by M. A. Foster
The first thing he noticed was that Krikorio was staying out for longer and longer periods, and when he did appear, he wore on his dark and malign face a growing expression of unspeakable triumph. The girls were becoming quieter, more solemn, and soon ceased to sing. Also, they avoided him pointedly, save Lia, who seemed to watch from an infinite distance away, observing something she neither understood nor wanted, but powerless to deflect it.
Emerna also was changing. As he felt himself gaining back his health, he felt her eyes on him more and more, and her behavior moved between a rough truculence and an embarrassing solicitude. He knew what was comings the only question remained to answer was when it would occur.
Emerna told him that Krikorio’s moment of triumph was near; the mysterious white bosel had been sighted for some time, and though eluding him with its indescribable mixture of craft and irrational randomness, Krikorio was closing in on it, and she expected him to succeed soon.
“Then what? I mean, I know from what you’ve told me that he will then celebrate by having an orgy with the girls, but…
“I never said this before, even to myself; but that is blank; unknown; he has this idea of what he will dare to do, and I cannot find myself in those plans. Neither are you in them.”
“Of course.”
“I had always thought that things wouldn’t come to this—that he would never achieve what he wanted. I mean, I didn’t even believe in the beast he hunts with such fervor. A white Bosel! Whoever heard of such a thing? And so this would just… go on and on. We have a functioning life here, hazardous as it is. Many others have not done so well. Yet now; I don’t know.”
“You saved me from the dump; I owe you.”
“This is so.”
“I have seen little of this, but I think you and I should not stay here when it happens.”
“I have so thought. But consider this—we could not leave before him—he is a superb tracker, and a worse foe than those who hunt us. Besides, he can’t make it alone with the girls—they are hopeless outside. He has raised them that way.”
“It would be a matter of timing, then—to find the right moment?”
Emerna said, without hesitation, “Yes.” And Phaedrus thought that perhaps the worst part, getting her to accept that she would have to leave, was over. She added, “You are now in some danger from him. When you were ill and unconscious all the time, you weren’t real to him. Sick and recovering, also you didn’t matter much. But now…?” She let the idea hang in the air, unfinished.
Phaedrus said, after a moment “I’m a rival, whether I behave or not.”
“Of course you are. And no matter how they sing and weave and chatter about the day to come, they are all, to a girl, terrified of Krikorio—they have no idea what he will do with them. They see more of him than you have. More than I, although I have seen many things which lead me to make alliance with him and not oppose. You understand, I would fear, too, were I one of them.”
“I must leave, then.”
“There is an alternative, for the time.”
Phaedrus nodded, indicating that she should go on. She said, thoughtfully, “If I take you as a lover, and you sleep with me, then according to the way he sees things, you will not matter any more, and he will forget you.”
It was said matter-of-factly, without a trace of emotion, even a little grudgingly, but underneath this exterior he saw the second truth of it as well as the first, which was exactly as stated. The second was that in entering into this odd relationship with Krikorio, Emerna had also walked into a trap built of Krikorio’s disordered fantasies, and traded off what femininity she had for physical prowess and survival skills. He, Krikorio, saw her as a neutral partner, and in accepting that, she had blocked off anything else. Seeing this, Phaedrus could feel some real compassion for Emerna, who had become enmeshed in a trap as vile as his own, and with that realization, he felt an emotion for her he could not have approached from any other direction. He said, “We can do that, I think.” And he saw the light begin to flicker, ever so slightly in her eyes, which he now noticed were a light greenish-blue, an indeterminate agate color. He added, “We have time… let it happen.”
She nodded and got to her feet abruptly. “I will go have the girls scrub me down. Lia will bring you a basin.” She smiled now, an odd little half-smile he had not seen on her face before, and her face softened a little from the hard set she habitually wore. She added, “I don’t know what you were about before we found you; as for me, I have not known much of this save in the hungers for it. We will be inept, I think.”
Phaedrus said, kindly, “It has been a long time; I also plead a lack of expertise with which I will take no offense.”
She nodded. “Then we must manage as we may; but at the least we will warm each other.” And she turned and walked into the other section of the shelter, where she began issuing orders to the girls, in a softer voice than he could remember hearing her use. And presently there were sounds of water splashing, and Lia shyly, eyes downcast, brought him a basin of hot water, and left quickly. He wanted to say something to the girl, but the words did not come. Perhaps there weren’t any.
It was much later, deep in the night, that he dreamed of singing again, and shuddering with the thought of what he had passed through the last time he heard singing, he awakened and listened carefully. Beside him, he heard Emerna’s breathing change rhythm, and she grew very quiet. Glancing at her, he saw by the light from the other part of the shelter that her eyes were open. There was revelry and singing and uproarious noise, chatter, giggling. On the wall between the sections was a shapeless thing that had not been there before, something pale and furlike. They heard Krikorio’s heavy laughter, drunken-sounding, and she whispered, “Not a sound, on your life.”
Phaedrus turned to her and put his arm across her ribs, curling closely to the heavy, hot body next to him. She breathed deeply, and pulled the cover over them, shutting the light out, and after a few moments they no longer heard any noises.
