The Seven. Peter Newman

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      Like a balloon on an invisible string, the colossal cube continues its journey, straight up, until it appears smaller, a silver moon joining the stars.

      When it is nothing more than a glinting speck in the sky, attention returns to the top of the steps. Vesper looks across the sea of faces, licks lips suddenly dry. She has no idea what to say. No pre-prepared speech is fed to her via her chip, and she has no insight into The Seven’s actions.

      Seconds tick by, agonizing, slow.

      A bead of sweat appears on Vesper’s forehead and runs down to her ear.

      Her father gives her a nod, then, after a beat, raises his eyebrows and circles his hand three times.

      She opens her mouth, takes a breath … and then Obeisance speaks.

      ‘People of the Empire, attend to me. For truly, today is a day of greatness. The Bearer stands before us all and asks us to rise and meet the challenges ahead. And behold! The Seven have risen, an inspiration to Their people. For Their eye is upon us, and They expect only the best. We must not disappoint. Go now, back to your duties, and carry the words of the Bearer with you, and the grace of The Seven in your hearts, and know that They are watching.’

      In orderly rows, the crowd disperses. Fervour fizzes within measured steps.

      Obeisance turns to Vesper. ‘It seems The Seven do not leave you to toil alone any longer.’

      ‘It’s true,’ she replies, forcing a smile. ‘We’re very lucky.’

      But the sword in her hand suggests otherwise, its eye still staring at the sky, troubled.

      Vesper meets her father on the outskirts of the Shining City. It is the first time she has been alone with him since she left on her great tour five years ago. It takes a moment for her to marry up the man standing before her with the image of her father. The amber eyes are the same but they seem to have been transplanted into a different face, a younger one. Long hair has been trimmed short, stubble banished. Though the collar is loosened, his clothes are crisply cut, a symbol of the Winged Eye woven into the shoulders. The scarring on the side of his head has been treated. There are still stripes running into his hairline but they are less stark than she remembers them. His frame is fuller too.

      ‘Wow,’ she says.

      When he steps towards her there is no sign of his limp and when he hugs her, she is lifted from the floor, just as she was as a child.

      For a few precious moments, the worries of the world disappear, unable to break through her father’s arms. She hugs him back, fierce.

      The sound of a nearly human shout makes her jump. It comes from the other that has been waiting for her to come out of the city, and Vesper’s face shifts instantly to delight. The kid has grown, become a buck. The buck stands tall, struts proudly where once he scampered. Where the kid’s bleat was cute, endearing, the buck’s is a thing of horror. Sometimes a shout, sometimes closer to a scream, not quite a goat’s call but neither a man’s. An awkward, ugly, in-between noise. Vesper alone finds it charming.

      The buck dashes over to her side, eager, his mouth already watering.

      She doesn’t disappoint, popping a thick, fibrous shoot into his mouth. ‘You’re looking magnificent today.’

      The buck’s eyes sparkle, though whether this is due to the food or the compliment is unclear. Jaws set to work and the shoot squeaks, indignant. Vesper chuckles, ruffling his ears. The buck whimpers and her fingers retrace their path slowly, until they come to rest on the edge of the buck’s right ear, finding a jagged edge where things were once smooth. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll be talking to that monster when we get home. She won’t bite you again.’

      The buck’s expression is forlorn.

      Vesper sets off, arms waving as she talks to her father, while the buck trots alongside, chewing, enthusiastic. On her back the sword’s eye is open, staring hard into the horizon.

      ‘You really think the speech was good, then?’

      Her father nods.

      ‘I know I keep asking, it’s just …’

      He reaches out, putting a hand on her arm.

      ‘Thanks. And The Seven coming back now, what do you think it means?’

      Her father shrugs.

      ‘Obeisance says it’s a sign of Their favour. That’s what she’s got the Knight Commander to tell everyone anyway. I’m not so sure. When I looked up, I didn’t feel hopeful, I felt … scared.’

      Her father frowns, stays quiet.

      Vesper slows as she approaches the hill. She expected to be excited, perhaps a little nervous, but in truth she is reluctant.

      It has been ten years since she sealed the Breach. Ten years of rebuilding, renewing, trying to restore some of what was lost during the war with the infernals. During that time, she has grown into herself. Though the Empire of the Winged Eye is dedicated to The Seven, the immortals have been silent for as long as she has been alive. Her orders, given in Their name, are what shape the future now.

      For the last five years she has travelled the world with her knights, the Order of the Broken Blades, meeting with demons, half-breeds and humans, a disparate group of leaders forged by misfortune and hardship. Not all of those meetings were pleasant, but through a combination of persuasion, natural enthusiasm and, where necessary, a demonstration of power, she has managed to establish working relationships with most of them.

      Progress at home and abroad is slow but she is close now, so close to realizing her vision. And yet coming here that sense of triumph fades. She has been away too long, neglected things at home to work on her great vision. Now she has to face up to that.

      She feels a squeeze on her shoulder and glances down to see a small silver wing draped across it. She brushes it with her fingers and smiles.

      As she walks, the grass beneath her feet becomes shorter, neater, testament to the work of many goats. They dot the landscape, dull whites and patchy browns against the green, big and small, nearly twenty generations of them. There was a time when Vesper knew every goat by name. That time is long gone.

      Two buildings come into view. She stops to marvel at how they’ve changed. The first, the house she grew up in, has grown. A new extension has been built on the side, lopsided. Clearly this was not built by the Empire’s engineers. Each brick is placed by hand, laboriously. But to Vesper, the imperfections add charm.

      She turns to her father. ‘You’ve been busy.’

      He looks at his work, then away again, embarrassed, before going into the house. She does not follow. She is not quite ready to face what awaits, not yet.

      The second building is smaller, a shelter for their animals and a storehouse. As Vesper walks towards it, the buck slows, lagging further and further behind.

      Inside it is dark, ripe with aged and musty smells. Vesper peers into the shadows until she makes out a shape in one corner.

      Hands go to hips. ‘Wake up, you miserable thing.’

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