by S. J. Ryan
“ . . . Ivan?”
No answer.
“Ivan?”
Oh no . . . No No NO!
He shouted out loud: “IVAN!”
Matt heard only ringing in his ears. He tried to stand, but Savora pushed him down.
Vomit welled in his throat, and there was no Ivan to stop it.
7.
Geth had known that it was a mistake to agree to bring Archimedes on the trip to retrieve the aircraft. The old man had delayed them a day because he wasn't feeling well. And once they were underway, while Bok held the reins that steered Gonda, the donkey of Ral's borrowed wagon, Archimedes sat hunched in back, muttering constantly:
“Mind the ruts, Bok! Curse these roads! They're little better than animal trails! In seven legion campaigns nowhere have I seen roads as undeserving of being called roads!”
The roads of Britan's central plains were certainly far inferior to the Oksiden and Pola and the Roman-built brickworks emanating from Londa, but they weren't the real cause of the elderly scientist's agitation. It was the souring weather, threatening to give a prelude of winter. Each time Geth gazed at thickening clouds, he looked at the blanket draped over the old man's shoulders and knew it would offer little protection from being soaked with a fatal chill.
The ordeal would not end soon, either. Though Geth was on horseback, their progress was slow because, well, Gonda was no horse. At least the donkey wasn't stubborn. A carrot was sufficient to urge her to conquer every rise and puddle.
Carrot, Geth thought. Why did Ral and fate have to give her such a common word for a nickname? The word brought pain because it made him think of how she was in danger, and how it was his fault that she was not a simple girl enjoying ordinary life in a peaceful village. As he eyes wandered over the harvested fields, his mind wandered over the years he had been less a father than a trainer.
It had started innocently enough. As a child, she had watched him practice combat staff with Croin and had asked to 'play.' Thinking that he would go easy with her, Geth was shocked both at her ferocity and mastery. He had known of Prisca's seemingly magical endurance, and it was evident that her daughter had inherited traits. After Prisca died, Geth had encouraged Carrot to contend in the inter-village festival tournaments, hoping it would take her mind from the tragedy. In matches, she had more than held her own against male opponents much older and larger.
Geth, did you see the mistake the boy made in the second round? He lunged too far, I stepped aside and could have broken his wrist, but I knew he would be out for plow season, so I only tripped him.
Yes, Arcadia, I saw. Your sporting behavior does you much credit. Your father should be proud.
And being that he was her real father, Geth was proud. But when he said 'father' they both knew he meant Letos, and Letos never came to her matches. During festivals, Letos would either be drinking with his circle of thugs (aka 'knights') or womanizing with a farmer's wife he'd chanced to see in the crowds.
While Letos ignored Carrot's achievements, his brother Ral spoke of a prophecy of Carrot as a warrior queen who would drive the Romans from Britan. As Carrot improved her combat skills beyond human ability, Geth came to believe the warrior part. As he witnessed her sensitivity affirm the dignity of her opponents even as she handily defeated them, Geth came to sense the character of a queen as well. Certainly, with the Romans ever expanding their consolidation of Britan, the nation needed a champion.
But Ral, how does one go from village princess to queen of a whole land?
The Star Child's coming has been prophesied for a century, Geth. It is all connected by fate.
Such a misdirecting word! The coming of the Star Child, Geth had since learned, was a matter of navigational arithmetic. The Pandora of Rome knew the calculation, and had organized accordingly. At the appropriate time, she had infiltrated Roman politics and driven the Empire to invade Britan in search of her sister Box. And by that invasion she had wrecked Umbrick, inadvertently making Carrot a guerrilla warrior and thus an associate of the Star Child.
It all seemed the product of calculation – save the improbability that Carrot and Matt were the same age. Perhaps that was due to simple luck. So far it had seemed good luck, but that could change.
