The Plains of Kallanash

by Pauline M. Ross

  Gantor shook his head.

  “Mia would know,” Hurst said. “She knew all the different scripts.” He felt a sudden wash of pain as he remembered. Then he reminded himself that Mia was still alive somewhere. He had to believe it, otherwise he suspected he would go insane. Or perhaps he was already insane, and this recklessness was a kind of madness. Perhaps they should go back.

  Behind them, the gate creaked and smoothly closed again, with an audible click as it locked itself.

  They were trapped in the tunnel.

  23: Third Section (Mia)

  Mia awoke in a room filled with blue light. She was lying on her back on hard stone, hands folded on her breast, soft silk under her fingers. She knew instantly that she was in the funeral tower, and she was filled with panic. They were going to burn her, but she was alive. She had to get out, to get to a safe place, somewhere out of reach of the blue fires that dawn would bring. She had to save her child. And then, sudden joy – she would, after all, live to hold her child in her arms. She sat up, awkwardly, for every joint ached and she was chilled to the bone. And the first thing she saw was the man who had killed her.

  “You!” she cried, trying to rise. A wave of nausea swamped her.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “Do not move too quickly.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  He laughed at that. He was sitting, knees bent up to his chest, ankles crossed, against the wall, wearing the same clothes as before. “Someone has to guide you to the Life Beyond Death.”

  “Am I dead? I don’t feel dead.” He laughed again. “Oh, I’m so glad this amuses you. Are you going to explain? How do I get out of here?”

  Slowly she pushed herself to her knees, and then, carefully, for it made her dizzy, to her feet. She staggered across to the wall and stood leaning both hands against it to steady herself.

  “Here,” he said, holding a flask up to her. “Have a drink – just a little, mind. Take it slowly. When you feel a bit better we will start waking the others up.”

  “The others?”

  “They all took the poison, so sweet!”

  She looked around and saw her Companions lying on mats around the room. Morsha was flat on her back, arms folded, just as Mia had been, but Mista and Marna were curled up as if sleeping.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, expecting him to laugh again, but he didn’t.

  “I know,” he said. “It must be difficult to get your head round.” Then he waved a languid arm towards her belly. “How far along are you?”

  “What? Five months or thereabouts.”

  “Any of the others pregnant?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Why, what difference does it make?”

  “You will have a bad time, unfortunately. The poison you took is – incompatible with babies.”

  “What? You mean…?”

  “I fear so.”

  She was hit by a wash of grief, followed by a burst of anger. What was the point of her own survival if her child was lost? What was the point of any of it?

  “I don’t understand,” she said again.

  And again, irritatingly, he laughed. “I shall explain it all to you later, but just now we have to get a move on. I shall give them the antidote. You need to make sure they drink something and not let them get up too quickly.”

  He jumped up in a single fluid movement, and walked swiftly across to Morsha. He pulled a silver ring out of a pocket somewhere, and, kneeling, pressed the ring to her neck. Then he repeated the action with Mista and Marna. By the time he had finished, Morsha was already stirring. One by one the women woke up, and went through the same stages as Mia. She knelt beside each of them, offering sips of water, supporting them when dizziness overcame them, moving backwards and forwards between them, helping them up. When they asked what was happening, she had no answer to give them.

  As soon as they were all on their feet, albeit a little wobbly, he said, “Right, we must go. Careful on the stairs, hold onto the rail if you feel dizzy, but keep moving, all right? No time to linger.”

  They followed him to one end of the room, but Mia hesitated. Hurst would be out there, perhaps, standing on the balcony in the dark, keeping vigil for her. He would be watching for her. Had they passed in front of the windows? She wasn’t sure, but she was very close to one now. She moved closer, but when she looked through it she knew at once that it was the wrong side, for there was no sign of the Karninghold, just emptiness lit by the moon.

  “Come, we have to go,” he was calling now. Was that a touch of panic in his voice? Cristo, that was his name, she remembered. It must be close to dawn, then, close to the time when the gong would sound and the flames would leap up and engulf anyone left behind.

