Realms: The First Year of Clarkesworld (Clarkesworld Anthology)

by Nick Mamatas

  He came in looking as if he suspected a trap. The lamp, turned as low as it would go, carved his country-man’s face out of shadow. Cassandra pulled the blankets close to her chin and said, “It doesn’t seem right for them to put you on guard. If I need guarding at all, surely a regular soldier would do?”

  Lt. Caldwell settled into the camp chair by the foot of her cot. “The General has his own ideas about such things.” He took his cap off and shook the rain carefully onto the floor.

  Cassandra was achingly tired, and irritable for feeling responsible for this man’s discomfort. It wasn’t as though she had any more choice in this than she had in anything else. But then, asking him in had been a choice. She bent one arm beneath her head and said, “You didn’t tell them about the Oracle calling your name, did you.”

  He shifted, looking as if he didn’t know where to put his hands, or his eyes. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I couldn’t think what it was at the time. You were out cold when we found you and it just never . . . . ” He shrugged. “You know there’s an Oracle in the world, but you never think it’d ever have a thing to do with you, anymore than you think God will, I don’t know, pick you out to announce the second coming. And I never supposed the Voice would . . . . ”

  “What?” She smiled. “Look like a skinny, tired-out girl?”

  Caldwell looked directly at her for the first time, and smiled. “Since it’s you that says it.” A silence settled between them, filled up by the sound of the rain. He dropped his eyes and said, “I wondered, though. I’ve never heard of anyone it called by name.”

  Cassandra looked at the tent’s sloping roof. “No.”

  “So why bother with my name? How does it know?”

  “How does it know anything?” She put her hands over her eyes. “When I was studying with the old Voice, before she died, she said it was a manifestation of the divine will ordering affairs among men. But I’ve read the histories. There has been more war, more murder, more hatred and anger and tragedy surrounding the Oracle’s prophecies than I can even comprehend. I don’t want to lay that at the feet of God. Sometimes I think . . . . ”

  “Sometimes you think.” His whisper was as faint as hers.

  She looked at him, knowing she’d already said more than she should. “Be thankful it didn’t want any more from you than an open door.”

  After a long silence, he said, “You want me to put out the light?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  The lantern hung from a hook above the head of the cot. The lieutenant half stood to lift the chimney and blow out the flame. When it was dark she reached out for his wrist and pulled him down.

  Late, very late, when their two bodies lay spent and warm, all extraneous concerns fell away and left the heart of the matter exposed. Caldwell said, “The General will take the prophecy as his license to clean house, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Clear the forest. Build the dynasty. Once this front is secure, he’ll do what he’s been wanting to do for years. Clear the court of all his rivals and make the Prince his own man. It’s all there if you have a mind like his.”

  “Of course it is,” Cassandra breathed. “It gives him license to act, as you say, and gives his enemies room to prove him wrong. That’s how the Oracle always speaks. In words like shadows hiding blood.”

  “You make it sound like it has a purpose.”

  “Of course it has!” she hissed scornfully. “When did you ever know power without some purpose of its own?”

  The rain patted the canvas roof, dripped musically in puddles of its own making at the corners of the tent.

  “God preserve us,” Caldwell said.

  “What amazes me is that no one—no one, in all these centuries—has ever questioned what that purpose is, or whether the Oracle, even in its twisting way, actually tells the truth.”

  “The Oracle lies?” Shock raised Caldwell’s voice.

  “Hush!” Cassandra pressed her palm over his mouth. “No more. I’ve said too much.”

  The General invited her to his tent not long after Reveille to join him for breakfast. Lt. Caldwell had left her bed, and her tent, more than an hour before dawn. Though he’d left her with a lover’s kindness, she could tell he was shaken by her talk. She did not hold it against him: she was shaken herself. Things she had never dared voice even in her own thoughts, she had said aloud to him. But it wasn’t as though she was afraid to trust him. Her own greatest enemy could tear her open, mind and soul, any time it chose. What would a merely human betrayal matter? And in any case, what would “betrayal” amount to, but a casting of doubt over the Oracle’s pronouncements. Hardly a matter for dread, at least on her account. Cassandra could not say why this foreboding grew with the light of day. She only knew it did.