For Geth, faith in prophecy had come the day the Romans burned the huts of North Umbrick and Letos had retreated in a cloud of flesh-scented smoke while a girl whose hair had mysteriously turned the color of fire stood firm in the village square with staff against swords. Geth had yanked her and his stepson into the woods, and when he met their eyes he saw no fear.
Geth, I am said to be a princess! I must fight for my people!
Arcadia, there are too many foes here and now! Live to fight another day. Both of you! Agreed?
Aye, Carrot and Croin said in unison. They both had grown up too soon that day, and both had spoken with conviction, but Carrot's voice . . . there had been an edge. And Geth would never forget her far-off gaze, as if even back in those days she had been scrying visions of legions laid waste.
Ral had openly voiced the prophecy to her. What a thing to fill a girl's head with, Geth had thought at the time. Yet all too often, he had indulged in the same dream. And now she was off in the wilderness of the northwest, and her father had failed her in the misbegotten notion that as long as she hewed to her vision, divine intervention would protect her. But on her current journey into the wilderness of the Britanian northwest, her wizard was too far away to help.
And that previous evening, Geth had spared a glance to the rising moon, and suddenly was overcome with a sense that something very bad had happened to her, a thing that might be worse than death.
Geth was drawn from his reverie by the motion of Bok's arm. The boy was pointing to a ridge ahead.
“I remember that line of trees as last thing I saw before I crashed,” Bok said. “Almost there, sir.”
Whenever Bok said 'sir,' he meant Archimedes. The old men stirred, slowly twisting so that he could peer forward. He nodded and muttered, “About time.”
Animation came to the old man's eyes as he surveyed the fields and located the jutting aircraft tail amid the edge brush. As soon as Gonda came to a complete stop, he hopped from the cart and hobbled over to the aircraft, barely in need of his walking staff. He ran his hands across the damaged canvas and yanked at the broken wheelbase.
“Not as bad as you said, Bok. I'm not condoning your actions, but don't let guilt color your objectivity. Geth, hand me the satchel in the wagon, won't you?”
Geth dismounted and brought the satchel. As the old man and boy conferred, Geth felt well out of his element and backed quietly away.
Archimedes scowled. “Geth! Where do you think you're going? I've put the hands of Roman officers to digging latrines, so don't think that rank exempts you from honest labor!”
“We're going to fix it here?” Bok asked.
“We've the tools,” Archimedes replied. “And I fear that any activity near Ravencall will attract unwanted attention.”
They worked hours, cutting new panels of 'canvas' (actually the foil known as 'Sarkassian Silk') to replace the torn old ones, replacing struts and control surface cables. When the repairs were complete, Archimedes had Geth and Bok disassemble the craft and load it onto the wagon. With no room on the flatbed, Archimedes took place up front with Bok. But Geth had to help him onto the bench, and once seated Archimedes began to deflate into the same hunched posture as before.
Bok steered Gonda onto the rough ditch that Central Britan called a road, and headed in the direction of Fish Lake and Ravencall. The boy tried to make conversation, “Did you see how close I got to Skawful, sir? Almost halfway!”
“That's about the best we'll ever do,” Archimedes muttered. “The ascendals over the plain were too infrequent, too weak, too . . . . “ His voice trailed off. He sounded too tired to care.
“I have been thinking,” Geth said, breaking his silence. “Perhaps we – “
“Mind the ruts,” Archim
edes mumbled.
Geth fell silent again, but Bok prompted, “Did you have an idea, Geth?”
“As a captain in the Leaf, I can enlist men to transport the aircraft by ground to the slope of the volcano. Then, when the Roman airship is sighted – “
Archimedes overrode: “The fewer people who know about this weapon, the better. Its value relies on surprise. And I don't trust Krobart or the rest of his merry Leafmen.”
“Agreed,” said Geth. “But a courier from the Inner Circle rode into base yesterday, with news that General Morant and his staff will arrive to take command. Morant is a good man.”
“You've met him?”
“The Leaf is – or at least was – organized into small cells that are all but isolated. So, no, I haven't met him. But the word around base is that he is a good man.”
