Deep Echoes Read online

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  The Southern Gate was the closest gate. Her best bet to get there without being detected was to use the roofs, as Sol's Haven's marble walls had no balustrades. No one would be peering from them out over Aureu or into the basalt and marble wonder they protected. So long as she didn't slip or loosen any tiles, she'd get there undetected.

  She climbed the warehouse's rotten wooden stairs to its loft, a creaking, spider-infested clutch with a blackened sore of a window set in its roof. With a small cooking knife, Maya scraped the caked-on dust from the window's edges, freeing it. A careful, slow push cracked the window open.

  No detritus dislodged itself. No tiles fell.

  Maya kept pushing until she could climb through with her travel pack and the other bag she'd fashioned from the sacks. Nothing betrayed her presence.

  So she climbed up and out, pulling herself into the morning sky. It was awkward, but she was strong enough to hold on until her midriff wriggled through. From there, she held both bags in one hand and pulled her bottom half through.

  Dusty, in slight discomfort, she lay on the roof and caught her breath.

  When she stood, Maya felt clear. The Cathedral's bells still rang, pounding out high tones and dull bass, and the air was sweet, delicious almost after the stuffy atmosphere of the warehouse. The day was sunny without being warm and the Journey shone below her as its waters escaped to the sea. Everything just felt right.

  To business, she analysed her situation. Scores of identical roofs greeted her: the law stated that no building could be higher than the walls of Sol's Haven so everything bar the Cathedral was two-storeys high. This meant she'd have a good run up to jump between buildings, over streets. Whilst not easy, she could get across to the Southern Gate by going roof to roof.

  Maya stretched. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to just run. All her training was in combat: the Academy had never let her...

  No, she needed to forget about the Academy. She killed the thought, concentrated on her path. The Southern Gate was five buildings away, almost in a straight line. It wouldn't take more than five jumps – four south and one westward - to get there.

  She finished stretching and ran, leaving her emotions behind to concentrate on not falling to the street below. Maya shot along the warehouse roof, leaning to compensate for the slant, then jumped just as her foot touched the guttering.

  For just a moment, she soared. The air pressed against her tied-back hair. Time halted. She willed the next roof to come closer, willed her ascent to continue, enjoyed the feeling of freedom.

  Then her foot touched the next roof, adjusted for the incline. Maya bent her knee and leant forward, stopping her body from sliding down the tiles. Her other foot planted itself, and she put both hands against slate.

  Easy.

  Two more roofs, two more effortless leaps. But running echoed from the streets below as she prepared for her fourth jump.

  Curious, Maya peered down: two Contegons went from building to building, checking windows for breakages and doors for signs of forced entry. She'd barely missed being caught back at the warehouse. They moved faster than stay-at-homes ought to. It must be the strength of their orders that propelled them.

  The Council clearly wanted Maya caught. Badly wanted it.

  The Contegons turned left, checked the building she stood on. Fearing they might look up, Maya retreated and listened, waited for them to move on.

  One rattled a door beneath her, and it opened far too easily. Bad luck for Maya. “Here,” the Contegon said, her voice panicked. Her partner stopped running and snuck back, almost-silent. They entered the building below Maya, thinking she might have gone inside.

  Maya had to be quick. Running along the roof would be more likely to give her away the higher the two Contegons were. She readied herself and ran. Taking a deep and hurried breath just before the edge of the roof, she jumped.

  Maybe this street was wider, maybe she hadn't had solid a footing on the drain or maybe she was simply distracted. Whatever the reason, Maya quickly realised she hadn't jumped high enough and wouldn't get a neat landing. Pushing her foot out as far as possible, stretching, she prepared for the coming pain.

  The toe of her boot grazed the lead guttering – a brief flirtation – and then fell. Maya dropped with it. She threw out her hands and caught the guttering, the rough, rusted metal scratching at her gloves. The momentum of her jump carried her body into the building, smashing her against brick. Pain roared through her, dulled by adrenaline but strong enough to bring tears to her eyes. She didn't scream.

  For a moment she hung, happy to be alive, trying to recapture her breath. But behind her, Contegons were climbing the building, coming closer to a window which could reveal a dangling fugitive. She couldn't be caught, couldn't face more faith lessons. With great strain, she pulled herself and her bags up, strong muscles wailing, sweat beading across her body.

  Maya ached. Her whole chest was tight. She ignored it. With her feet scrabbling against the brick wall, she got high enough to rest her arms across the gutters, sinking them into years of muck and detritus. Free of their responsibility, her hands chose this moment to cramp.

  She couldn't wait for them to relax so she struggled on, pulled herself up. With a stretching and draining lift, Maya got a foot into the gutter. Taking her other foot over was then simple, and she lay in the dirt and panted, ached, tears of pain dripping down her face.

  There were no shouts from below, no shock or anger, so her mistake had gone unnoticed. But she wasn't out of danger yet. And her hands were still full of lactic acid. Rolling over, Maya got to her elbows and knees and dragged her body and her bags behind a chimney stack, out of sight. A diminishing trail of dirt followed her. She'd just have to hope it went unnoticed.

  Safe for a moment, she checked herself: chest tender, probably bruised; ribs screaming – not broken, thankfully; hands useless for the moment; filthy and sweaty. She deserved this for being arrogant, not concentrating.

  Behind her, she heard the Contegons leave the building. She was safe.

  At least her legs felt okay. There was only one roof between her and the Southern Gate. Maya stood, ignoring the various complaints her body had, and prepared herself for the final jump. After that, she would prepare for her plan and shin down the drainpipe, but first came the leap. A leap of faith.

  “Bitter irony,” she whispered. Then she ran.