eyes jerked away, and she could sense Brother Daniel’s disapproval without even looking.

He stepped back, removing the glass too suddenly and leaving Sarah with water dribbling down her chin and onto her shirt.

“Are you not content with your corruption of the Lamb, Shepherd? Sister Rachel is beyond the reach of any of your -”  his lip curled in disgust. “ - earthly perversions.”

Sarah looked into his eyes again and saw a man utterly devoted. He would probably die for Rachel.

He would definitely kill for her.

The smart thing would be to keep quiet, find out where Helena was, figure out the best way to get out of this alive, but the look of frustrated hunger that had flickered across Rachel’s face at his words filled her with a kind of bravado.

“Wot,” she said mockingly, “you haven’t seen that painting of her? The one where she's barely wearing any...” The water hit her face with a sharp shock and she sputtered, blinked, and shook her head, snorting at the contained fury on Brother Daniel’s face. Fury with a hint of guilt.

“Oh,” she snickered, cocking an eyebrow, “you have seen it then?”

His mouth was a tight straight line. Sarah braced her back against the wall and raised her chin, readying for the blow she could see he wanted to strike, but he turned abruptly, reaching the table of shining blades in a few strides and staring down at them.

Rachel’s face dropped it’s mask of indifference for a bare second as her eyes flashed in anger in his direction, then looked at Sarah like she was a naughty child. And you didn’t know...Sarah thought as she returned her stare defiantly, water still dripping from her face and hair.

“Where’s Helena? ” she asked again, pulling on her bonds and leaning forwards as best she could.

Rachel waved a hand dismissively.

“Safe, with her guardian,” she said, and took a step towards Sarah, cane tapping on the tiled floor.

Sarah’s heart sank. Songbird. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip while her mind frantically tried to find a hole to crawl through. Wait. Helena had had some kind of breakthrough at the last minute, right? She’d figured out what the cage symbol meant, so...maybe…

She grabbed hold of that hope like a lifeline, but when she looked up again, Rachel was studying her face with a tiny line between her brows.

It smoothed out as soon as Sarah saw it, though, and her face returned to the expression of slight boredom it usually held, one eye like honey, one eye like a silver dollar.

“Brother Daniel. If you would.” She spoke without taking her eyes off Sarah.

Sarah tried to push back into the wall, as the priest turned with a straight razor in his hand, the blade glinting in the light. He smiled grimly.

“Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord,” he recited.

Sarah turned her head between the two of them, frowning, and trying not to panic. Wet hair stuck to her cheeks and it itched.

“Wot does he mean, vengeance?” She kept one eye on the razor as it turned over and over and over.

“An eye for an eye.” Rachel tapped a silver nail beside her silver eye. “Did you believe you would never have to pay?”

Sarah stared at her, bewildered.

“I had nothing to do with that, you crazy…” She bit her lip as the razor stopped moving and pointed at her warningly. “I don’t even know you,” she insisted, unable to stop her voice raising. “Never even heard of this bloody place a week ago!” But you knew me, she thought, you knew my name, what else do you know?

Rachel lifted her chin and inspected her from head to toe, then leaned forward slightly and placed the tip of the cane precisely on the wound on her thigh. It had settled into a dull, far off ache that Sarah had been able to ignore, but now it flared into brightly painful life again as Rachel pushed, putting her weight behind it.

A whining noise escaped Sarah’s gritted teeth. Her body twisted and the cane lost its purchase, but Rachel seemed somewhat satisfied nonetheless. Brother Daniel merely watched dispassionately, then slowly polished the already spotless razor on his sleeve.

Then the cane tapped Sarah on her right hand.

“You don’t remember me, and yet you remembered enough to do that.”

Sarah’s hands flinched at the contact, not hearing the words at first. Then they caught up as the red hot pain began to cool again.

“What,” she said stupidly, shaking her head. Then she huffed out a kind of laughter. “I don’t bloody remember doing that either…” Her body shifted as she tried to take weight off her leg without putting all of it on her wrists, wincing as her thigh burned. “Don’t even know what it means.”

Rachel let a long sigh out through her nose. Then she looked at Brother Daniel, lifted one finger slightly, and stepped back.