  Instantly she darted across to the opposite window. Yes! There was the solid shape of the Karninghold, flags straining on the towers, and low down a row of dim lamps marked what must be the balcony where Hurst would be standing. She moved directly in front of the nearest blue lamp so that she would be silhouetted, and raising her arm, she waved.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed behind her, and roughly grabbed her arm. “Come away from there! We must go, now!”

  Calmly, she went. The stairs were broad and straight, descending with rectangular precision backwards and forwards across the tower – stairs, half landing, turn, stairs, half landing, turn. The blue light was left behind, but the moon was near full so at first they could see clearly. But as they continued to descend, there were no more windows and the gloom was greater with each step. Before long they were feeling their way down, clinging to the thick ropes looping along the wall and placing each foot with nervous care. Eventually they stopped.

  Cristo pushed his way past them, and Mia heard clunks and metallic rattling sounds.

  “Through here,” he said, and they all trooped obediently through a gate and down a short tunnel with the friendly yellow light of torches at the far end.

  “Wait here, I have something else to do first, then I will be back.” He turned back towards the funeral tower and the gate clanged shut, leaving them standing there.

  It seemed an age that they waited, Mista and Marna crying softly, Morsha grim-faced. Mia looked about her, but there was nothing much to see. They were standing in a broad tunnel lined with stone, round above, and flat underfoot. There were no other doors, and nothing else visible apart from the torch on the wall.

  “Where is he taking us?” Morsha said, her voice echoing. She sounded quite calm, almost interested.

  “I don’t know,” said Mia, “but at least we’re alive, that’s something.”

  “Do you think this happens to everyone? Or is it just us? And why?”

  But Mia had no answers.

  They waited for a long time, and Mia began to wonder if Cristo had abandoned them. But then there came a sound, very distant, like the boom of an avalanche heard from far away, reverberating through the stone walls of the tower.

  “The gong!” said Morsha, at once. Almost immediately there was a louder noise, much closer, like a rushing wind. “The fire,” she added, smiling. “We’re dead and burned now.”

  Soon after that the door opened and Cristo emerged. He closed the door firmly behind him, and lifted the torch from its sconce.

  “Good, good,” he said, beaming at them, “you have done very well so far. Keep this up and I will not have to shackle you. Come on, this way.”

  “Where are you taking us?” Morsha said, but he just laughed.

  He led them on down the tunnel, but they hadn’t gone far when they came to a door set in the wall. Cristo opened it, and led them inside. Arrayed on benches were rough tunics, trousers and boots, similar to Cristo’s own.

  “Charming as your death robes are, they are not very practical for our journey. I have done the best I can, but I have never had to do women before, so forgive me if I have got things wrong. And for you –” He turned to Mia, and his voice softened. “You will need these.” He opened a wooden cupboard, and showe
d her a shelf of women’s cloths.

  Mia felt the prickle of tears, but she nodded.

  “I shall wait outside while you change,” Cristo said. “Be quick about it, we have a way to go.”

  He left, pulling the door to behind him.

  “The baby?” Morsha said, and Mia nodded miserably.

  “It’s whatever he gave me to make me seem dead. It – it kills the baby.”

  Marna came and put her arms round Mia, and held her tight for a long time. When she finally let go, Mia realised they were all crying. They knew, better than anyone, how much she had longed for this baby, her joy when she found she was pregnant at last, her happy anticipation. That was gone. Everything was gone, she realised, everything she knew and loved, her whole life, and she had no idea what was to replace it.

  She took a deep breath. “Let’s get into some sensible clothes, shall we?”

  They walked for hours, following Cristo and the flickering torch. There were metal gates from time to time, but Cristo opened them and they passed through. Apart from that it was just the endless unchanging tunnels.

