Incarceron (Incarceron, Book 1)

by Catherine Fisher

  "We never know where the listeners are," he said quietly, staring after it. "That is what the Havaarna have done to us, Claudia. They have riddled us with fear."

  For a moment he seemed almost shaken; then he brushed an invisible crease from his silk suit and said in his changed voice, "Prince Giles rode out that morning without any of his usual attendants. It was a fine spring morning; he was well, in good health, a laughing boy of fifteen years. Two hours later a messenger thundered in on a horse white with sweat; he leaped from it and raced into the hall of the Court, ran up the steps, and threw himself at the Queens feet. I was there, Claudia. I saw her face when they told her of the accident. She is a pale woman, as they all are, but then she was white. If it was an act, it was expert. They brought the boy back on a hastily made bier of boughs, their coats laid over his face. Grown men were weeping."

  Impatient, Claudia said, "Go on."

  "They laid him in state. Wearing a great gold robe and a tunic of white silk embroidered with the crowned eagle. Thousands filed past him. Women sobbed. Children brought flowers. How beautiful he was, they said. How young."

  He watched the house.

  "But there was something odd. A man. His name was Bartlett. A man who had looked after the boy from his earliest

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  years. He was old now, retired and feeble. They allowed him in to see the body late one afternoon, when the people had left. They brought him through the pillars and shadows of the Chamber of State and he climbed the steps with difficulty and looked down at Giles. They thought he would weep and wail and howl with grief. They thought he would tear his clothes with agony. But he didn't."

  Evian looked up and she saw his small eyes were shrewd. "He laughed, Claudia. The old man laughed."

  ***

  AFTER TWO hours walking through the metallic forest the snow began.

  Stumbling over a root of copper and out of a daydream, Finn realized it had been falling for some time; it was already coating the leaf-litter with a fine frost. He looked back, his breath smoking.

  Gildas was a little way behind, talking to the girl. But where was Keiro?

  Finn turned quickly. All morning he had been unable to stop thinking of that voice, the voice from Outside, where the stars were. Claudia. How had she been able to speak to him? He felt the cold lump of the Key inside his shirt; its awkwardness comforted him. "Where's Keiro?" he said.

  Gildas stopped. He planted his staff in the ground and leaned on it. "Scouting ahead. Didn't you hear him tell you?" Suddenly he strode forward and looked hard at Finn, the blue

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  eyes clear as crystal in his small lined face. "Are you well? Is this a vision coming on you, Finn?"

  Tm fine. Sorry to disappoint you." Sickened by the eagerness in the Sapient's voice Finn looked at the girl. "We need to get that chain off you."

  She had wrapped it around her like a necklace to stop it swinging. He could see the raw skin under the collar where she had padded it with cloth. She said quietly, "I can manage. But where are we?"

  Turning, he stared over the miles of forest. A wind was rising, the metallic leaves meshing and rustling. Far below, the wood was lost under snow clouds, and high above the roof of the Prison was a distant oppression, its lights misted and faint.

  "Sapphique came this way." Gildas sounded tense with excitement. "In this forest he defeated his first doubts, the dark despairs that told him there was no way on. Here he began the climb out."

  "But the way leads down," Attia said quietly.

  Finn looked at her. Beneath the dirt and hacked hair her face was lit with a strange joy. "Have you been here before?" he asked.

  "No. I was from a small Civicry group back there. We never left the Wing. This is so ... wonderful."

  The word made him think of the Maestra, and the chill of guilt struck through him, but Gildas pushed past and strode on. "It may appear to lead downhill, but if the theory that

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  Incarceron is underground is true, we must climb eventually. Perhaps beyond the wood."

  Appalled, Finn gazed at the forested leagues. How could Incarceron be so vast? He had never imagined it would be like this. Then the girl said, "Is that smoke?"

  They followed her pointing finger. Far oft, in the distant mists, a thin column rose and dissipated. It looked like the smoke from a fire, he thought.

  "Finn! Give me a hand!"

  They turned. Keiro was dragging something out from the thickets of copper and steel; as they ran over to him Finn saw that it was a small sheep, one of its legs crudely repaired, the circuits exposed.