The priest moved towards Sarah like a disciplined attack dog, razor in his right hand. She yanked at the ropes around her wrists, but they were tight, and the pipe didn’t even creak above her. Her shoulder blades tried to dig their way into the tiled wall behind her by sheer force of will, and then he was on her, left hand splayed along the line of her jaw and holding her head motionless, close to but not quite cutting off her air supply.

She tried to think.

“I look just like her, don’t I,” she whispered desperately, “your precious Lamb, what’ll she do to you when…”

He stared at her unblinkingly.

“The devil takes on many forms to deceive,” he said clearly and loudly, “The False Shepherd shall lead the Lamb astray,” he pressed the razor to the skin just beneath the outer corner of Sarah’s left eye, too gently to break the skin but hard enough for her to could feel the sharpness of the blade. “But the Lamb will rejoin the fold and be forgiven, and the Prophet shall cast down her ancient enemy.”

Sarah tried to stay very still.

“Who you callin’ ancient?” she muttered, attempting to sound defiant but hearing the tremor in her own voice.

Brother Daniel smiled with thin lips and no teeth.

The razor cut into her skin. It was so sharp that she only realised it when she felt the hot blood running down her cheek. There was a sting, then a burning sensation, and the pain bloomed like a delicate red flower and she bit back a moan, her eyelids fluttering. A few sparks sputtered from her fingertips and she dimly wondered if the Vigors had some sort of automatic self-defense built in- then she felt another brief sting, and she heard Rachel’s voice coming from a long way away.

“Not all at once, Brother Daniel,” she told him in a kind of purr. “Make it last.” The cane tap-tapped on the floor. “When the body cries out - “

Sarah heard the man in front of her give a sort of contented sigh.

“The spirit listens,” he replied and lifted the blade, turning Sarah’s face upwards. When she blinked, her the area under her left eye stung, but the cuts felt shallow. Her arms began to shake. She couldn’t see Rachel at all, she couldn’t see anything but his face, and the cold fire of his eyes, and the sheen of the razor now dulled by blood.

Her jaw clenched as she thought about Helena, taken off to another torture chamber somewhere, waiting to become that old woman full of regrets, and before she could stop herself, she spat in his face.

He barely flinched. But he did take a step back, and a surge of relief filled Sarah with a brief euphoria. She wondered how many times that had been someone’s very last act of defiance under his hand.

She wondered if it was hers.

Brother Daniel turned to the sink and picked up the towel that hung there, carefully wiping the spittle from his face.

“Really, Sarah,” Rachel spoke and Sarah turned her head towards her while half-keeping Brother Daniel in frame. “Always such an animal. ” Her eye appeared to glow as she took in Sarah’s blood covered face. Across the room, the priest had folded the towel and was running it along the razor, so it shone silver again. Rachel gave Sarah a small half-smile. “Now,” she said pleasantly, “Where were we?”

Brother Daniel took one step back towards Sarah, but halted as a distant crash echoed through what could be a dozen rooms, for all Sarah knew. She was pretty sure they were still in Comstock House, just not a part of it she’d seen.

Rachel had stilled, the smile dropping. She listened keenly, then indicated with a tight head movement that Brother Daniel should go and investigate. He glanced at Sarah, eyes narrowing, but turned and left the room. As he passed Rachel, he deferentially placed the razor in the hand that she held out, palm upwards.

She murmured something and he nodded again.

Sarah craned her head best she could as he left the bathroom, opening the door further, and could see him fiddle with the gramophone in the next room before disappearing to the right. A door opened and closed and footsteps died away.

The crackling of the spinning disc filled the air. Rachel looked at her, tilting her head a little so her hair fell in a sheet of gold lit up from behind by the sun. Sarah licked her lips, tasted blood.

“I had wondered if your stubborn refusal to acknowledge our past was merely an act,” Rachel murmured, “to save face in front of your beloved Helena.” Her mouth twisted in a smile. “The guilt must be consuming, to cocoon your mind so thoroughly.”

Sarah tried to shrug, failed, and rolled her eyes instead.

“Gonna sing me a song, Rachel?” Her voice barely shook. “Or you just want a little soundtrack to yer torture now?”

She didn’t answer, just watched Sarah’s face intently.

The music started - a violin that seemed to croon over brushed drums and simple guitar - and Sarah frowned, wincing as the cuts under her eye smarted. She’d never heard the tune before, she was sure of it. But somehow - she knew it. Her temples began to throb.