  Long before they stopped for their first meal Mia began to get pains. Worse than that, she started to feel disoriented, as if she was in a dream, or not quite inside her own body. Twice she bumped into the tunnel wall, when she was sure she was nowhere near it, and once she fell over. She was aware that Morsha, Mista and Marna were guiding her, and then supporting her, but she could do nothing about it. She drifted in mind, only half conscious, coming to occasionally to hear whispered voices or faces peering at her. Sometimes she was lying down while they propped her head up to eat or drink. Once she was aware of Morsha changing her cloths, vivid with blood. Then she was lying in some kind of cart rumbling down the tunnel, hearing a voice muttering nonsense and realising that it was her own. Lights flickered and danced, sometimes yellow, sometimes blue, once an eerie green. She was trapped in an unending nightmare of blood and pain and delirium and the eternal tunnels.

  ~~~

  She woke feeling thirsty. She was in bed, with a lumpy pillow under her head, prickly wool blankets covering her. She was warm, she realised. The room was lit by a brazier in one corner, emitting a strange aroma – herby, not unpleasant. There were no windows, and the walls were the same grey stone as the tunnels. Was she still in the tunnels, then? As she turned her head to look around, a strange face appeared.

  “Ah, you’re back with us then.”

  The woman was elderly, wrinkled as a spring apple, and she wore a floor-length gown with a rough sacking apron over it. Oddly, her hair was uncovered and it was short. Mia had never seen a woman with short hair before.

  “Here, have a drink.” She held a clay beaker to Mia’s lips and helped her to drink. It was only water, but wonderfully cool and refreshing.

  “Thank you,” she croaked. Her throat was sore, and her lips dry and cracked, but she felt better than she had since they had entered the tunnel. There was no pain, and her bad spirit was gone.

  “Who are you?” she asked the old woman.

  “I’m Runa,” she said, grinning, so that Mia could see how few teeth she had left.

  “Are you – a healer?” Mia asked, not sure what the proper terminology was. Usually healers were Slaves, but some villages had their own healers. “Or a midwife?” she added.

  Runa cackled. “No call for midwives here, dear. There are bone-setters upstairs, but you didn’t need nothing like that, just time and rest. You want the carsi?”

  “The what?”

  “You want to piss?”

  “Oh, the water room. Yes, please.”

  Runa cackled mightily at this terminology, and when she had helped Mia into the adjoining room she saw why. The ‘water room’ was no more than a seat with a hole in it above a small stream. Runa gave her some fresh cloths, but she saw that the bleeding had almost stopped.

  “How long have I been – ill?” she asked, when she went back into the main room.

  “More than a week, less than two,” Runa said, lifting her hands vaguely. “I’ve been looking after you for a couple of days now. You’ll be weak for a while, so Bulraney’s not going to do anything with you for a bit. Now you get back into bed, dear. Supper’ll be here in a little while, I’ll wake you up for that.”

  Mia’s couldn’t make sense of any of this. No midwives? Bulraney? Not going to do anything with her for a bit – what did that mean? What did any of it mean? Where was she? Where were Morsha, Mista and Marna? It was too difficult to think about. Her head felt like thistledown and her legs were wobbly, so she crawled back into bed and slept.

  For two days she slept a lot and ate solid, meaty stews three times a day, with some kind of inedible bread, and drank cool clear water. Once Runa brought her a bowl of raspberries, small and tart, but fresh. Sometimes there was a kind of gruel, grey and glutinous. She ate everything.

  Runa was not very communicative. When Mia asked questions, she usually just shrugged or laughed or flapped her hands about. She spent most of her time in another room next door, and sometimes Mia could hear her talking to herself, a low rumble too distant to make out any words.

  On the third day, Runa said, “You’re to go upstairs to see Bulraney.”

  “Who’s Bulraney?”

  She cackled. “You’ll see.”

  “What is this place, Runa?”

  Runa eyed her oddly, then said, “Third Section. Let’s go.”

  She led Mia out of the room and into another, larger one, filled with worktables laid out with clothes. Heaps of materials, more clothes, perhaps, were stacked on shelves along one wall. The scattering of needles, pins, scissors and thread gave away the room’s function.

  “So this is where you go to when you’re not with me,” Mia said. “You’re a seamstress.”

