Smoke's Fire

by Rich X Curtis

  Warren trotted her horse over to her and leaned down. She looked at Silver. “I am in command here,” she said sweetly. “Do not try my patience.”

  Silver grinned up at her. Behind her Truck hissed and popped. Li said they would need to find a river or stream for him soon. She cocked her head at the sound. “Hear that, Warren?” she said, mouth open in mock surprise.

  “The machine needs maintenance,” Warren said, frowning at Truck. She did not approve of bringing the earthmover, and had made it clear from the beginning. But Li would not leave Truck, and Gold would not leave Li, and Silver wasn’t leaving any of them where Smoke could get to them out of her sight. So here they were.

  “Truck needs water,” she said. “And the best way I know how to find water is to get a good look at the land.” She gestured to the horizon. In the distance she could make out a glint of water, a small lake nestling in a valley to the north of their current path.

  “I could have told you that was there,” Warren said. She shaded her eyes and studied the lake. “It’s two, three days with this thing.” She eyed the lake sourly.

  “Send out scouts,” Silver said. “Maybe they can find a stream that feeds it that’s closer to us.” She held up her hand when Warren’s eyebrows rose. “A suggestion, nothing more,” she said quickly. “You’re in charge, of course.”

  Warren turned to her aide, a piratical-looking mustachioed man with one eye. Sung or Tsung, Silver couldn’t remember. Warren pointed at the lake and explained to him. He nodded, kicked his heels into his shaggy pony’s sides, and jerked on the reins. Two of his men joined them as they trotted off.

  Warren turned back to Silver. She eyed the hillside sourly. “After tonight, I decide where we camp.”

  Silver shrugged, she peered up at Warren, shading her eyes. “Your feelings hurt, Warren?” She smiled, making sure she showed lots of teeth. “This place is fine.”

  Warren sighed, and swung down from her saddle. She handed her reins to another aide and walked up to Silver. “You are not in charge here,” she said. “Am I clear?”

  Silver matched eyes with her. Behind Warren, she could sense eyes on them. Dominance games, she sighed inwardly. “I’m not in your chain of command, am I, Warren? Correct?”

  “Absolutely correct. You could not be more correct,” Warren said evenly. “So no more course changes, climbing hills, or deciding where we camp. That’s my responsibility.” She waved around her. “Hilltops are exposed, Silver.”

  Silver waved around her. “This whole country is like a pancake, Warren,” she said. “Look around you. You can’t hide a force this size from whatever is up there.”

  “Exposed to weapons, not just spotters. Kinetics. Drones.” Warren shook her head. “Lasers from fucking space, Silver.” She glared up at Silver, her eyes flashing. “We saw that shit. You didn’t.”

  Silver threw up her hands. “If they saw you, why hide? Believe me, if we’re dealing with who Smoke says we are, they know you’ve left the Citadel. Probably saw you ride out of the gate.” She locked eyes with Warren. “They know we’re coming. So don’t bother trying to hide. If they wanted to wipe us out, they’ve had plenty of time for it.”

  Warren nodded, jaw set. She pressed her lips together. “So what do you suggest?” Warren asked her, eventually.

  “Pitch a tent. Take a nap,” Silver said. “We can tell ghost stories tonight. Maybe the scouts find water and we don’t need to go all the way to the lake.”

  “We could split up,” Warren said. They had discussed this before, and agreed to stay together. “A bunch of horsemen is just tribal shit,” she said. She nodded at Truck. “That thing is big and hot. It’s yellow, for Christ’s sake. Anything up there can see us on all wavelengths.”

  “I told you,” Silver said. “If they’re up there, they know we’re coming. If not…” she shrugged and spread her hands. “Then we’ll know.”

  Warren spat and nodded. “Don’t give my troops orders again, Silver.” She locked eyes with here. Warrens were very blue. “Got it?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Silver said airily. “I think Gold is the one for orders, right?” She grinned back at Warren. “She outranks you, doesn’t she? That’s what the Spider said, right?”