When Phaedrus awoke, he thought something was wrong, because there was a routine in the shelter to morning, even if no daylight filtered into the deep place in which it was built. The shelter was dark and lifeless. Emerna was not beside him. He started up, and looked carefully about, listening. There was a faint odor of a fire that had gone out, and only one oil lamp was still burning. The pelt on the wall was gone.
He got up and found his clothes, and rummaged about, through all sections of the shelter: there was no one there. Krikorio, the girls, Emerna… all gone. He heard steps outside the door he had never gone through, and a familiar fumbling with the catch, and Emerna opened the door, wearing her heavy winter overclothing, which made her look even larger and heavier than she actually was.
He said, “Where is everybody?”
She shook her head, as if dazed. “Gone. Left before dawn, all of them. Krikorio dressed them all up in the outside clothes they had never worn, and drove them out. They didn’t understand. I saw him, and he saw me watching, but I dared not speak. He was… completely gone. I wouldn’t dare even ask. Such was the cast of his eye. Wearing his White-Bosel cloak, he was, like some savage. I went out just now to see if I could still see them…”
Her face was blank, devoid of any expression. Phaedrus looked slowly along the heavy structure of her face, trying to read something in it. “What was it?”
Her eyes cleared, as if she had just become aware of him. “Oh? No, there isn’t anything we can do. They are gone, that’s all.”
“Then we are free.”
She nodded, absentmindedly. “Yes, free. To stay or go as we would. I suppose you will want to leave, too.”
Phaedrus put his hands on her shoulders, which were as wide as a man’s. “You can’t stay here alone.”
“I never thought about it. It’s been this way so long… What?”
“It is time to leave this refuge and trust to our own selves. This may have worked, but it’s insane to stay. You don’t have to
. The old world is breaking up. We can’t be far from Zolotane, and from there we can get to Clisp…” He broke off and waited, sensing that this was a balanced moment. Whatever adjustment to misfortune they had made here, she was at the end of it, and was now calculating chances. If she decided to stay, and tried to hold him there, he knew he could not prevent it, at least for a while.
Finally, she looked down at the floor, breathed deeply once and said, in a soft, barely audible voice, “Yes, it’s time to go, now. We’ll need to get some things together. It’s cold now, and we’ve a long walk.”
“Why not just straight west? It shouldn’t be so far…”
“Closed off. Too close to the city. We’d go north, along the Hills of the Left Leg, to about the Knee, and then turn west. Two can sneak where they could not force a way.”
Phaedrus said, frankly, “And you do not know what I can do.”
“True… at least I do not know about how you handle conflict and strife. I do know something now I didn’t know yesterday, and that part… seems to work well enough.” Phaedrus smiled, and squeezed her arm. “We seemed to manage in that. We will do as well in this.”
He said, “Never mind why, but last night… was more a trial for me than you realize. I think I can do well enough outside.”
She smiled at him, saying, “So you say! You are a city-man. I sense it. And there you may well do as you say. But we are going into the wild, now, and it’s different Besides, you didn’t fare so well, there either.”
Phaedrus agreed, adding, “Cruel but true. But I remember the circumstances and the odds against me, too.”
“They do not seem so good, even now, for either of us.”
He said, “They are better now than they ever have been. That much I know. I will take my chances with the outside and you.”
Emerna gave him a quick hug, and then shifted to her old, commanding self again. “Here now! We’ll need these things; bring them here and we’ll sort them out as to who carries what.” And she began naming things and telling him where they would be found within the shelter, and Phaedrus gathered them up, willingly, feeling a growing excitement within him at the prospect of leaving. Even though he sensed some of her disquiet about it. Not for nothing had they hid here, in the dead city, hardly venturing out, save for quick raids and adventures. Yet he felt closer to freedom than he could ever remember feeling; the pressure and the tangled webs of obligation and treachery were gone, and he was dealing with a now-world, free of the past.
— 12 —
The Knee Hills
Emerna made up packs for them, and they loaded each other’s, turning away alternately; Phaedrus felt his own load grow heavier, and he piled the things she indicated on until she muttered, “Enough.” Even with the weight of it, there wasn’t much—most of it was bedding and shelter cloths against the night wind, weapons and ammunition. She thought it might take them four days to reach the Knee and turn west across that tumbled and trackless wilderness, a day or so there, and one more day to the coast of Zolotane, where they could expect no more than small fishing villages along the coast; Zolotane was a bare and empty land.
She wasted little time, and as soon as they were loaded, opened the door to the passageway and started into the darkness, with Phaedrus following. There was a narrow, lightless tunnel, full of odd turns and slants, up and down as well, barely wide enough for Emerna’s broad figure to fit through with her load, but the floor was free of rubble. Like the shelter itself, the tunnel seemed to be made of odd pieces and slabs of concrete, fitted together crudely.
To Phaedrus’s heightened perceptions, the way seemed to be long, extremely so for a hiding-place, and he said as much. She said back, over her shoulder, “There are many blind turns and odd corners here, as well as deadfalls, which I have disarmed as I came in before. This place is safe! They never came near it, although they tried hard enough.” Then she resumed walking on, not varying the pace.