“Valarion would often employ agents to go into markets and taverns to let casually mention in friendly conversation how wonderful an emperor he would be. 'Extollers,' they were called.”
“Britanian politics is not so false.”
“When you reach my age, young man, you'll come to realize that every system of politics has its layers of facades, like the scenery of a play in a theater – for that is all that politics is. Anyhow, the matter is unlikely to matter much longer. Before Krobart came, I assigned workers to a project that should be done by now. It will elevate the aircraft without the need of volcanoes or the dubious support of the Leaf.”
“What is your project, sir?” Bok asked excitedly.
“It's better shown than explained, and I'll show when we are home. Assuming our blessed new base commander will lift Krobart's ban against us from entering our own workshops.”
Archimedes met Geth's gaze almost accusingly, and tugged the blanket tighter over his shoulders.
Judging from the troubled expression on Bok's face, the boy was thinking the same thing: Archimedes was upset at the world because of the physical pain of living that comes in the last days of a man's breath.
Bok was motioning again. “The haze is thick in the south.”
Geth raised his eyes to the horizon. On their left were mountains, and south of the mountains was the Dark Forest. Above the mountains, the sky was smudged gray, a defacement that stretched from the southeast to due south.
They came to a fork in the road. On the road from the southeast, an ox-drawn wagon trundled toward them. A man and a woman rode in front, children and baggage in the back. Their clothing was dirty and rumpled and their faces told of weariness and shock.
“Greetings,” Geth said. “It seems you have been through trouble.”
“The Romans are marching west,” the man replied. “They burn every village in their path, kill anyone they find. They set the eastern approach of the Dark Forest ablaze to block escape, so we had to detour this route.”
Not far south on the same road, another wagon crested a hill. In the distance the road was a line of like, moving specks. It was a mass exodus: half of Britan escaping to the other half. And then where will they go?
“How many soldiers did you see?” Geth asked.
“I did not count, there was not time. But they covered the fields like locusts. It is said their patrols stretch all the way to the sea in the south, and we had to travel this far to avoid them in the north.”
Geth weighed what his duty required and met the gazes of his companions. They were just a boy and an old man, and he would be abandoning them in strange country. But he had no choice.
“I must hurry to warn Ravencall,” he said to them. To the family, “Follow these two, they'll lead you to safety.”
Geth snapped the reins and galloped ahead. The horse was frothing when he reached the Oksiden Road. He was down to a trot by the time he reached the base. Guards challenged him as he dismounted before the commander's hut.
“I bring a report! Romans are on the way!”
Geth was ushered inside. The man who rose from the desk was not Krobart. He wore a simple shirt, untucked. His jowls were unshaven, his hair uncombed. While his eyes keenly sized his visitor, he flashed a warm smile and extended a gracious bow. Geth did a double take on the insignia. Despite the man's lack of officiousness, he carried the rank of general.
“I'm Morant, newly-assigned Commander of Leaf Forces, Western Britan,” the general said in a calm, easy voice. “And your name, Captain?”
“Geth, sir.”
“What have you to report, Captain?”
Geth recapped the wagon driver's tale. The general sank quietly into his chair and frowned. “Odd, and add to that, Faron's couriers are overdue.”
“Faron, sir?”
“My second in command. Was third, but my second suddenly became ill and died on the way here. Anyhow, your face shows the name 'Faron' is familiar.”
“There was a brigand in the Northland, which is from where I hail originally. I heard of the man but never encountered him.”
“Well, we are all brigands in the eyes of the Romans.” The general looked thoughtful. “Geth is a name that I have heard. Do know Ral of Londa?”
“Yes sir. We both hail from the same region of Umbrick.”
“Then your daughter might be . . . .”
“Arcadia, known as Carrot.”
Morant broke into a wide smile. “Ah! I'm looking forward to meeting her. Ambushing the Romans is not an easy thing, and I'd like her advice. By the way, where is your daughter?”
