The Hanging Mountains

by Sean Williams

  “Just pretend nothing's happened?”

  “As difficult as that sounds, yes.”

  A moment's thought convinced her he was right. What Skender and Chu had in mind she didn't know, but she didn't want to undo anything they might have set in motion. The truth was, she admired their resourcefulness, even if they were running the risk of ending the cautious truce existing with the foresters, should they be caught.

  “Join me, if you want,” he said softly.

  “I don't want to disturb you,” she started to say.

  “If I'd wanted privacy, I would've locked myself in my room.”

  “Wait a sec, then.” Taking a moment to finish the business she had got up for in the first place, she came back to find him exactly as he had been, staring at the table where his hand should have been as if watching invisible fingers flex.

  She put an old black kettle on a bed of coals that glowed brighter as the metal approached, and sat opposite him, not sure where to look. She sensed a need in him to talk that made her uncomfortable even as she couldn't ignore it. “Is it still troubling you?”

  “Yes. But my fingers don't itch any more. That's something to be grateful for.”

  “You don't look grateful to me.”

  His gaze lifted, met hers. “I'm just tired, Shilly. And maybe imagining things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “It just seems…” He shrugged. “Well, ever since we saw the first wraith, in the Divide, and I warded it off with this…” He lifted the stump with a clumsy motion, as though it wasn't part of him. “The yadachi have no idea what they're playing with. Bloodworking is dangerous. It's too close to us, too hard to control. That's what I've always been taught, and tempting though it was to take a disadvantage and turn it into an advantage, I wish now I'd never done it.”

  “That's what this is about? You used your wound against the Swarm?”

  “Blood against blood. I can't say I did it consciously, but I did do it. That it appeared to work is no consolation.”

  “Appeared?”

  “It repelled the wraith, sure enough. But for how long? At what cost?” He looked down at his wound, the lines on his face deeply graven. She studied his features rather than his hand, wondering at how much he seemed to have aged in so short a time. His round cheeks were sagging, the bags under his eyes cavernous.

  She thought of Shom Behenna and his broken vows, the way they had eaten at him, darkened him.

  “What were you, before this mission?”

  “Me?” The question had the desired effect. She had surprised him, distracted him from the matter literally in front of his eyes. “Until a couple of years ago, I was a Selector in Yunda. Nothing special, I'll admit, but not to be dismissed lightly, either. The decisions I made could change lives forever. I like to think I never decided unfairly, or used the small amount of power I had unduly. I was respected by the communities I visited. I was happy.”

  Shilly tried to picture Marmion “happy,” without success. “What went wrong?”

  He sighed. “I became ambitious, began to look beyond the world I knew for something I lacked. I'd like to say that I thought myself capable of more, that I was motivated by something other than greed. But I'm afraid that's all it was. And—yes, why not?—there was a woman involved. I went to the Haunted City full of expectations. None of them warranted, as it turned out. All of them came to nothing.”

  The mental image of Marmion in love struck her as even less likely than happy. “I'm sorry,” she said.

  “Don't be. I couldn't go back to Yunda, having burned too many bridges there, and the Haunted City isn't for me. Perhaps the Alcaide understood. He personally assigned me to this mission. You met him, I think. He's no fool.”

  Shilly nodded. Her memories of Alcaide Braham—a gruff, angry presence, seriously burned by Sal in Fundelry during their first escape attempt—were tied up with those of a time when the entire world had seemed against her. She had learned later that most teenagers felt that way, but she supposed that she had had more reason to think it than many.

  “He was probably trying to help me,” Marmion said, with no small amount of irony.

  “Maybe he has,” she said.

  Silently, Marmion began binding his arm again.

  The kettle whistled softly. She set about making a cup of tea. With her back to him, she asked, “Do you want one?”

  Receiving no reply, she turned to see him with his eyes closed, listening to something she couldn't hear. “The city's on its way,” he said.

  “Was that Highson?”

  He opened his eyes and shook his head. “Rosevear. Skender and Chu were with him. They went to find the city, he says, and almost got themselves killed.”

  Relief and worry combined in her throat. “Have you told them to come back?”

