Shorefall

by Robert Jackson Bennett

  “Tell me, Sancia,” asked Crasedes as they wound up the atrium stairs. His deep voice echoed along the endless corridors. “What do you think of this place?”

  “Huh? You mean the Mountain?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because I find it to be a depressing, bleak place, personally. But I haven’t lived in its shadow for many years. I would like to know if you think of it differently.”

  “I…don’t,” she said. “Why do you think it’s depressing? I thought it was just your kind of place.”

  “Oh, no. I mean, it was built as a sort of temple to me.” He gazed out at the dark atrium. “Tribuno wished nothing more than to witness me, and hold court with me. He even emulated my methods—to an extent. What a waste. Not just of stone, but toil and suffering…”

  “Seems strange to hear someone who just crushed a bunch of soldiers into a ball talk about suffering.”

  “Mm, perhaps,” he said. “But there is suffering inflicted for the sake of enforcing your power, and then there is suffering inflicted for a higher cause.” He gestured out at the atrium, his black-wrapped fingers clicking curiously as they unfolded. “I am here to prevent this, Sancia. To prevent more Tribunos. To prevent any more kings, or emperors, or lords from walking this earth, and forcing their will upon others. That’s why I fought so hard to come back. That’s what I’m here to do.”

  She almost tripped and fell on her face at these words. She stared over her shoulder at him, bewildered. “You’re what? You’re here to…to be some bizarre scrumming liberator?”

  “Is that so odd?”

  “I think it is damned strange to hear the person who created the biggest empire of all time saying he has a problem with empires, yeah.”

  “You misunderstand my works,” he said. “I’ve been alive a very long time, Sancia. And if there’s one thing I have learned throughout all the history that I’ve seen, it’s that mankind is quite good at coming up with delightful little innovations…but all of them are eventually turned to cruelty, and oppression, and slavery. Even the simplest ones become weapons. Take beans, for example.”

  “What? Beans?”

  “Yes.” He seemed to be having a very grand time, explaining this to her. “The Masazari peoples, in the lands east of here, once bred an unusually hardy but nutritious strain of white bean that helped their small culture to flourish. Their children lived longer, they were able to work longer days, and they could devote more of their time to other pursuits. And do you know what they eventually chose to do with this small but mundane agricultural innovation?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “They filled sacks up with these beans,” said Crasedes, “and put the sacks on the backs of soldiers—and suddenly they had a very mobile infantry that did not have to stop long to eat, or forage, or cook. And with this, they were able to develop a small but rather savage little kingdom, and conquer their neighbors. All because of beans.”

  They made a turn and continued up into the atrium, wandering on into the darkness, the gloom pierced only by the brittle light from the flickering scrived lanterns.

  “I’ve seen it happen with shoes,” said Crasedes. “And iron. And ships. And horses, and saddles. The Tsogenese were quite good with those. They used their cavalry to found an empire that dwarfs the state of yours today. And they had fields and fields and fields of slaves…” He drifted off for a moment. “There is no innovation that will ever spring from the minds of men that will not eventually be used for slaughter and control. So when I made my empire, I thought, if we’re going to have kings, well…We might as well have them on my terms, and force them to conduct themselves decently—to innovate and build without the inevitable shift into savagery.”

  “And how’d that work out?” asked Sancia.

  “Mm? Oh, not well,” said Crasedes lightly. “Not well at all, unfortunately. Humankind is most innovative at turning innovation to the cruelest ends. Power alters the soul far more than any innovation I could imagine, even at the height of my privileges.” His head slowly pivoted until his empty eyes faced her. “Eventually I came to realize, Sancia—you can’t make laws or policies or dictums to constrain this impulse…You must overwrite all the hearts and minds of mankind—directly, instantly, and permanently.” He cocked his head. “Could there be any mission higher than that?”

  She felt her skin begin to crawl as she started to realize what he was suggesting.

  “But…But Valeria can’t possibly do something like that,” she said weakly. “She can’t gain control of everyone’s minds. I mean…Can she?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, you can’t conceive of the permissions she had at the height of her powers. The ability to overwrite reality at a whim—to cause mountains, islands, nations, even cultures to change or vanish as she wished…or as I wished, since I controlled her for most of those years. She still possesses unprecedented access to the permissions that govern the very nature of this world of ours. Including, of course, the nature of humankind.”

  Sancia felt ill as she began to understand the scope of his intentions. She realized now how different this threat was from all the others she’d ever faced. For while Tevanne had no shortage of men who wished to fashion powerful tools, there’d never been one that could force an instant, global change to all of reality.

  “If this is what you made her to do,” she asked, “then…then why did she choose to try to kill you instead?”

  “Ah…” His voice grew a little deeper at that. “That was a…misunderstanding. A deliberate misinterpretation of the commands I’d given her. You can’t imagine the destruction she’s inflicted. It’s taken me so long to get back to a place where I can correct what she’s done…”

  Sancia tried to keep her face clear of concern—for he was right, in a way. She still didn’t understand much about Valeria.