When Rachel spoke, she had moved closer without Sarah realising, and her voice was husky.

“You do recognise it, don’t you, Sarah?” she said, one hand on her cane, the other still cradling the razor. It moved back and forth, catching the light and flashing, drawing Sarah’s eyes to it. “Close your eyes and tell me what you see.” The razor flashed back and forth, back and forth.

Sarah pressed the back of her head against the tiles, trying to look away.

“Never...never heard it before,” she managed, but her eyes drooped, and left her in darkness. The melody swam through the air and into her head, the darkness became greener, the pressure on her head heavier.

Then she was running along a hallway of glass with fish swimming outside, tendrils of seaweed reaching upwards and waving gently, crabs scuttling along rocks. But her attention was on the person running ahead of her, giggling, long blonde braids bouncing over her shoulders. A small hand waved back at her and Sarah reached out to grab it. Her hand was small too. The tune still played but it was different, louder and brassier, and she was singing along with the man’s voice while she ran, breathlessly.

There was a stomping sound behind her, and when she turned her head she saw the big metal man with lights on his face that glowed green. He wasn’t chasing them, she understood somehow, he was there to protect them.

“Mr Bubbles…” she mumbled, and Rachel blinked slowly like a satisfied cat.

Her eyes snapped open as the headache hit her like a lightning bolt, mouth open and gasping. Her head hit the wall behind her at the sight of Rachel only inches away.

“Bloody hell!” Sarah shouted, reflexively jerking at her wrists. The blood on her face had gone tacky and when she screwed her face up, it felt tight. The small wounds still throbbed slightly, but under the splitting headache she barely noticed.

With Rachel this close, Sarah could see the suggestion of an iris under the silver sheen, and the darker point of a pupil, in the centre of a network of tiny spreading cracks like a window that had been shattered but still held together. Her own eyes moved back and forth between this, and the honey-with-a-hint-of-green iris of the normal eye, the pupil visibly dilating as Rachel lifted a finger and dragged it down Sarah’s right temple to her cheek. Then she firmly took hold of her chin and lifted her face, studying it.

Sarah knew she should jerk her face away, but something other than the fear of making the headache worse kept her still. Rachel’s fingers were smooth and cool, and they shouldn’t be sending a shiver along her skin. Or feeling so strangely familiar.

The pain grew worse, and she dug her teeth into her bottom lip as she stifled a moan. Rachel’s face was close enough to kiss. In her state she wasn’t sure if the thought disgusted or intrigued her. Maybe that was what Rachel wanted?

Rachel ran her thumb under Sarah’s chin thoughtfully, then let go and stood back, back ramrod straight. Now her thumb rubbed back and forth over the silver cane handle. Sarah watched it blearily through half closed eyelids. She could feel fresh blood trickling from her nose, sluggishly and she tried to wipe it on her her sleeve, but couldn’t quite reach.

Every movement made her head ache even more, the music burrowing into her brain. Rachel made a tsk-ing sound and tapped across to the sink, and the bloodstained towel. A tap turned on briefly, the sound of rushing water caused a flicker of green to wash across Sarah’s vision, and then a moment later she felt the damp roughness of the towel against her upper lip.

As Rachel moved the towel to her cheek, carefully wiping the blood and avoiding the cut skin, she began to hum along with the tune that still played in the background.

“I was never fond of it myself, although this version is far more palatable,” she spoke as though they had merely paused mid-conversation to sip tea. “It won’t be recorded for another thirty six years.“ She lifted the towel and nodded, then made her way back to the sink to rinse it and hang it neatly folded. “Quite by chance I heard it through a Tear. And simply could not resist.” Her voice sounded briefly distant, like she wasn’t talking to Sarah at all. “I suppose it was a moment of weakness.” She examined her hands, then smoothed down the white gown over her ribcage.

As she turned back to face Sarah, one hand slid into the the other long lace-trimmed sleeve and pulled out the folded razor. Oh, Sarah thought numbly, that’s where it went. Rachel walked slowly back to her, without the cane, arching an eyebrow at the now naked fear on Sarah’s face.

“Oh, I’m not going to let you die just yet, Sarah. There’s still so much more for you to remember.” Her red mouth curved. “And I want you to see Helena suffer for much, much longer this time.”