  "You re still thieves then," Gildas said acidly.

  "You know the rule of the Comitatus." Keiro sounded cheerful. "Everything belongs to the Prison, and the Prison is our Enemy."

  He had already cut its throat. Now he looked around. "We can butcher it here. Well, she can. She may as well make herself useful."

  None of them moved. Gildas said, "It was stupid. We have no idea of what inmates are here. Or of their strength."

  "We have to eat!" Keiro was angry now, his face darkening. He threw the sheep down. "But if you don't want it, fine!"

  There was an awkward silence. Then Attia said simply,

  "Finn?"

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  He realized she would do it if he asked her to. He didn't want to have that power. But Keiro was glowering, so he said, "All right. I'll help you."

  Side by side, they knelt and cut the sheep up. She borrowed Gildas's knife and worked efficiently; he realized she had done it often before, and when he was clumsy, she pushed him aside and dissected the raw flesh. They took only a little; they had no way of carrying more or any tinder to cook it on as yet. Only half the beast was organic; the rest was a patchwork of metal, ingeniously put together. Gildas raked over the remains with his stick. "The Prison breeds its beasts less well these days."

  He sounded grave. Keiro said, "What do you mean, old man:

  "What I say. I can remember when the creatures were all flesh. Then circuits began to appear, tiny things, threaded instead of vein, of cartilage. The Sapienti have always studied and dissected any tissue we could find. At one time I offered rewards for carcasses brought to me, though the Prison was usually too quick."

  Finn nodded. They all knew that the remains of any dead creature vanished overnight; that Incarceron sent its Beetles out instantly and collected the raw material for recycling. Nothing was ever buried here, nothing burned. Even those of the Comitatus who had been killed were left, wrapped in their favorite possessions, decked with flowers, in a place by the abyss. In the morning, they were always gone.

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  To their surprise Attia spoke. "My people knew this. For a long time now the lambs have been like this, and the dogs. Last year, in our group, a child was born. Its left foot was made of metal."

  "What happened to it?" Keiro asked quietly.

  "The child?" She shrugged. "They killed it. Such things can't be allowed to live."

  "The Scum were kinder. We let all sorts of freaks live."

  Finn glanced at him. Keiro's voice was acid; he turned and led the way through the wood. But Gildas didn't move. Instead he said, "Don't you see what it means, fool boy? It means the Prison is running out of organic matter ..."

  But Keiro wasn't listening. He lifted his hand, alert.

  A sound was rising in the wood. A low whisper, a rustling breeze. Tiny at first, barely raising the leaves, it stirred Finn's hair, Gildas's robe.

  Finn turned. "What is it?"

  The Sapient moved, pushing him on. "Hurry. We must find shelter. Hurry!"

  They ran between the trees, Attia always at Finn's heels. The wind grew rapidly. Leaves began to lift, swirl, fly past them. One nicked Finn's cheek; putting his hand up to the sudden sting he felt a cut, saw blood. Attia gasped, her hand protecting her eyes.

  And all at once they were in a blizzard of metal slivers, the leaves of copper and steel and silver a razor-sharp whirlwind in


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  the sudden storm. The wood groaned and bent, twigs cracked with snaps that rang in the invisible roof.

  As he ran, ducking and breathless, Finn heard the roar of the storm like a great voice. It raged at him, picked him up and threw him; its anger crashed him against the metal trees, it bruised him and beat at him. Stumbling, he knew the leaves were its words, arrows of spite, that Incatceron was taunting him, its son, born from its cells, and he stopped, bent over, gasping, "I hear you! I hear you! Stop!"

  "Finn!" Keiro yanked him down. He slid, the ground giving way, crumpling into a hollow between the tangled roots of some vast oak.

  He landed on Gildas, who shoved him off. For a moment each of them caught breath, listening to the deadly leaves slicing the air outside, the whine and hum. Then Attia's muffled voice came from behind.

  "What is this place?"

  Finn turned. Behind them he saw a dull rounded hollow, seamed deep under the steel oak. Too low to stand up in, it extended back into darkness. The girl, on hands and knees, crept inside. Foil leaves crackled under her; he smelled a musty, odd tang, saw that the walls sprouted fungi, contorted, spore-dusted masses of flabby growth.