  The General presided at his breakfast table brilliant with energy. In her presence he and his officers spoke mostly of generalities, certainly not of policy or strategy, but she remembered what Caldwell had said about the General’s interpretation of the Oracle’s words, and she believed him. A kind of grief came over her, a vision of the nation, already split by the civil war, being divided again, and again, and again. And where else had the war begun but with the last Voice’s prophecy of the old King’s death? And before that . . . what? How far back could one trace the trail of spilled blood?

  “I’m beginning to consider my next trip to the capital,” the General was saying to one of his aides. “I hadn’t wanted to leave the front with the Fell Valley still in question, but—” He broke off when the aide cleared his throat and nodded at Cassandra.

  She set her cup back in its saucer. “I beg your pardon, General. I can only be in your way. Thank you for the meal.”

  “You’ve scarcely eaten,” the General said with a glance at her plate. “In any case, I can assure you, you are in no way an impediment. Quite the opposite, in fact, you add a touch of civilization to our bachelor’s domain.”

  Cassandra forced out, “You’re very kind,” and got to her feet. She was dizzy with hunger, yet her stomach clenched on the thought of more food. Even the food on her plate looked strange, like a painting of itself. She leaned on the wooden frame of her chair.

  “Madame, you don’t look at all well. Should I send for the doctor?”

  She shook her head, then managed, “No, thank you. I only need to rest . . . . a little more . . . .” Bees like bullets were whirring in her ears. Not now, she thought. Please, God, not now.

  There were murmurings of doctor, and then Caldwell’s name. “There you are,” the General said irritably. “See to the lady, will you? If she’s ill . . . ”

  His voice, all their voices, faded into the whir. Sunlight flared at the open door of the tent, like mist-white wings at Caldwell’s back. The cold floor poured numbness up her legs, all through her, into her heart, her skull, her mind.

  The Oracle Spoke.

  As often happened, Cassandra woke to sound before anything else. While the spike of pain pinned her motionless and the cool air tore through her abraded throat, she heard, like the tolling of church bells, a sergeant-major’s bawl.

  Squaaad! Ready h’aaarms!

  H’aaaim!

  Fi-yaaar!

  And then a ragged volley of rifles.

  Dread flooded through her. She raised her head, squinting through the pain. “Caldwell?” There was a man-shaped shadow against the wall. “Caldwell?”

  “No, ma’am. Lieutenant Harney, at your service, ma’am.”

  “Where . . . . ” Oh God. “Where is Lieutenant Caldwell?”

  The young man leaned forward, his round face earnest, his forehead dewed with sweat. “Don’t worry, ma’am. The traitor is dead.”

  She stared at him. “What did I say?”

  Holly Phillips lives by the Columbia River in the mountains of western Canada. She is the author of the award-winning story collection In the Palace of Repose. Her fantasy novel Engine’s Child will be published
by Del Rey in 2008.

  MOON OVER YODOK

  David Charlton

  for Kang Chol-Hwan

  Everyone at Yodok, everyone in the whole country, knew the story of Our Dear Leader’s birth. On the day he emerged from the lake atop Baekdu Mountain, a double rainbow appeared over the cabin of his father, Our Great Leader, Kim Il-Sung. A new star appeared in the sky and a swallow flew overhead to signal the arrival of a mighty new general destined to lead us to victory over the imperialist enemies.

  Oh Hae-Sik, his threadbare rags and the rough cool flesh underneath coated in dust, squatted outside the Oh family hut, gazing at the night’s full moon and thought about his younger sister, Dal-Soon. Inside, his grandmother slept or was unconscious. Hae-Sik could no longer tell the difference. He knew he should go inside to clean the blood, but he needed more cold air first. A muted double rainbow circled the moon. Dal-Soon would have loved that, Hae-Sik thought. Perhaps it’s a sign for her.

  The full moon of the year’s eighth lunar month also marked Chuseok, the Korean harvest holiday. The years since the Oh family were brought to the Yodok work camp had never been happy ones, but the recent death of Dal-Soon had cast an even greater pall on the family . . . what remained of the family.

  “Can you see the rabbit in the moon?” Dal-Soon asked him each night as the new moon grew to its Chuseok fullness. “She’s pounding the rice for our songpyeon.”