Something tapped at the back of Sarah’s mind through the brightly flaring pain, something that hadn’t even occurred to her until right now. She closed her eyes and then opened them again. The music still played but she pushed it aside.

“You weren’t there,” she told Rachel, who stopped and lifted the other eyebrow. “You weren’t even there.”

Her honey and silver eyes narrowed.

Sarah thought maybe if she kept talking, she could pretend like her head wasn’t splitting open, so she did.

“Something happened...after Songbird took Helena. At the bridge.” She couldn’t keep her eyes on Rachel, and they skittered around the room - trolley, towel, razor, drain. “I think...I went through a Tear and into the future. A long way into…” The silence drew more words out of her. “Comstock House was a...a nightmare. Little girls with glowing eyes.” Rachel made a sharp movement at that, and Sarah glanced at her only to find her face like marble. Then she went back to trolley, towel, razor, drain. “Monsters. Everything in ruins. Helena was - “ she choked back a sob and found she was crying, hot tears making the cuts under her eye sting anew. “She was burning the world down. Just like you wanted. You made her into - “ she stopped, her jaw working back and forth, “ - that .” She looked up at Rachel, lips curled into a snarl. “But you weren’t there. You were nowhere. You made her into a monster and then you left her alone to rot !”

Just then the song ended, leaving only the sound of the needle in the groove bumping and making Sarah’s raised voice sound even louder.  Her headache began to ease a little and she sniffled, shuffling her bound feet to redistribute her weight. Now she couldn’t meet Rachel’s eyes for embarrassment, again trying to wipe her face on her arms, tears mixed with the fresh blood from the shallow cuts.

When Rachel finally spoke into the silence, she sounded almost amused.

“Are you sure you’re still talking about me , Sarah?” She opened the razor and held it up so the light shone on the blade, examining both sides. There was another distant crash and she went still.

How long has it been since Brother Daniel left the room, Sarah wondered. It seemed like hours, but the song had only played for five minutes, at the most. She was starting to think clearer. The headache was still there but it no longer felt like her head was going to explode if she moved too rapidly.

Rachel crossed to the door, her gait a little unsteady without the cane, and stood there listening.

“Perhaps your friend Miss Fitzroy is finally gracing us with her company,” she said archly. The razor tapped against her mouth. “I’m sure she can be accommodated.”

“No!” Sarah wanted to grab back the word as soon as she’d shouted it, as Rachel turned to give her a withering look. Without another word, she went into the next room, and Sarah heard the sound of the gramophone needle lifting, and being reset onto the record.

The song began again.

Sarah tried to press her ears into her ams but she couldn’t block out the music, and the headache came back full force. Rachel re-entered the room and fixed her terrible eyes on Sarah. The violin sang and soared and Sarah saw the little blonde girl running and the big metal man and then there were men in white coats and a woman with green eyes and another little blonde girl who looked like -

Sarah opened her eyes but the white room was green and full of water and Rachel was leaning over her with her mouth moving.

Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe, but the music kept playing and just on the edge of it she could hear screams and metallic banging and feel hands holding so tightly to hers that her bones creaked. She spun around and saw Rachel and she raised a gun and -

This time when she opened her eyes, squinting against the sunlight now pouring in through the doorway from the windows in the next room, she saw Rachel coming towards her, then in the room behind her something flew through the air, briefly blocking the light before hitting the wall with a heavy thud and falling onto the gramophone, the needle quickly skidding across the record with a squawk before the entire thing crashed to the floor under the weight of -

Sarah frowned, trying to see through the pain. Was that a body? It was increasingly difficult for her to keep her eyes open, so what happened next resembled a tableau.

Every window exploded outwards, glass fragments hanging in the air.

Rachel turning, razor in one hand, the other lifting in anticipation of flames. Seemingly confused when there were none.

A figure in white with a halo of white-gold curls lit up by the sun behind her, moving faster than everything else, in the doorway one second, the next grasping Rachel by the arms, Sarah reminded of some Biblical tale of wrestling an angel.

She blinked and Rachel was up against the wall next to the sink - no, floating, motionless, the toes of her sharp-heeled boots barely touching the tiled floor.

And Helena was there, right in front of her, touching her face gently.