  "It's a hole," Keiro said sourly. He drew his knees up, brushed litter from his coat, and then looked at Finn. "Is the Key safe, brother?"

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  "Of course it is," Finn muttered.

  Keiro's blue eyes were hard. "Well, show me."

  Oddly reluctant, Finn put his hand into his shirt. He drew the Key out, and they saw the crystal glimmer in the dimness. It was cold, and to Finn's relief, silent.

  Attia's eyes went wide.

  "Sapphique's Key!"

  Gildas turned on her. "What did you say?"

  But she wasn't looking at the crystal. She was staring at the picture scratched meticulously onto the back wall of the tree, smeared by centuries of dirt and overgrown by green lichen, the image of a tall, slim, dark-haired man sitting on a throne, in his upheld hands a hexagonal slot of darkness.

  Gildas took the Key from Finn. He slotted it into the aperture. Instantly it began to glow; light and heat burned from it, showing them one another's dirty faces, the slanting cuts, brightening the furthest recesses of the hollow.

  Keiro nodded. "We seem to be going the right way," he muttered.

  Finn didn't answer. He was watching the Sapient; the glow of awe and joy on the old man's face. The obsession. It chilled him to the bone.

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  14

  ***

  We forbid growth and therefore decay. Ambition, and therefore despair. Because each is only the warped reflection of the other. Above all, Time is forbidden. From now on nothing will change.

  --King Endor's Decree

  ***

  "I don't think you'll be wanting all this junk." Caspar picked a book out of the pile and opened it. He gazed idly at the bright illuminated letters. "We have books at the Palace. I never bother with them."

  "You do surprise me." Claudia sat on the bed and gazed around hopelessly at the chaos. How could she have so many possessions? And so little time!

  "And the Sapienti have thousands." He tossed it aside. "You are so lucky, Claudia, that you never had to go to the Academy. I thought I'd die of dullness. Anyway, aren't we going out with the hawks? The servants can do all this. It's what they're for."

  "Yes." Claudia was biting her nail; she realized, and stopped.

  "Are you trying to get rid of me, Claudia?"

  She looked up. He was watching her, his small eyes fixed

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  in that nerveless stare. "I know you don't want to marry me," he said.

  "Caspar ..."

  "It's all right, I don't mind. It's a dynastic thing, that's all. My mother's explained it. You can have any lovers you like, after we've had an heir. I certainly will."

  She stared at him in disbelief. She couldn't sit still; she jumped up and paced the disrupted room. "Caspar, listen to yourself!" Have you ever thought about what sort of life we'll have together, in that marble mausoleum you call a palace? Living a lie, a pretense, keeping false smiles on our faces, wearing clothes from a time that never existed, posing and preening and aping manners that should only be in books? Have you thought about that?"

  He was surprised. "It's always been like that."

  She sat next to him. "Have you never wanted to be free, Caspar? To be able to ride out alone one spring morning and set off to see the world? To find adventure, and someone you can love?"

  It was too much. She knew it as soon as she had said it. Too much for him. She felt him stiffen and frown, and he glared at her. "I know what all this is about." His voice was harsh. "It's because you'd have rather had my brother. The saintly Giles. Well, he's dead, Claudia, so forget about him." Then his smile came back, sly and narrow. "Or is this about Jared?"

  "Jared?"

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  "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? He's older, but some girls like that."

  She wanted to slap him, to get up and slap his sniggering little face. He grinned at her. "I've seen how you look at him, Claudia. Like I said, I don't mind."

  She stood, stiff with anger. "You evil little toad."

  "You're angry. That proves it's true. Does your father know about you and Jared, Claudia? Should I tell him, do you think?"

  He was poison. He was a lizard with a flicking tongue. His smirk was acid. She bent and put her face into his and he moved back.

  "If you mention this again, to me, to anyone, I will kill you. Do you understand, my lord Steen? Myself personally, with a dagger through your weak little body. I will kill you like they killed Giles."