  “Fuck that,” Warren said easily, and turned to go. “And that goes for the bald fucker, too. They were spies in the US Military, operating under false pretenses. Their ranks are fiction.”

  “Fair,” Silver said. “Come by later, we can have a campfire. Do it old-school.” She pointed up at the bundles of branches piled on Truck’s broad back. “Let our enemies know we’re up here.”

  “That’s how you used to do it? In your day?” Warren asked.

  Silver cocked her head, frowning. “I think it was. Wars were a springtime thing, mostly, since for a long time nobody had real armies. Just farmboys with pikes. You’d make your fires big to show how scary you were.”

  “How many battles have you been in?” Warren asked, squinting at her. “Do you have a number?”

  Silver scoffed. “No,” she laughed. “Do you?”

  “Thirty-two,” Warren said. “Thirty-two fights where I’ve fired a shot.” She shrugged. “Probably a lot where I just moved chairs around.”

  “That high?” Silver said, nodding in appreciation. “My number…well, higher than that,” she said. Probably a lot higher. “But the memory fades.” She tapped her temple. “Something you get to look forward to.” Silver gave her a wide grin, cocked an eyebrow at her. “Think you’re old now? You’ve barely scratched a thousand yet.”

  Warren smirked at her. “Once we’re through the mountains, we need to go north.” She shaded her eyes to the mountains, a thin dark line on the horizon, just barely visible.

  Silver raised an eyebrow at her. “Why’s that? Elevator’s east.”

  “It would take a year for us to walk there at this pace. Or close to. It’s damn near three thousand miles.” Warren shook her head, turned to go.

  “What’s north?” Silver asked, annoyed that they’d been traveling for more than a week and Warren hadn’t shared this with her before. The plan they had discussed was to cross the mountains, regroup on the steppe beyond, and march straight through to the spaceport complex. It would take a while but she’d been mentally working on a plan involving Carter and the UN blimp to leapfrog them forward. She could cut it down to six months, she thought, frowning. Warren having other plans annoyed her.

  “Transport,” Warren said. “There’s a reason we came straight to China after we bugged out of there.”

  “What reason’s that?” Silver asked, calling after her.

  “That’s where the train went,” Warren said over her shoulder. Train?

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I want to talk to the Dreamers,” Grandmother said to the Select. “It’s important that we act soon to bring Tarl back here and resolve this situation. I am increasingly concerned.”

  She had called the gathering. It was her role to periodically do this, so that the Select could confer and reason together. They usually were sedate affairs, but she felt that this one would be of a different flavor. A bitter, angry flavor, she thought to herself. Does regret have a flavor?

  The Select were gathered in the chamber they used for such things. It was originally just a lecture room, but time and tradition had a way of appropriating things. It was in the Library, which was convenient, and it had the appropriate fittings for members who were…remote and could only attend via simulation. She stood in the well, looking up at the assemblage of faces. Arwal and Neera were there, and others from the Library, including Miral. A large contingent of blurred shapes also crowded the periphery of the hall. She frowned up at them. It was never a good sign when so many of the Elevated took such interest in something.

  The Boy, of course, was also present, with his cadre of lackeys. He was sitting, no, she thought sourly, he was lounging in his chair, leg tossed up over the armrest. He raised his hand, asking to be acknowledged.
She nodded. There were protocols, and if she didn’t follow them, he would just talk anyway.

  “You cannot just talk to the Dreamers,” he said, his voice piping and shrill. “They are occupied with important aspects of the Work.” He waved at the assembly. “It would be disruptive.”

  “Disruption is what I fear—” she began, but he pointed a skinny finger at her, cutting her off.

  “I am still talking. Still talking!” he said rapidly. “There are norms in this body, and we depart from them at our peril, as you often remind us.” He grinned at her, a sneer curling his little-boy face. “I say we cannot distract the dreamers from their current work. It is essential that we stay focused on the task at hand, retrieving the keys and eliminating the threat.” He stood, raising both hands to command attention. “Tarl and the creature Alpha are the threat, so why bring them here?”