“Sarah,” she said, “I’m sorry, Sarah,” she said, “I have to send you back.” She touched her other hand to Sarah’s face. “You have to sing to him, Sarah,” and her eyes began to glow with a golden white light, and then her face and the entire room lit up and with a sound Sarah could only remember later as a kind of silent whooshing noise, the room, Rachel, everything vanished in one painless instant.

When she opened her eyes again, Sarah was standing at the top of the stairs just before the french doors that led out to the balcony. Her legs buckled and she almost fell, but Helena grabbed her.

She looked confused.

“Sarah?” Her arm wrapped around Sarah’s shoulders, supporting her, and Sarah blinked, touching her own face (no cuts) and her head (no pain), and looked down at her shirt and jacket. No dampness, no fresh blood. No rope marks on her wrists.

“What the heck,” she muttered and looked at Helena’s wide eyes, full of concern. “I’m...fine?” Relief filled her chest and she threw her arms around Helena, burying her face in the mass of golden curls. “We’re fine!”

Helena patted her back.

“Yes,” she said in a puzzled voice, “We are fine.” She wriggled out of the embrace and looked Sarah in the face. “What is it, Sarah?” She frowned, sticking out her bottom lip, looking closer. “Something is wrong.”

“Yeah. No,” Sarah ran a hand through her hair, then frantically patted her pockets until she pulled out the card, shoving it at Helena. “We have to sing to him! Songbird!”  She glanced outside again, keeping her voice low. Helena took the card and her frown deepened in thought.

Slowly, her forehead uncreased and she began to smile. Sarah raised her eyebrows, hope breathing into her, and making her head feel light.

“Helena? Do you know what it means?” Sarah's hands moved over one another, picking at her nails as she shifted from one foot to the other. She kept looking nervously out to the balcony, not knowing when Rachel would arrive, or if she had already been out there, hiding in plain sight.

Helena shot her a quizzical glance.

“Don’t you?” she whispered, “You said - “

Sarah shook her head.

“Nope,” she whispered back, “You told me , and - anyway, it doesn’t matter, we need to do it now.” She glanced outside again. “Rachel’s here somewhere, and she’ll get the drop on me, so we need him.” Helena stared at her, head tilted, then she nodded, and tapped the card.

“Not a word. It’s a tune. C-A-G-E.” Her fingers moved in the air. “The Lutece’s said…” she pulled at a curl as she thought. “We need...a whistle. Like in the statues.”

“There’s two of ‘em just outside the doors.” Sarah jerked her chin at the balcony. “Uh...there’s furniture, should be able to smash one up enough.” Helena took a step and Sarah grabbed her arm. “Stay away from this side,” she hissed urgently, pointing at the right side of the door. Helena nodded, Sarah drew her gun, hesitated, dug in her stachel and pulled out the bottle of Salts she had found downstairs. After she drained it of the blue liquid, she nodded back, and they both moved quickly out into the open air.

Sarah checked the either side of the doorway, poking behind the statues, while Helena dashed over and picked up one of the garden chairs. Despite the delicate curls, it was still made of iron, and she hoisted it above her head as she ran back to the closest golden statue, grunting as it smashed against the panpipes. She tried flipping it over so her hands gripped the curved backrest, and hit the statue with the seat, which seemed to the most solid part. She grinned widely as the statue cracked and and began to fall apart. The chair only had to land one more blow before the head broke open and fell off.

Helena bent and pushed the pieces around.

“It’s just...tin?” she said. Her fingers found the pipes, the actual pipes, not the fake gold ones, and she picked them, blowing and listening to the pitch.

Sarah paced back and forth in front of the doorway, the gun in her right hand heavy, her other hand buzzing slightly with Shock Jockey. Her eyes kept flicking between the space where Rachel had appeared earlier, and Helena as she made a series of whistles. She flinched at the sound of gunfire, but it came from somewhere below them, carried closer by the wind. Keeping the doorway in her eyeline, she backed up towards the balcony edge and beckoned at Helena to join her.

A quick glance over the edge told her the Vox were finally making a move on Comstock House. A small swarm of gunboats were flying in staggered formation just close enough to see the red sashes worn over coats and red flags flying off the bows. Sarah smiled grimly.

“Give ‘em hell, Daisy,” she muttered. One of the gunboats had a cannon mounted on the prow, and it shot at the lower windows with a series of booms. Distant glass smashed and explosions rumbled somewhere far below their feet.

