"To command the Winds, you must speak their language. To speak their language, you must have a valid signature on your messages. Ever since arriving here I have been looking for a way to either fake the signatures, or acquire the highest-level signing authority.
"Somehow, Jordan Mason has gotten a high-level authority in the eyes of the Winds. —Not the highest, but very high. I suspect ordinary humans can't get to the highest level. I copied his implants exactly, which should make my messages indistinguishable from his. But they're not—somehow the Winds recognize his but not mine. That is what I'm trying to figure out now."
"That is dazzling," said Galas. "But it's not the answer I asked for. What will you do when you have this 'signing authority'?"
He hesitated. "What would you do?"
"Can you remake the world? —Turn night into day, heavy into light, black into white? What can you do?"
"I can't change gravity," he said with faint smile. "But I can change the atmosphere, or strip it away entirely. I can drain the seas, if I want. I can change the surface of this world into practically anything."
"Can you free my people from poverty and grief?"
He shrugged. "That would be among the easiest things I can do."
"Will you?"
Armiger hesitated again. He put down his soup bowl. "Should I?" he asked. "Be careful how you answer."
"I'm tired of political answers to questions like that," she said. "And tired of philosophical ones. All I know is I'm tired and hungry and afraid, and in that I am finally one with the majority of my countrymen. There is not a single person out there," she gestured at the dark countryside, "who would not say, 'save me from the cold, and the dark, and the beasts outside and in'."
"Is that all you want for them?"
She turned to look at him. He sat now with his hands dangling between his knees, his face expressionless. She was suddenly acutely aware that she was the only human being seated at this fire.
"You could do it," she whispered.
He didn't answer.
"But then... the real question is, what do you want to do?"
Armiger didn't answer for a long time. Finally he said, "I guess that depends on who I am."
"This god 3340 you've spoken of—what did he want you to do with Ventus?"
"He saw Ventus as a resource waiting to be tapped. But not an efficient one, as it stands. Most the Winds' energy is being put into maintaining the artificial ecology—a complete waste as far as 3340 was concerned. The first thing it would have had me do was abandon the terraforming system."
"Abandon...? What would that mean, for us I mean?"
"The air would become poisonous with time... rivers would dry up, the oceans become toxically metallic. Some kinds of life, like fungi and bacteria, would run rampant, others would die. Everything would eventually be choked out, if it even lasted that long, because 3340 wanted to use the mecha to make the entire surface of the planet into one giant machine—a god device."
"For what purpose?"
"Ventus was to have been a staging area for an assault on the human Archipelago. If 3340 had conquered even a tenth of the Archipelago, it would have become unstoppable. Eventually it might have consumed the entire galaxy."
"But 3340 is dead," she said.
"Yes."
"So you won't do that my world."
He looked her in the eye, expressionless. "I will not," he said, a bit too vehemently.
"I wish I could believe you."
He looked surprised—the first real emotion he'd shown in days. He squinted at her through woodsmoke. "Why don't you believe me?"
"Because you're very, very angry, and I'm afraid you don't know it."
That made him pause. "I don't know what you mean," he said finally.
"She is dead, Armiger."
He just looked at her.
"You don't know how to grieve, do you?" she asked.
This time he grimaced, but that was all.
"I forget sometimes that you have no experience in it." She smiled sadly. "Neither did I, the first time; no one is prepared. So we usually end up with scars; I suppose mine are no worse than anyone else's. If I am to honour Megan in any way, I guess it should be by heeding her lesson. She was offended that I... fell apart... after we escaped. I thought she couldn't possibly know what I was feeling. Now I realize that she saw that I thought this, and that was what offended her. After all, she lost a husband, but she carried on.
"At the time I thought she was making light of my pain. She must be asking me to shrug it off, like I had done with the pain of my mother's death. It took me many years to learn how bad a mistake that had been. But no, she was asking for more courage than I was willing to show. She was asking me to feel it all, and keep going anyway."
"I am not one of you," Armiger said. He didn't elaborate.
"You're acting exactly like one of us," she countered.
He didn't answer.
"The sooner you start believing it the better off you'll be, Armiger. You're going to have to face the pain, and sooner rather than later would be best."
He squinted at her through woodsmoke. "Why?"
"Because if you are as powerful as you say you are, your anger could destroy my world."
"Only my human side can be angry."
"But pardon me for saying so, my general—it's your human side that makes you do what you do."
He stood up abruptly and stalked a few meters away. Encouraged, she said, "Listen to me. If you respect Megan, you should follow her example too."
"By doing what?" He sounded indifferent, as though intent on some task. Galas almost smiled.
"By letting it all in. All the pain, the sorrow, the anger. You've got to let yourself feel it. Otherwise, it's going to act through you whether you know it or not."
He murmured something; she wasn't sure, but it sounded like, "That's not what I'm afraid of having act through me."
Galas felt infinitely weary. Her own grief was raw and close enough that she had little strength to fight his. She lay down on her bedroll and gazed up at the few stars that were visible through the perpetual dusk sky.