  Hae-Sik was old enough to remember the sweet taste of the honey-and-sesame-seed-filled rice cakes, but he doubted his sister really could. Such memories brought a tangy metallic pain to the roots of his teeth. He almost hoped Dal-Soon could only imagine, not remember, that taste.

  During the last year, his grandmother had begun telling them stories like the rabbit in the moon. Hae-Sik remembered her being different before they were brought to Yodok, before his parents had gone. “Focus on what you need,” she once told him in Pyongyang. “Focus on your work. Focus on the party. Keep our country self-sufficient and strong against the imperialists.”

  His grandparents had been forced into servitude by Japanese imperialists long ago. They worked and fought through hardship to gain their freedom and forge lives for themselves in Japan. Thirty years ago, the lure of a Korean People’s Republic brought them back to their homeland.

  Hae-Sik would never know exactly why his family was taken to Yodok. First, his grandfather disappeared. A week later, the trucks and soldiers came to the family apartment. They were forced to hastily pack some clothes, utensils, and rice, and were whisked away in the night.

  The family was able to survive the first winter, but the following years had taken their toll. The rice they were permitted to bring with them did not last long. After it ran out, they survived, like the other prisoners, on cornmeal and anything else that could be scrounged. The all-corn diet had severe effects, though, especially on the men. Skin turned dry, toe- and fingernails fell out, eyes became ringed with deep dark wrinkles, and bodies became weak from constant diarrhea. Hae-Sik’s father succumbed to the “glasses disease” that first spring.

  “If only we’d had some dog meat, we could have cured him,” Hae-Sik’s grandmother declared.

  “If only we’d had any meat,” his mother whispered. “If only we, if only they, if only that, that—”

  Hae-Sik’s grandmother quickly clapped her hand over her daughter-in-law’s mouth. At Yodok, one never knew who might be listening and who might repeat what was heard. Hae-Sik looked in his mother’s eyes, but he couldn’t see her. Until she disappeared more than a year later, Hae-Sik saw only the If-Only woman, never his mother, never his Om-ma.

  Mourning for passed loved ones was kept to a minimum at Yodok. Such deaths simply became too common. Children adapted to the shock. Hae-Sik and Dal-Soon adapted, too.

  Mornings were spent crowded into shabby classrooms. Between the beatings and constant verbal abuse, they studied the feats and words of Kim Il-Sung and Kim-Jong Il. Afternoons were spent at hard labor: planting cornfields, pulling weeds, hauling timber, tending rabbits, and later for Hae-Sik, burial detail.

  Though difficult, certain jobs provided benefits. Tending fields allowed for the collection of frogs, salamanders, and even earthworms to supplement the diet. Grandmother could never get the hang of quickly swallowing the salamanders whole before they could secrete their foul-tasting oil. Pulling weeds allowed for collection of a few herbs and the occasional wild ginseng root. Burial allowed for the collection of precious clothing. Yodok was located on a high alpine plain surrounded by barren peaks, and prisoners were given only one set of clothes per year, if they were lucky.

  Recently, Grandmother’s skin had been getting rougher. She only had three fingernails left. Her eyes were deep-set and getting darker. Hae-Sik and Dal-Soon tried to help her as much as possible. They shared what they could of their meager allotment of cornmeal, especially Dal-Soon.

  “You are my sweet little rabbit, Dal-Soon. Do you see the rabbit in the moon, young one?”

  “Yes, Halmoni. She’s pounding rice for the songpyeon.”

  “That’s right. Do you know how she got there?”

  “No, Halmoni. How?”

  “The Buddha put here there. A friend of the Buddha was starving . . . nearly dead. The rabbit offered her life to save this friend, so the Buddha honored the rabbit this way. Now, we can always see her at night and remember.”

  “Who’s the Buddha, Halmoni?”

  “Oh, young one! He was someone my grandmother taught me about. It doesn’t matter now. Maybe it’s silly. Don’t think about it. Just remember the rabbit when you look at the moon.”

  “I will, Halmoni.”

  “Good girl. Good Dal-Soon.”