  She raised a finger. He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “And I thank the rest of you.” She peered up at the body, noting the presence of many more blurred figures, some with haloes made of bright motes of light. Aggregators, she knew, representatives of some faction or other within the ranks of the Elevated. She had the attention of the decision-makers now, she knew, and had one chance to make her point. One chance, she thought, to right this ship.

  “We should bring Tarl and this…Alpha…” she paused at the name, “…back precisely because they hold the keys. They are currently deep within the Tangle, on the thread we believe is at the root of this. Soon they will be beyond Recall, perhaps within days.” She raised a hand. “We must seek accommodation with them, or everything we have built, everything we have learned, will be at risk. The Work is the Center and the Center is the Work. We teach this to children, and it would be wise to remember it.”

  She looked at Arwal and Neera. Arwal nodded at her, and Neera’s eyes were bright. Neera smiled at her, nodding. The Boy’s hand shot up, but there was movement on the periphery of the room, shapes rippling and flowing aside as a presence moved through them. A shadowy avatar, dark gray and indistinct. The halo over the dark cowl was dense with points, and flowed like a spiral galaxy behind the hooded face.

  The figure raised its arm. A shadowed hand, dim and blurred. She nodded to it, licking her lips.

  “I am Ghalarothoran,” a voice said, seeming to come from everywhere at once. “I was once like you, was once one of you.” The voice held a note of surprise and, Grandmother thought, a sadness. Sorrow. Regret.

  “You are welcome here, Elevated,” she said, after it seemed the shade had paused overlong. “Please speak.”

  The voice spoke again, though no face was visible behind the folds of the hood. Just shadows and a swirling blankness. The motes above the head pulsed and swam, a whorl of light and dark points. “The Work is the Center. My clade, we have searched. We have labored long, and focused our attentions elsewhere than…here.” The arm made a slight gesture, a wave encompassing the Center, Talus, everything. “We sought the First, dreaming this thread alone, no others, far into the past.”

  A hushed silence fell over the hall. Grandmother nodded at Ghalarothoran. She knew the Elevated often pursued esoterica but this flavor…

  “I had not heard of your work, Elevated.” She smiled. “I would, at another time, learn more. But now, please, enlighten us as to its relevance.”

  “It is irrelevant,” declared the Boy, raising both hands. “How could it not be? The First are lost to the ages. They are long-dead. There is no dreaming that can find them.”

  Ghalarothoran’s hooded head turned towards the Boy. He raised his hand again. She nodded. “Untruth,” the voice intoned. “Asserted without proof. The Work demands proof.”

  “And do you come to us bearing proof, Ghalarothoran?” she asked gently. This shade had once been a man or woman, like her. She did not want to disrespect it, for tradition held that the Elevated commanded respect. They were beyond the world, and not of it in any real sense, but they had been, once. “How fares your search?”

  The cowl turned towards her. The voice spoke, a buzzing whisper from every corner of the room. “It is complete, or as complete as we can make it.” The head dipped, or perhaps she imagined it. “When the Center was born, out of fire and blood, we knew we must find them, we must know them. We must know their minds, to solve their riddle.”

  “Riddles! With respect,” the Boy piped, “how could anything the First thought impact the decision before us? This is philosophy, not policy.” He turned to Grandmother, imploring her. “Please, let us move on from this.”

  “Impudence,” Ghalarothoran said flatly. “We have known your kind before, child. Your opinion is unfounded. We sought, and found, and learned.” The hooded face turned to Grandmother, swirling with darkness. “For long ages we have considered this, and clustered dreamers to assist us in understanding.”

  “You see,” the Boy cried, “they seek to protect their resources, the same as the rest of us!”

  Ghalarothoran gestured, and Grandmother saw the spiraling motes around the shade’s head pulse with a purple light. “Do not speak again, child,” he whispered. “We did not come to debate with you.”

  The Boy clutched his hand to his throat, his face reddening. He coughed, and tried to speak, but no words came. The Boy turned to her and gestured wildly at Ghalarothoran. Do something about this.

  She raised her hand. “Please, release him. He will be silent.”

  Ghalarothoran made a dismissive gesture. The Boy gasped and wheezed, hands on his skinny knees.