"I'm afraid," she heard herself say. She knew she was not speaking for herself.
"Jordan Mason," said Armiger. "I need you to find me now."
Galas rolled on her side and looked past the circle of firelight. Armiger stood with his hands raised to either side, and now lines of light flickered at the ends of his fingers. These seemed to tear away and coalesce into rolling balls, like tumbleweeds. She saw several bounce across the ground, fading. A faint rustling sound came from the undergrowth around her.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"I am building a larger body—more sense organs, independent hands and eyes. The Winds or their slaves might fall on us at any time. We need guards—a perimeter. I am making that."
Galas lay back, shivering. What had she just been speaking to? A man? No... she was the only human being on this hillside. She might as well be talking to the stones.
She closed her eyes, determined to see and hear no more today.
41
"Sir?"
Hesty's voice came to Lavin from a long way away. The voice represented the distant past, a time of hope he could no longer comprehend. The present was an unending cycle of misery that would end only with death. Nothing mattered except that pain.
He had lain here under a canopy, unable to move, for days now. He knew the official story was that vertigo had laid him low, but the truth was much more simple. Lavin's heart had died, and he no longer wanted to live.
"Sir."
With difficulty he turned his head. Hesty stood over him, his face revolving in a direction opposite to everything else. Lavin retched.
"How are you feeling, sir?"
What a laughable question. Lavin wanted to close his eyes and vanish into his misery again, but to his surprise Hesty sat down cross-legged next to him and whispered, "We need you, sir."
Lavi
n looked at him closely for the first time. Hesty's face was lined with care, and his hair unkempt. It looked like he hadn't slept in days—not surprising in the circumstances.
"What..." Lavin was surprised at his own voice, which was hoarse and feeble. "What is happening?"
Hesty let out a great sigh. "We've been getting word from back home along the semaphore lines. Apparently the Winds are marching everywhere. They've obliterated cities, sir! The skies are full of swans and Heaven hooks, and in some places the cities' gates are closed because morphs are snatching travellers off the roads. Rivers have dried up. It's insane!
"The priests here are in a panic. The Winds... the Winds are not what they thought..." To Lavin's great surprise, Hesty shuddered.
"Sir, they're using us, then they're going to kill us. I'm sure of it. So are some of the others, but not the field commanders. The men have faith in the Winds, but... a lot more of them were secretly sympathetic to Galas than we thought. There's rumors that the Winds are angry with us over her death. Overall, the rank and file believe we're on some just crusade dictated by the Winds. But really we're marching to our deaths, and a lot of them have guessed."
"Yes." Lavin swallowed. "Yes, we are." His mind was wonderfully clear all of a sudden. He could picture the entire situation in his mind—everything save the object of the Winds' wrath, which lay somewhere on or about the Titans' Gates.
His negligence had brought them to this, too, he was sure. Galas had been right in everything she'd said. He should have fought at her side. Instead he had laid the groundwork for a holocaust.
Hesty sat there for a while, dejected. Lavin stared at him, thinking of all the men who had fought under him, some of whom he had ordered to their deaths. They had trusted him—and thousands still placed their faith in him alone.
He might deserve to die—but they did not.
Lavin managed to lever himself up on one elbow. "Bring me some water," he commanded. When Hesty gave it to him, he drank eagerly, suddenly realizing that he might have allowed himself to die of thirst in his grief. Suicide by neglect.
He hated Hesty for reminding him of his duty. Scowling, he said, "The Winds will destroy us when we've served our purpose. We need to know what that purpose is."
"They won't speak to me," said Hesty. "The basts consider you the commander. In your absence they've been giving the orders."
Lavin was stunned. He had assumed that the army would be well commanded in his absence. He'd had no idea that the Winds had taken over directly.
"I... I will talk to them," he heard himself say.
Hesty looked at him, hope visible in his face.
"Knowing when they intend to discard us is only the first part, Hesty. We need to act when that moment comes—or before it comes. We need to escape them."
"But how?" Hesty gestured at the evidence all around them of the omnipotence of the Winds.
"The basts will not be a problem. We can shoot them. The swans are terrifying, but I'm not convinced they can do much on the ground. And the Heaven hooks... well, I have an idea about them."
Hesty grinned. "I knew you would, sir."
Lavin groaned. "Go get the engineers. I need something made, and we have very little time."
With sudden energy Hesty leapt to his feet and snapped a salute. "Yes, sir!" He sped out of the tent.
Lavin lay there for a while, staring at the canvas overhead. His mind was utterly empty. Finally, he groaned and stood up.
As he emerged from under the canopy he could hear a deep roaring, like continual thunder. Men were shouting and pointing, and the basts were racing as one to the great doors on the underside of the moon. Lavin followed their gazes upward.
A brilliant light glowed through the tessellated skin of the vagabond moon. The sun itself made only a diffuse, if bright, glow. This light was sharp enough that he had to look away after a second; and it moved, traversing the sky from south to north.