“I guess Rachel got delayed,” she said out loud, mouth curling in a relieved smirk, and turned back to Helena.

“Perhaps Rachel has other people to deal with the rabble for her,” came Rachel’s clipped tones from beside the unbroken statue. She leaned on her cane with one hand, the other tapped on the elbow of the remaining golden statue, the unbroken one, and she gave a small smirk as Sarah raised her gun and pointed it straight at her.

“Again, Sarah?” she asked drily. Her hand made a small movement  on the golden surface, as if pushing a button, and the familiar tune piped out into the cool morning air.

Sarah kept the gun raised and curled her other fingers around a ball of lightning, feeling it buzz against her palm.

“Now would be good, Helena,” she said under her breath. There were more booming sounds from the gunboats below, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as the unmistakable screeching of Songbird filled the air.

“Aren’t you going to shoot me, Sarah?” Rachel took a step forward.

“Helena,” Sarah said urgently, her finger on the trigger but refusing to pull. Why don’t I just shoot her, dammit, she thought angrily. Beside her Helena fumbled with the pipes, her face white, and raised them to her lips.

Rachel stopped, her eyes shifting to Helena, the silver one reflecting the light of the sunrise and shining like a star. She looked at the pipes, back up at Helena’s face.

She smiled.

“Татусь.” she whispered, and Helena dropped the pipes. They clanged on the marble surface of the balcony as they hit, then lay silent and still. Sarah felt panic rising in her throat and the veins in her temples throbbing. That word...it was like the song, she knew it but she couldn’t remember what it meant . When took her eyes off Rachel for a split second, she saw Helena almost swaying on her feet, face blank...but her eyes.

Her eyes were the same as Sarah’s but there was a golden glow deep in them that Sarah almost recognised. The pain started to crawl over the back of her skull. The arm holding the gun up shook, and then dropped to her side.

In the distance she heard urgent gunfire, more screeching, a decisive crash of two large objects colliding in mid-air. Screams.

Rachel placed both hands on her cane, one on top of the other, each finger tipped in silver.

“Well,” she began in a triumphant tone, “Now that we’re all…”

The lightning bolt that hit her wasn’t lethal. At least, Sarah was pretty sure it wasn’t. But it looked like it hurt, quite a bit, and part of her - a small part but very noisy - thought “good” as Rachel convulsed, her hands fisted and her teeth bared, a silvery-blue energy encasing her entire being in a kind of halo -  until Sarah clenched her left hand and stopped the sparks flying, and let her fall into a limp pile of white silk. Her red lips were the only colour about her - even her blonde hair seemed stripped of it’s golden sheen.

As Sarah looked at the faint haze of smoke that rose from her skin, she felt sick, and bent over with her hands on her knees, hoping she wasn’t going to throw up. After a few deep breaths, she looked up at Helena.

Her face was hidden under trembling hands. A whimper escaped.

“Shite...you alright, Helena?” Sarah glanced back at Rachel’s unmoving body, saw her chest hitch and rise. She was alive, and Sarah wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

There was another screech, closer this time, and louder.

Sarah bent and picked up the pipes, pulled gently at Helena’s hands and placed the pipes in them, then dashed over to the chair lying on it’s side and hauled it up above her head. Songbird’s tune was still piping away from inside the unbroken statue and she swung the chair at it - she smashed the arms off, then the head split open as easily as the other one and the entire mechanism came loose and fell. The chair landed on that a few more times for good measure and the music had finally stopped.

As Sarah dropped the chair with a heavy clang and turned back to Helena, there was a beat of silence. Helena was holding the pipes and staring at them like she’d never seen them before. Then she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. When she opened them again, she looked at the pipes again, and as she brought them up to her lips, Songbird rose up behind her, the only sound the flapping of his massive wings.

Helena turned slowly, looking up, and Sarah began to run towards her. Songbird eyes were already shining red and his head moved from side to side. He locked onto Sarah and lifted his head back, the bird-scream so loud that she covered her ears and skidded to a halt just behind Helena’s shoulder.

“Do it!” she shouted.

Songbird swooped forward, landing somewhat clumsily on the balustrades and lifted one of the huge clawed hands. Helena played the simple tune, the four notes whistling up at the giant creature sounding tinny and fragile. As his claws swung towards them, the notes repeated, and just inches away from Sarah and Helena’s faces, the Songbirds claws froze.