  But of the two of them, she thought, only one’s killed a whole boatload of people right in front of my very eyes. So maybe listen to the other one.

  “Have you never wondered why Ofelia Dandolo is helping me, Sancia?” he asked.

  “I assumed because she was a coldhearted, bloodless piece of shit.”

  “It’s not so simple,” said Crasedes. “I had my choice of acolytes in this city—including Tribuno Candiano. Instead, I chose Ofelia Dandolo, because she was different from them in one critical way.”

  “Which was what?”

  “Why, she had suffered,” he said simply.

  “Suffered? The daughter of the founder of Dandolo Chartered…had suffered?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I had been watching her. I was watching when she realized what her husband was. I was watching when she lost one child, and nearly lost the other as well. And then I was there, with a solution.”

  “To make Gregor into a monster? To make him some…some kind of assassin, all to bring you back from the dead?”

  “She did it,” said Crasedes, “because she agreed with me. Ofelia Dandolo has more in common with you than you know. She too grew disenchanted and dispirited at the sight of what men wrought—just like you.”

  “I’m not goddamned disenchanted.”

  “Are you sure? Do you really think bringing down one more merchant house will fix this city? Or two houses? Or all of them? And even if it does fix things—for how long?”

  Sancia was silent.

  “If I offered you a way to truly fix this world,” said Crasedes, “to end the houses and free the slaves, even if it meant sacrificing something you cherished—wouldn’t you do it? If it really meant a safer, saner, kinder future for so many?”

  She swallowed. They were approaching their destination now—she could see the mural ahead, depicting Tribuno Candiano forging the Mountain itself from the heart of the sun.

  “And Clef?” she asked. “What about him? Did he sacrific
e himself? Or did you kill him?”

  There was silence from behind her.

  “Ah,” said Crasedes softly. “I think I was…a little forward in sharing that information with you. It is not for you to know.”

  She stopped before the mural and turned to face him. “Who was he? Who were you?”

  “You are inquiring about an estimated one percent of my existence,” said Crasedes, “and Clef’s. Those days were long ago. It would be like me asking you of the first ninety days of your life—not terribly informative.”

  “He was my friend. I deserve to know.”

  “You deserve nothing,” said Crasedes. “What you experienced of him was most likely a mind speaking from within a decaying tool. I am sure he must have gibbered on in incoherent madness.”

  “Is that what you believe?” asked Sancia. “Or is it what you’d prefer?”

  Crasedes gazed down at her, unmoving.

  “If I had done something horrible to my friend,” said Sancia, “I’d want to believe they were gone too. I wouldn’t want to know that they were suffering—that they had been suffering in silence, all alon—”

  “You speak of suffering, and sacrifice,” he said, “but you don’t even know what it looks like. You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone, and know their life meant absolutely nothing in the face of some greater conflict. You don’t even know what the construct is doing to you now. She’s sacrificing you, at this very moment. Just very, very slowly.”

  Sancia paused. She’d been terrified so far, certainly—but that comment struck a deeper fear in her, one she’d suspected for so long but had never been able to articulate.

  “Show me this device,” demanded Crasedes. “Show me the construct. Show me where she is, and I will be done with you.”

  She turned to the mural. Without a sound, it split in half and opened before her. She gave the Mountain a silent wish of support—they could not communicate, she figured, for Clef had been capable of overhearing her conversations with the structure, so surely Crasedes himself could do the same.

  It was very dark in here—but Sancia could see what had been installed there with her scrived sight.

  She stared at the room around her.

  Tribuno, she thought. Even in death, you manage to surprise me.

  Crasedes slowly drifted inside. “This…This is your device? This room is…Wait.”

  Then all the lights came on, and the music started.

  Crasedes stared at the ornate, intricate, and frankly ridiculous display around him. A huge, painted banner hung from the ceiling, reading: WELCOME, MAKERS OF THE GOLDEN AGE OF SIGILS! In the center of the room was a giant statue of all the great hierophants—Pharnakes, Aerothos, Seleikos, Agathoklies—and it rotated very, very slightly. On one wall was a massive bronze engraving of Crasedes Magnus himself—the bearded, wizardly version, of course—breaking open the doors of the chamber at the center of the world, a large key in his hand. On the other wall was a second bronze engraving depicting a group of wizened, robust men quite literally poking their heads through the walls of the cosmos, and glimpsing a colossal hammer, and chisel, and a mold, and multiple crucibles, all arrayed against the stars.

  The music was by far the worst part: two scrived harps and a scrived set of pipes rose up out of the tile floor and began playing a song that might have been in tune when Tribuno Candiano had made this place however many decades ago—but it certainly didn’t sound much like music now.

  “What?” said Crasedes, bewildered.

  Sancia darted forward through the room. The blank wall on the far side gave way, allowing her a route out of this blaring, shrieking chamber.

  The Mountain’s voice roared to life in Sancia’s mind:

  “What!” said Crasedes, much louder.