  Runa chuckled. “Not me! I’m the old woman here.” Then, seeing Mia’s mystified face, she added, “The old woman does the stitching and such like. And looks after the sick. But you know about that. Through there.”

  A door stood open, and Mia went through it to find herself in the tunnel. Two men were standing there waiting for her, leaning casually against the wall. She could see at once they were soldiers, although they wore no uniform, just a random selection of mail and armoured leather clothing. Unlike Skirmishers, they were bearded. They each carried a long knife in a scabbard, like a sword, and she could see two or three other knives tucked into belts or clothing.

  Without a word one of them gestured to her to follow, and when she did, the other one tucked in behind her. She felt uncomfortable, but she reasoned that if they planned to kill her they had already had plenty of opportunity. They walked some distance down the tunnel, and then into a side room, and then up a set of spiral stairs. When they reached the top, only a short distance away was another set, and after that a third. Eventually Mia lost count.

  Before long there were windows, and a brief view of the empty plains, grey with rain. No roads, no fields, no trees. She must be outside the Karningplain altogether, beyond civilisation. But then who were these people? They didn’t look like the Vahsi she’d seen depicted in books, but they were rough-mannered enough to be barbarians. She shivered. And still they climbed, until Mia’s legs were aching and she felt weak.

  Just when she felt she would have to stop, they came out at the top. It was a big room, six sided, with windows in every wall. Right in the middle of it, directly facing her as she emerged from the stairway, was a man on a throne. For an instant she wondered if perhaps the Petty Kings still ruled somewhere on the plains, as in the old days, but then she realised that this man was not a king. His chair might be overlarge and elaborately carved, but he was just a man, a soldier like the others, wearing slightly better made battle gear but still just as odd an assembly of bits and pieces.

  He was the only one sitting, she realised. Six or seven men stood around the room, and two of them, one either side of the throne, wore swords. But none of them looked as if they would harm her. In fact, the ma
n on the throne, who must be Bulraney, she guessed, was laughing and all of them were smiling and chatting, as if they had been sharing a joke.

  One of her escort pushed her forward with a hand at her back, until she was only a few feet away from Bulraney. He was a big man, big in every sense, tall and well-built, with massive muscled arms, and the heavy clothes perhaps made him look even more imposing. If she’d had to describe him, she would have said he was ugly. He had thick frizzled hair, seemingly uncombed, a bulbous nose and a vivid red scar from hairline to beard across one cheek. It was hard to tell, but she thought one ear was missing. She knew instinctively that he was dangerous.

  He grinned at her. “Well, there’s not much of this one,” he said. “Tiny little thing, isn’t she? We’ll have to be careful, lads, or she’ll get squashed.” They all laughed heartily at this. Mia kept silent, although she boiled inside.

  “I like bigger tits on them, myself,” said one of the others.

  Another one shook his head. “You never did have any taste, Delnor. Small but delicate, she is. Very nice.”

  Bulraney waved a hand vigorously, and they all fell silent, staring at her. She tried to keep her composure, but nothing in her life had prepared her for such an encounter. She remembered something Runa had said, that ‘Bulraney’s not going to do anything with you for a bit’. She was beginning to get an inkling of what Bulraney’s plans for her might be. She had a clutching feeling in her stomach, and her mouth was dry.

  Bulraney leaned forward. “Your name is Cassia,” he said.

  “Mia,” she croaked. Then, more firmly, “My name is Mia.”

  “Your name is Cassia,” he repeated. “Whoever you were once, that’s gone. So you have a new name.”

  “I like my old name,” she said.

  “Your name is Cassia,” he said, and this time his tone brooked no argument. Then, unexpectedly, “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m a little better, thank you.”

  They laughed at her again, although she couldn’t see why.

  “Well, Cassia,” he said, with a chilling smile, “we’re not monsters here, so you’ll not be assigned until you’re fit enough for the work. A week or two, maybe. You should be ready to lie down by then.” They all roared with laughter. “Till then, you can help out in the kitchen. Kellan, show her to her new quarters. Remember my orders, mind. And get her some decent clothes. I can’t stand women in trousers.”