There was a second of silence, all three of them completely motionless, then there was click as the red eyes shuttered, then opened again, switching over to bright green. His great head bowed and a oddly affectionate warbling cry came out of the depths of the chest. Sarah watched, every muscle tense, as Helena reached her hand out to the big metallic beak.

Songbird bowed his head, the stitching in the thick leather obvious to Sarah now, and he let Helena rub her hand in soothing circles over his head and beak.

“Shh, it’s alright,” she murmured to him, “I’m here. It’s alright now,” and the creature made a series of agreeable chirping sounds, shifting its back claws to squat down, and sending a few bits of stone tumbling down into the sky. Sarah let out the breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding onto. Songbird tilted his head and looked at her with one big green eye, then proceeded to ignore her and go back to making little noises at Helena.

She ran her eye over the him - part leather, part metal, part - what? How did they make you? Sarah thought . And what did they make you out of? He clearly wasn’t a robot, like the Patriots, or those automatons on the vending machines and gun turrets...and he wasn’t actually a bird. Just another terrible creation of Columbia. The sound of the pain-filled scream that he had made when the eye had cracked, under the waters of Battleship Bay echoed through her mind and she shuddered a little.

Songbird could feel.

“Can you help me?” Helena said to the creature softly, running her hand down the front of the giant beak. “To go home?” She leaned forward so her forehead was against the beak, and a quiet screech came from inside him. When he straightened up and spread out his wings, the entire balcony was cast in shadow. He lifted his head to the sky and warbled, then turned his green eyes back onto Helena, turning his head to follow her pointing finger.

“The Tower,” she told him, “destroy it. All of it.” She played the tune again, and then placed a hand on top of one the back claws digging into the stone, her fingers looking tiny. “Understand?”

Songbird stared at the distant tower, then back down at Helena. He nodded, carefully moving his back feet and turning around on the balustrades. He gave another screech, this time loud, and purposeful. He took one last look at Helena, and then he spread his huge wings and dove down into the sky. For a moment he vanished, and then he rose up in front of them, wings flapping, and made a beeline for the tower.

Sarah watched him, putting an arm around Helena’s shoulders. When she felt them shaking, she realised the other girl was crying, and felt a stab of guilt.

“Hey...hey,” she said softly, pulling her closer. “It’s alright. It’s all gonna work out.” She quickly turned her head, imagining she heard a scuffling sound, but Rachel still lay there on the cold marble. Her arm slid down and she took Helena’s hand in hers. They watched Songbird as he circled the far-off tower, heading upwards - he paused, tightly circled once more, then folded his wings and dived straight down.

The screeching was only just audible, and Sarah could only imagine the sound of rending metal and crumbling stone as Songbird made his way through the tower, his huge claws cutting into it like it was made of plaster. The remaining wing broke and dropped downwards, the torso opened up, and when he dove again into the centre, there were sparks so large and so bright they could see them easily, even from this distance.

They could also hear a heavy buzzing sound that carried across the sky - like something electrical was slowly winding down, but speeding up at the same time. The sparks turned into a hazy blue aura, which became an explosion of light, expanding outwards at every point around the tower. The sound grew so loud that it filled everything, leaving Sarah feeling like her eardrums had been compressed, and then as the tower finally burst apart in a massive blue light that began to turn white, the sound was replaced by silence.

It was somehow even heavier than the noise.

Helena jerked, the pipes falling from her hand as they became encased in an electrical shock, blue sparks racing over the metal as they hit the marble. She yanked her other hand away from Sarah’s and held them up in front of her face. Her hands were glowing with a pale golden light.

Sarah took an involuntary step back.

Helena’s face was glowing too, her hair was pure white and tipped with gold points, and her eyes - her eyes were glowing with a pure golden light. Sarah looked at her in awe and a little fear, mouth open. It’s her.

“No…” she heard from behind her and when she looked back this time, Rachel was glaring at Helena, attempting to get up but making a shaky go of it. Her cane had flown across the balcony when Sarah had hit her with the Shock Jockey, and she looked around for it wildly, hands splayed on the marble in front of her. She caught Sarah staring at her, and her still violently red mouth twisted in a snarl.