  Then two enormous steel walls fell from the ceilings at the side of the room, locking him in.

  screamed the Mountain to him, overcome with joy.

  Sancia turned and ran, bolting forward as fast as she could, through doorways and halls and down stairs, until she came to the secret exit. She tore through it at full tilt.

  A tremendous, rattling bang filled the dome.

  I give it ten minutes, she thought, heart hammering as her feet hit the floor of the darkened passageway.

  Another enormous bang.

  Maybe five.

  * * *

  —

  Sancia sprinted down the secret entrance as fast as she could, hurtled up the steps, and leapt out into the gardens. She was vaguely aware of smoking buildings around her—apparently the battle between the Dandolos and the Michiels had been taking place in the streets outside the Mountain as well—but she didn’t have time to pay attention to it: she just ran as fast as she could, trying to get away, to get back to the walls and out of this accursed ghost town of a campo…

  Another tooth-rattling boom from within the Mountain.

  Oh God, she thought. I need to move, I need to move, I need to move…

  She glimpsed the giant green floating lantern over the walls ahead—far, far ahead, still tethered to the Foundryside wine carriage.

  I hope the others made it back, she thought as she ran on. But how the hell am I going to get there in time?

  Then she had an idea. A pretty awful idea, really—but still an idea.

  She pulled out her imprinter as she ran. She set it to the anchoring string, aimed, and fired at the lantern.

  It was too far away for her to see if she hit it. But I sure as shit hope I did, she thought. Otherwise I’m dead as a goddamn doornail.

  She turned on her cuirass, flexed her scrived sight, and confirmed that it was working right, and that it really was projecting the steel box around her.

  Another tremendous bang from the Mountain.

  Here goes nothing.

  Then she aimed forward and fired the other half of the anchoring slug.

  There was a clang, and the anchoring slug struck to the inside of the invisible wall. It appeared to hang in midair before her eyes.

  And the next thing she knew, she was flying through the air.

  Sancia screamed out of sheer instinct, even though she had done this before. Anchoring techniques were a cheap, simple method of transportation—but the reason it was cheap and simple was that it was also sloppy and dangerous as hell. The two lead slugs adhered to both surfaces emphatically believed they should be together, so they were drawn across the distances with what was simply an insane amount of force.

  The cuirass bit into her shoulder as she flew. The buildings hurtled by with terrifying speed, and the green floating lantern grew closer and closer, as well as all the little floating lamps dancing around it, bewildering the espringal batteries atop the walls…

  She smashed through the fog of lamps, then crashed into the giant green floating lantern. Luckily they had wrought it to be preternaturally durable, but it still complained loudly when her invisible steel box smashed into its side, creaking and crackling unpleasantly.

  She heard Orso’s voice below: “What the hell was that?”

  “ ’s me!” she screamed.

  “Sancia?” cried Berenice.

  Sancia realized how absurd this had to look: the side of her invisible box adhered to the side of the floating lantern, and she dangling midair within her cuirass.

  “Hold on!” called Claudia. “We’ll get you down!”

  Another earth-shaking boom from the Mountain.

  “Just go, go, go!” she screamed at them. “Forget about me and just scrumming go!”

  “Shit…” said Gio, and the carriage leapt forward, with the lantern—and Sancia—twirling along i
n its wake.

  Her stomach lurched as the lopsided floating lantern went spinning and careening through the streets. She heard revelers shouting and screaming somewhere nearby—maybe at her, maybe at whatever was happening in the Mountain. The lantern bounced off of one building front, then another, and she screamed as she was jerked painfully about in her cuirass.

  She heard Claudia shouting, “Get her down, just get her down!”

  Then Orso: “Yes, please! For the love of God, we need her!”

  And even though she was dizzy to the point of being sick, this made Sancia’s heart drop. For it suggested the final piece of Gregor’s plan was not going quite so well.

  The carriage hit a relatively straight fairway. The lantern began to lower, bit by bit. She guessed they were hauling her in on the line, pulling her down to the speeding carriage.

  Then there was another boom from the Mountain, and another. Sancia looked over her shoulder out at the rooftops of the city—just in time to see it happen.

  Tevanne was alight with hundreds if not thousands of massive floating lanterns, vessels of blue and purple and green hovering above the rookeries and the houses—and there beyond, the dark bulk of the Mountain. There was a tremendous crack, and a fan of smoke and dust came shooting out of the side of the dome like a puffball fungus expelling spores. And then she watched in horror as the Mountain slowly began to implode, the largest building in all of Tevanne caving in on itself bit by bit, a long, slow, incredibly loud process.

  All the Commons and Lamplands seemed to light up with screams all at once.

  Oh, Mountain, she thought. I’m so, so sorry.

  “Almost got her down!” cried Claudia. “Almost!”

  There was a bump as the back of the lantern hit the carriage, and then they hauled her in. With a gasp, she slapped the button on the side of her cuirass, and she fell onto the wooden floor, her brain still spinning in her skull while they deactivated and collapsed the massive floating lantern.