  Trembling with wrath she marched outside and slammed the door with a clap that rang down the corridor. Fax, the bodyguard, was lounging outside. As she passed him he stood, with an insolent slowness, and as she ran beneath the portraits to the stairs, she felt his eyes on her back, the cold smile.

  She hated them.

  All of them.

  How could he say that!

  How could he even think it! Thundering down the stairs, she crashed through the double doors, maids scattering before her,

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  her mood like thunder. Such a filthy lie! Against Jared! Jared, who would never dream, never even think of such a thing!

  She screamed for Alys, who came running. "What's wrong, lady?"

  "My riding coat. Now!"

  While she waited she fumed, pacing, staring through the open front door at the eternal perfection of the lawns, the blue sky, the peacocks practicing their eerie cries.

  Her anger was warm and a comfort. When the coat came she flung it around her, snapped, "I'm riding out."

  "Claudia ... There's so much to do! We leave tomorrow."

  "You do it."

  "The wedding dress ... the final fitting."

  "You can tear it to shreds as far as I'm concerned." Then she was gone, running down the steps and across the courtyard, and as she ran, she looked up and saw her father, standing in the impossible window of his study that didn't exist, wasn't even there.

  He had his back to her, was talking to someone. Someone in the study with him? But no one ever went in there.

  Slowing, she watched for a moment, puzzled. Then, afraid he'd turn around, she hurried to the stables and found Marcus already saddled, pawing the ground with impatience. Jared's horse was ready too, a lean rangy creature called Tam Lin, which was probably some secret Sapient jest she'd never understood.

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  She looked around. "Where's the Wise One?" she asked Job.

  The boy, always tongue-tied, muttered, "Gone back to the tower, lady. He forgot something."

  She stared at him. "Job, listen to me. You know everyone on the estate?"

  "Pretty much." He swept the floor hastily, raising clouds of dust. She wanted to tell him to stop, but that would have made him even more nervous, so she said, "An old man called Bartlett. Pensioned off, a retainer of the Court. Is he still alive?"

&nb
sp; He raised his head. "Yes, my lady. He has a cottage out on Hewelsfield. Just down the lane from the mill."

  Her heart thudded. "Is he ... Is his mind still clear?"

  Job nodded, and managed a smile. "He's razor-sharp, that one. But he doesn't say much, not about his days at Court. He just stares if you ask him."

  Jared's shadow darkened the doorway and he came in slightly breathlessly. "Sorry, Claudia."

  He swung himself up into the saddle, and as she put her foot in Job's linked hands, she said quietly, "What did you forget?"

  His dark eyes met hers. "A certain object that I didn't want to leave unguarded." His hand moved discreetly to his coat, the high-necked Sapient robe of dark green.

  She nodded, knowing it was the Key.

  As they rode off she wondered why she felt so oddly ashamed.

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  ***

  THEY MADE a fire from the dried fungi and some snapping powder from Gildas's pack and cooked the meat while the whirlwind raged outside. No one spoke much. Finn was shivering with cold, and the cuts on his face stung; he sensed that Keiro was still weary too. It was hard to tell about the girl. She sat slightly apart, eating quickly, her eyes watching and missing nothing.

  Finally Gildas wiped greasy hands on his robe. "Were there any signs of the inmates?"

  "The sheep were roaming," Keiro said carelessly. "Not even a fence."

  "And the Prison?"

  "How should I know? Eyes in the trees probably."

  Finn shivered. His head felt echoey and strange. He wanted them to sleep, to fall asleep so he could get the Key out again and talk to it. To her. The girl Outside. He said, "We can't move on, so we may as well rest. Don't you think?"

  "Sounds good," Keiro said lazily. He arranged his pack against the back of the hollow. But Gildas was staring at the image carved in the tree trunk. He crawled closer, reached out, and began to rub at it with his veined hands. Curls of lichen fell. The narrow face seemed to emerge from dinginess and the green fur of moss, its hands holding the Key so carefully drawn, they seemed real. Finn realized that the Key must be linking into some circuitry in the tree itself and for a moment

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  a blur of vision caught him off guard, a sense that the whole of Incarceron was a great creature in whose entrails of wire and bone they crept.