  “If not to join this debate,” she asked Ghalarothoran, “why did you come?”

  “To warn. Of what we learned. What the First foresaw. What they feared, above all else.” Ghalarothoran’s halo pulsed with yellow sparkling lights. He raised his arms. “We dreamt long ages in our search, and discovered subtle ripples in the fabric of reality. Ripples that indicated collisions, brushes with other threads. Indeed this is how the Center discovered the threads of other realms in the first place.” Grandmother’s eyebrows raised at this. She had not heard this before. She glanced at Neera, who was watching Ghalarothoran with keen eyes.

  “Time is precious, Eldest.” Grandmother said. “Please, explain your point.”

  Ghalarothoran laughed, an eerie, hollow sound. “Time is indeed precious. And it is leaking. Leaking out. The Tangle is but one of the knots that are the natural, expected outcome of interactions between the threads. But inside of this knot, for some reason, there was a rip, a hole was torn open, a hole leading into another, higher plane. This, our dream reveals. The First foresaw this, a great unraveling, when all threads would spool into this higher plane. But they knew it needed a catalyst, as it would not happen on its own until the vast ocean of time swallows all things.”

  The Boy’s hand shot up. Grandmother ignored him. “What is this catalyst?” Vast oceans of time?

  “The one you call Alpha,” Ghalarothoran intoned. “This one brings the end. This one must not be impeded.”

  “Impeded from what?” Grandmother asked, though she thought she’d guessed the answer.

  “Unraveling the threads. Opening the way,” the shade said, voice buzzing and husky. “Talking with whatever is on the other side.”

  Grandmother and Neera sat on the grass near the great Tree. It was early evening, and the yellow lanterns lit the platforms and stairways nestled in the Tree’s wide branches. She saw figures seated on the platforms, and servers bearing platters of plates. Laughter reached them across the lawn.

  She thought back to a time when she had been a servant, bearing platters, on another Tree. This one may not even have been a sapling back then, she reminded herself. Almost certainly not. She tried, but didn’t remember. You are old, perhaps too old to be making such decisions. She turned to Neera.

  “Am I too old for this?” she asked. “Tell me truthfully.”

  Neera pursed her lips. “The gathering accomplished its goal, did it not? An effective bit of leadership.�
� She inclined her head to the older woman. “So no, I do not think you are a dotard quite yet.”

  “He will no longer be restrained,” she said. Neera knew who she meant. The Boy. “He will be hatching plans of his own.”

  Neera nodded. “There are always cliques, and factions. Even the Elevated have them. I got the sense a good bunch of them did not like this Ghalarothoran business. Or what he has been getting up to.”

  Grandmother looked at her. “Had you ever heard of this effort? This hunt of his for the First?”

  Neera shook her head. “It would be impossible. The First did not evolve on Earth, so how would you even start. The Earth didn’t even exist. The Sun didn’t even exist. I am not sure I believe it. The distances are too far, the trail is too cold.”

  Grandmother considered this. “How can we verify it?” She shook her head. They had limited resources, since the coup by Tarl and Alpha. A wall of ice, Neera had called it, was between them and all but a sliver of the resources of the Center. Alpha controlled it all. She let out a long sigh, puffing out her cheeks. “We can’t, and I know it. We have to believe him, her…whatever the Elevated are.”

  “Alpha isn’t like the dreamers. That’s what I think the issue is. They are a different sort of Mind. A dreaming Mind. They’re harnessed to the Center, but even they seem to have factions and alignments.”

  “Ghalarothoran talked of war, at the birth of the Center. Have you heard that before?” She glanced at Neera.

  Neera made a face. “I’ve thought about this, and gone looking. Nothing exists from the founding of the Center. We can’t even be sure of how close to the start of things our records go. It’s a long, long time. Maybe a hundred thousand years? Maybe more. War? Maybe. But war with who? And over what?”

  “War is struggle over resources, usually. That’s what Shona says, anyway. Maybe she would know.” She barked, a bitter laugh. “The resources were the same ones we’re struggling over now, the dreamers. I would bet on it.”