After a time, a weak light showed around a corner, and Emerna here slowed her pace, and motioned to Phaedrus for him to be silent. Together, they crept forward, making no sound, in a silence so profound he could hear his clothing rasping, and his heartbeat. There was no sound from the outside at all, that he could hear. Emerna stopped and knelt, listening carefully for a moment, and then slowly moving into the lighter part of the tunnel, which seemed to end in a random pile of concrete rubble, open to the sky. She whispered, “Can you hear anything?”
He listened. Then he said, “Aircraft, maneuvering, but not getting closer. They sound far off. Also something else, but I can’t make it out; maybe gunfire, or just noise.”
“Your hearing is very acute. I wasn’t sure.”
“Do you hear anything near?”
“No. I’ll have a look. Wait here.” She looked again, and then went out into the pit, and climbed upward, all the time looking about nervously. Finally he heard her whisper, “Come on.” And he followed, clambering over the rough and tilted blocks with difficulty, also watching, but not seeing anything but an irregular circle of sky which grew larger, opening up.
The sky was high and cold and far away, deep blue and streaked with cirrus in broad smears and filaments, the sun low on the horizon and colorfully diffused by the clouds. For a moment, he couldn’t decide if it was morning or afternoon, but as the distant horizon came into view, he saw that below the sun was the wavy outline of distant hills and low mountains, and on the opposite side of the sky there was only a dark line, very far away: that would be the east, across the lower parts of Crule the Swale. All around them were tumbles of shapeless landforms, broken blocks, tilted slabs, enigmatic shapes that could not be recognized. They seemed to be on an irregular hill, whose slopes gradually descended to a plain, flattish to the east, south and north, but not far to the west, broken by more rolling terrain of ridgelines and shallow valleys.
Emerna said, “Safe for now. And so now you see the Dead City, or what’s left of it. You were right about the aircraft, too—look toward Marula, south.”
Far off in the south he could see specks moving in the sky, which behind them, colored by clouds, was a pale orange. They were moving in a low, slow oval, and they seemed to be moving very slowly. She said, “They won’t be back today; that’s something real they are working over there, although they may very well fly back this way. We had better be moving.”
She stood up in the open and reached back to offer Phaedrus a hand up. When he stood beside her, he looked long over the desolate landscape. “What was here? What kind of city?”
Emerna started off toward the north, and said back, in the wind which he now felt to have a sullen bite to it, “Was a spaceport, so I’m told. After a while, the ships stopped coming, and people moved away, save a few renegades. They broke it up for practice, and for the thrill of the hunt, so I would guess.”
He stopped, to have a last look at the dreary landscape, all around the circle of the horizon. Something caught his eye, south, still well within the ruins; something white fluttering in the wind. He stepped a little closer, as if to see if he could make it out. There was something familiar about that white fluttering, but he couldn’t quite recognize it. Something tugged at a fugitive memory. Emerna stopped and looked back, and said softly, “You don’t want to see that.”
Phaedrus shook his head, and glanced back at her, and then turned back to the south, walking slowly. Behind him, Emerna stopped and waited, but said no more. He walked slowly toward the white fluttering, and saw that it was not all that far, just a little ways down the gentle slope but getting there required several detours around obstructions, some pits, others blocks tilted at crazy angles. But he was able to keep the goal in sight most of the time, and finally reached it, looked at the ground for a long time, and then abruptly turned away with a sharp motion, biting his fist. He looked back once, and farther off, to where the aircraft were now circling higher, now, not maneuvering, and returned to where Emerna was waiting for him.
He stood by her and di
d not say anything, but the wind was cold as it blew in his face. Finally she said, “Told you not to go.”
Phaedrus said, in a low, clear voice, pronouncing each word as if each one were the only word in the universe, “Lia. Somebody cut her throat. That isn’t Trooper work.”
Emerna nodded. “If you want revenge, look back toward Marula; that was them, there. He’s getting his now, or has already had it.”
“And the girls, too.”
“Maybe not. When I was out, I saw signs that he’d taken some of the others around here with him… perhaps the girls would have run off.”
Phaedrus took a deep breath, and felt a nameless horror flow through him, but he said only, “What a waste.”
He said nothing else, but obediently followed Emerna when she set off, after a long pause, toward the north, where the sky was a nameless dark color, and the wind blew in their face and was cold, and they did not speak for a long time, and there were cold streaks of wetness along the outside corners of his eyes, and Emerna wisely did not speak to him of it, nor make any gestures to him, but walked along steadily, picking the trail out through the broken ground until they were well out on the plain. But he fixed an image deep in his mind of the face he had seen, eyes open to the cold sky, blank and empty, a broken doll abandoned and forgotten. They had been clear, pale eyes, and her mouth soft and gentle. He walked on, and thought only of steps forward, and wind in the face.
The luminous unlight of the northern sky guided them as the day faded into bluer tones, and then violet, with a clear patch of sky that showed a glowing turquoise color, which was an open part of true sky unblemished by the swirls of clouds flowing across the high heavens. They walked on in a silence that was not broken, Emerna leading, Phaedrus following, placing one foot in front of the other, concentrating on the discipline of that.