“She is on a mission.”
“A girl, on a mission?” Morant frowned and shook his head. “Well the times are changing, as necessity requires.”
Geth felt his face flush. He was tradition-minded enough to feel shame. “She should return soon.”
Morant summoned a subordinate and commanded: “Put the base on alert, and prepare double reinforcements for the entrenchment crews to have the exit from the Dark Forest blocked by evening. Also send for Faron. Tell him if he doesn't return immediately I will relieve him of command.” When the subordinate departed, Morant glanced at Geth. “Something else, Captain?”
“The scientist known as Archimedes, sir. I know he is seen as Roman, but there is no man more anti-Roman – “
“It is said that he was instrumental in the hijacking of our airship.”
“The airship is coming back sir, with aid to our cause. And in the meantime, I will vouch for the integrity of Archimedes.”
“Colonel Krobart warned me of Archimedes, and as Krobart is a corrupt idiot, I find it useful to consider the exact opposite of whatever he says. What do you wish done for Archimedes?”
“Restore his access to the workshops. And provide workers to assist his project.”
Morant turned east and remarked softly, “I have personally seen the Roman ship of the air while it has been moored above Londa Bay. It is not something that I would have believed merely by being told. Is his project relevant to stopping that monstrosity?”
“He has hopes, sir.”
“The way you phrase that, you have doubts.”
“I have doubts because his idea is fantastical, but I have seen him do fantastical things in the past. I do believe it is possible that his present plan may work. Still, if there were another alternative . . . but I don't know of any.”
“Neither do I. Well, I will authorize whatever he needs. And tell him to hurry up. That ship I saw is said to outrace the wind. We could find it looming over our heads at any moment.”
They traded salutes and Geth was dismissed with the feeling that the fate of the Western Leaf was secure. He wanted to ride back to join Bok and Archimedes, but the horse was still exhausted. Sensing action soon enough, Geth grabbed a quick meal and a nap of his own.
It was late-afternoon when he was awakened in his hut by the prodding of the blunt end of a spear. He opened his eyes to a pair of well-armed Leafmen he had never seen before. Easterners, he thought. They must have come with Morant. Perhaps Morant wanted to see him for more consultation.
“You are Captain Geth?” the spear-prod
der asked.
“Yes? What is this?”
“You will come with us.”
Geth sat up, shaking his head clear. He reached for his hilt, but the spear point stabbed the ground at mid-reach.
“No weapon! You will come now!”
“What is this about?”
“You are under arrest.”
“For what?”
The blunt end of the spear slapped his face. “No more questions!”
The shock of witnessing a soldier strike an officer was greater than the physical pain, and that was considerable as well. Rubbing his cheek, with sword tips at his back, Geth arose and returned to the command hut. The interior of the hut was filled with officers and regular soldiers, only a handful of faces whom he recognized from the regular staff at Ravencall. All eyes were upon him.
The officer behind the desk this time was ranked only as a colonel. The shutters were closed and his features were difficult to discern at first. Geth's eyes adjusted to the lantern light – and he barely refrained from gasping.
“You are Captain Geth?” the colonel asked sharply.
The face was gaunter than Geth remembered, but the cold voice was the same. It could not be – yet here were those same steel gray eyes, glaring into his soul as they had always done, even in those long ago days when Geth had imagined the man as a friend.
“Yes – yes sir,” Geth replied. He almost trembled, for he wondered if what he was seeing was a ghost. If the world had wizards and monsters and talking boxes and flying ships – why not ghosts?
The colonel's tone was precise and businesslike, the same tone that a petty kinglet had often used when dressing down a subordinate: “Were you in this office earlier today in meeting with General Morant?”
“Yes. Yes sir. Where is General Morant?”
“Did you have an argument?”
“An argument? With him? No!”
“You will address me as 'sir.'” The colonel turned to a soldier. “When you were standing guard at the time, what did you hear from inside?”