“You,” she hissed, and pulled herself to a kneeling position, back straight, and smoothed her hair down with a trembling hand. “You’ve ruined everything, Sarah. Again.”

Helena began to laugh, quietly at first, as she gazed at her glowing hands. Then Sarah’s attention was caught by the black shape moving towards them through the sky, screeching triumphantly. There was another laugh from behind her, bitter and humourless.

“I hope he kills you both,” Rachel said clearly, and clicked her fingers. “But in case he doesn’t…” Flames sputtered from the silver tips and died out. She stared at her hand in shock, clenched her fist, opened it and clicked her fingers again.

Nothing.

Sarah reached out to Helena, arm feeling like it weighed a ton.

“Helena!” The black shape was much closer now, close enough for the red lights of its eyes to be visible. “Bloody hell, you lost control of the Songbird!” Her hand touched Helena’s arm and felt a slight vibration. Songbird was nearly on them, claws outstretched. “Helena...he’s coming!”

Helena sighed, and her left arm moved through the air, trailing white light like a flowing sleeve.

“No,” she said, almost sadly, “He isn’t.”

Her right arm moved around to meet her left, her hands touched and moved apart, every movement lit up by the golden-white glow. Songbird was only a few feet away when everything turned to white light

                                               The white light flickered and contracted and expanded

     The white light ebbed and shrank and they were

                        Somewhere else……

Sarah felt like she’d fallen from an impossibly great height while not moving at all, and she staggered sideways, catching herself with palms against glass. It was a window. She blinked at her hands, then at the window, and then at what was beyond the window.

Water. Fish. Deep green light shone on her face and her mouth dropped open. She instinctively braced herself for the usual bolt of pain into her head, but it didn’t come, just a vague ache and feeling that she’d forgotten something very important.

Something was moving out there, in the water, and she leaned closer to the glass, trying to see.

It hit the window with one huge clawed hand and made a terrible, plantitive sound that pierced Sarah’s ears. She leapt back, heart hammering, and realised that Helena was still standing next to her. She lifted a hand and placed it on the window, right where Songbirds claws were.

It’s eyes were red, but it seemed to focus on Helena, and they clicked to amber, then to green.

“Shhh, I’m here….I’m here.” She didn’t sound scared at all, but incredibly sad. Sarah opened her mouth, then shut it again, and stayed back. The bird gave another pleading screech, then jerked away as the already cracked eye shattered and exploded. Dark fluid leaked out in the water and drifted away on the current.

The water pressure, Sarah realised, it’s gonna kill him…

“It’s alright,” Helena soothed, her voice shaking a little. “I’m here.” The creature wailed , and Sarah felt something shift deep in her heart. She wrapped both arms around herself tightly. Helena had both hands up on the window now and Songbird reached out to her with one giant hand, turning his remaining eye towards her and butting his head against the glass.

“Just let go,” whispered Helena, “No more pain.”

Songbird gave one last screech as his other eye exploded slowly in fragments of glass and wire, another stream of dark liquid washed into the water, and he retreated, big arms wrapped about his head. The huge figure convulsed once, and then slowly, slowly, sank down into the seaweed covered ocean floor, and was still.

Sarah rubbed her face and wiped away tears that she hadn’t even realised she was crying. Helena leaned against the glass, pressing her forehead to it and pressing her lips together tightly. She still glowed with an otherworldly light, and when she finally turned back to Sarah, it followed behind her like a shadow made of stars. There were tears on her face as well, glinting like tiny pearls.

“I’m...sorry, Helena,” Sarah said hesitantly. The Songbird had nearly killed her a dozen times, it felt like, but…

Helena tried to smile, and wiped her face with the sleeve of the slightly grubby white dress. The glow was slightly dimming now, although her eyes still had a golden sheen.

“Where are we?” asked Sarah at last, gazing around. They were in a kind of...glass hallway, with water all around the exterior - and under them too, she realised, the hallway didn’t sit on the seabed but partway up a building. There was another hallway exactly the same out there, out in the water, and more buildings, lit up windows, blinking neon signs…

“A city under the sea?” she said incredulously. “Bloody ridiculous!” But deep inside, she recognised it - the green place, just like in her dreams.

It was real.

Beside her, Helena laughed, sounding like rusty bells.

“Sarah,” she bounced from foot to foot. “It’s home .”