So far the ranked men on the parade ground had held formation, so Lavin had no difficulty crossing the floor to where the basts and a few stray men had gathered. The great doors were located at about the 15th degree of floor angle. From here only a sliver of sky was visible, and a great deal of dizzying ground far below. Lavin caught a glimpse of rushing pine trees far below, then fixed his gaze on the rolling mountains at the top of the door.
Something like a tiny blue-white sun hove into view, dropping and visibly slowing as it went. Shadows radiated away from it, and he was sure it was the source of the rumbling.
The small sun went behind an angle of mountainside, silhouetting the trees along its spine. After a few seconds the light went out. The rumbling went on for a long time, gradually dying down to stray echoes.
More miracles. Lavin shook his head in disgust, and went to take command of his men.
§
"What was that?" Tamsin blinked at the spot where the little sun had set. Doubtless she had the same spots before her eyes as Jordan.
"Mediation?" He had come to rely on the geophysical Winds as advisors in the past few days. Where once he had wondered or decided that curiosity was futile, now when Jordan had a question—any question at all—he asked. Often, Mediation answered.
"That was a starship from the new Diadem fleet," said Ka. "But it should not be here. The fleet has been sent to engage the Galactics."
"Fleet? Galactics?" This was all news to Jordan. Obviously he had been asking the wrong questions.
He and Tamsin had just entered the valley below the Titans' Gates. They had changed mounts regularly, and come to this place more quickly than Jordan had expected. Their animal entourage was spread out for a kilometer on each side, watching for morphs or other, even more dangerous things that Mediation said the swans were dropping here and there. Jordan had fully expected the vagabond moons converging on this spot to seek him out, and had been surprised when the vanguard of the giant spheres began to settle beyond the ridge behind them. Mediation had reported that they were disgorging an army of humans and horses; Jordan had no doubt that this was Parliament's army, but had they come to guarantee Galas' death or were they serving the Winds now? Mediation did not know.
The Heaven hooks seemed wary of approaching the Titans' Gates directly. Those that had not landed hung high in the atmosphere, some kilometers back. They might be able to spot Jordan's party from there—but there was no sign that they had.
Armiger and the queen were halfway up the ancient steps that zig-zagged up the Titans' Gates. Tiny buildings were visible very high on the flanks of the grey peaks. According to Tamsin this was a monastery, a place Galas had visited many times before. This was where the general and the queen expected to make their stand.
Jordan had different plans. He knew the Gates were honeycombed with passages and chambers used by the Winds. There were many entrances to these passages, but Armiger and Galas had not approached any as yet. Jordan had ordered the entrances nearest them opened; hopefully they would see one and head for it. He had told Mediation to send a guide out of the mountain to fetch them, but the nearest creatures that could speak were deep inside the mountain. It would take a while for one of them to reach the surface.
Jordan had been about to send Ka to act as guide for Armiger and Galas, but this starship was a new and unknown factor. So far it seemed like the general and queen would reach the monastery without trouble, and he could easily use the inner passages of the Gates to catch up to them there.
He decided. He pointed to a hawk that was part of their entourage. It sat patiently on a branch some distance ahead, waiting for them. "Ka, go take a ride on that hawk. I want you to investigate the ship that just landed. Mediation, are there any entrances to the Gates near that spot? Yes? Then let's head that way. We can enter the mountain from there."
Tamsin scowled. "I don't like the idea of going underground again."
"This time will be different," he said. He didn't add that she would probably find it no less frightening than the desal highway. He had visited th
e inside of the mountain, in Vision, and knew that it was not a place where humans had been meant to go.
§
Armiger had been eating stones for some time now. He wasn't random about it. He had definite preferences, and seemed to be trying to balance his diet according to some inner knowledge. They didn't talk about it, and Galas was grateful for that, as she was grateful not to talk about the mirrored seeds that he occasionally tossed behind himself as they walked. He didn't pull those seeds from any pocket or pouch. They appeared in his hand as he walked, and he dropped them.
She had thought they might be alive and fertile, and was proven right when the first transparent, silvery oval appeared out of the woods, and came to hover over Armiger's head. He ignored it, and the six that followed it. They shimmered and occasionally tinkled like tiny bells. If she looked back, she could see bright spots on the path far behind them—things like silver cacti were growing there. Way back, three kilometers ago, she thought she glimpsed something glinting through the branches of one of the tallest trees on the hillside.
When Armiger did talk, it was often not to her, but to Jordan Mason. "Jordan, we are at the foot of the long slope that leads to the Penitent's Stairs," he might say. Or, "Jordan, meet us at the Titan's Gate Monastery. You must go there now. There is no time to lose."
"Why are you talking to him?" she had asked. Armiger had grimaced, and not replied for a while.
"I need him," was all he eventually said.
The trail had become too steep for the horses, and they dismounted. Now travel became a true misery for Galas, because the muscles of her inner thighs screamed loud protest with every step, and climbing was even worse. She knew there were thousands of steps ahead of them. The first hundred meters, from the trail to the foot of the first of the stairways carved in the nearly-vertical stone of the North Tower, nearly did her in.
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