  Long before this conversation, Dal-Soon had been known as “Rabbit” among the children of Yodok. This was partly because of her oversized front teeth, partly because of her swiftness of foot, but mostly because of her love of the rabbits kept by the school.

  Every rural school in the country was given the responsibility and honor of raising rabbits. From these rabbits, fur coats were made to keep the soldiers warm during the bitingly cold winter months. Each class had its own warren of rabbits. At Yodok, students were encouraged to care for their rabbits with more attention than their own families. After all, their families were counterrevolutionary mongrels, but these rabbits were helping Our Dear Leader’s army withstand foreign imperialist forces.

  Students were even encouraged to steal corn from the fields and even cabbage or other vegetables from the guard’s gardens. They also had to clean the cages, keep track of the number and weight of the animals, and stand guard over the cages to ensure rats were not intruding upon the cages to steal food or attack the young.

  Though all students took some part in tending the rabbits, the teachers trusted them most to Dal-Soon’s care. Despite knowing the eventual destiny of the rabbits, she treated them with open love and affection, expressions almost always guarded and hidden at Yodok. With family members, other students, even teachers, such displays could be turned against you. If such a loved one cracked and publicly expressed anger with life in Yodok or, unthinkably, displeasure with the party or even Our Dear Leader himself, guilt by association was far reaching. With the rabbits, Dal-Soon’s love and affection could only be seen as love and affection for leader and country.

  A shooting star blazed through Hae-Sik’s gaze up at the moon, though he hardly noticed. Why couldn’t I see it coming? She must have been giving her corn to the rabbits and to Grandmother. She was getting so thin. If only I’d opened my eyes. I’m sorry, Dal-Soon. I didn’t know what to do.

  As September had progressed, the remnants of the Oh family continued to weaken and grow thinner. Fewer and fewer frogs, salamanders, and worms were in the fields. Hae-Sik couldn’t seem to catch any rats when it was his turn to guard the rabbit cages. Both he and Dal-Soon gave more and more of their cornmeal to their grandmother, whose symptoms continued to worsen.

  At school, Hae-Sik’s concentrat
ion lagged. He forgot the date upon which Kim Il-Sung gave his speech at the Dahongdan conference.

  “How dare you forget the glorious acts of our Great Leader!” screamed the teacher. Hae-Sik was forced to stand in the corner, holding five textbooks above his head, while the teacher beat the back of his calves and thighs with a stick until he passed out. After class, he was assigned to latrine duty.

  He stumbled home late that night, the stench of urine and feces clouding into his nostrils. There were no showers for prisoners at Yodok. Despite the coolness of the evening, Hae-Sik simply waded into and out of the creek on his way home. Steam rising from his clothes and head, he entered the Oh family hut to see Dal-Soon huddled down beside his muttering grandmother, her skin a pale, almost-silver in the moonlight.

  “Hae-Sik? Oh Hae-Sik?” his grandmother asked.

  “She’s not good,” Dal-Soon mumbled, her own eyes half closed.

  Ah sheebal! Hae-Sik thought frantically. I don’t know what to do anymore. “She needs some food. She needs real food. She needs some meat. You, too, Little Rabbit . . . you, too. Look at you. There’s almost nothing left. Look at me. Me, too. There’s nothing left of us.”

  “Quiet. Quiet,” Grandmother said as strongly as she could. “Listen to me.”

  Dal-Soon and Hae-Sik squatted beside her, leaning close.

  “Yes, Halmoni. I’m here. It’s Hae-Sik. I’m here.”

  “Good boy. Good boy. Listen to me, young ones. I’m an old woman, listen to me. I’m going to die soon.”

  “No. Don’t say that Halmoni,” Dal-Soon said.

  “Yes, yes, Little Rabbit. I’m old and tired. It won’t be a bad thing. Understand? I’m tired. I’ve seen a lot . . . too much. We all have, young ones. You two have to watch out for one another. Understand? Understand?”

  “Yes,” Hae-Sik spoke.

  “Rabbit? Understand?”

  “Yes,” Dal-Soon eventually said.

  “Good girl. Listen to your grandmother. Watch out for one another. Listen for one another. Be careful what you say. Be careful what you do. Hide your eyes. You can survive this. Your grandfather and I survived the Japanese. You can survive this.”