  “No. To keep following the city. I don't want any surprises. It's good to have someone I can trust on the front line.”

  She could see the sense in that. “How long until the city arrives?”

  “Two hours. There's an awful lot to arrange before then, and still no certainty as to whether Oriel will play along.” He finished binding his wound. “Would you wake Warden Banner and Jao while I alert the guards? I think we should let Kail sleep a little longer.”

  Shilly poured her tea down the sink and hurried off to do as he asked.

  Events unfolded rapidly from there. Although dawn was still more than an hour away, it seemed to Shilly that the Guardian's staff had been poised all night, ready to burst into action at the slightest word. Within minutes of Marmion informing the guards that intelligence had been received, an escort arrived to whisk him off to the Guardian. Shilly remained behind to bring everyone else up to date.

  “I still don't see what this meeting can possibly achieve,” said Kelloman, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. “The people here are too entrenched in their ways to ever change. The same holds for the Panic. War is inevitable, once they set their minds to it. We'd be better off staying out of the way.”

  “You do us and the Guardian a great disservice,” Jao said. “We have coexisted for centuries. Only now does the relationship between our people turn sour.”

  “What about you?” Shilly asked the mage, to spare an argument. “What would you be doing if you weren't caught up in this with us?”

  “Observing quietly from the fringes, my dear. That is my function, after all. Stand apart and record. Anything else would be interfering.”

  She held back from stating the obvious: that he carried out his duties safe in the knowledge that he could leave at any time he wanted. All he had to do was break the link between his “real” body and the one he presently inhabited, and he would instantly be thousands of kilometres away.

  Word came before long that they were required to join Marmion at the citadel. “Bring the box,” came the instruction via the guards. “And Kail.”

  Shilly knew exactly which box he meant. She told Banner and Kelloman to carry it, one at each end, while she went to wake up the tracker.

  He stared bleary-eyed up at her. “It's started?” he said.

  She nodded, unable to stop herself trying to find traces of Lodo in his hollow-cheeked, sun-worn face. “You don't have to come if—”

  “No.” He levered himself upright with one hand pressed firmly to his chest. “I'll be ready. There might be clothes for me, somewhere.”

  Shilly indicated a blue robe hanging over the back of a nearby chair. “Only this. They threw what you were wearing away, and we never found your pack.”

  A look of alarm crossed his face. He reached for the robe, and she gave it to him. In its folds lay a small leather pouch on a leather thong. His tension eased once he found it.

  “That's safe, then,” he said, putting it around his neck with a delicacy belied by his enormous hands, as though it held something infinitely precious. “Give me a moment.”

  She left him to dress but stayed within earshot in case he needed help. He didn't. When
he emerged from the common room, looking awkward and uncomfortable in the traditional garb of a Sky Warden and wincing with the effort required to walk, they were ready to go.

  The guards led them in single file up the ramps to the summit. The air was still and cold. Layers of fog hung in fragile sheets across their path; only tatters remained in their wake. A swarm of bats flew overhead, their beating wings and high-pitched cries raucous above the treetops. Shilly looked up, expecting to see the stars and finding only blackness. She would never get used to that—the shock of emptiness and void where there should have been light and wonder. It left the world feeling unbalanced, incomplete.

  Both the Guardian and Marmion were waiting for them under the dead sky. The grassy meeting area was worn and scuffed. Servitors, guards, and ministers crowded the fringes, awaiting instructions. Seneschal Schuet occupied a space between both extremes, watching and listening.

  “My daughter,” said the Guardian, “left to deliver our message two hours ago. We have received a reply from Kingsman Oriel.” She produced a curled-up slip of paper, such as might have come from the tube of a carrier bird. “He agrees to the meeting, but under duress. He will arrange for a barge to collect us at dawn, as per our suggestion. He recognises the concession we are making by trusting him—especially we who never fly. We will talk within bowshot of both cities. At the slightest sign of treachery, Lidia will be killed.”

  She stopped. Her throat moved for a moment, as though trying to swallow something distasteful, then she continued. “We have sent back a reply requesting that Lidia be present on the barge, so we can see with our own eyes that she has not been mistreated. If he accedes to that, all will go ahead as planned.”

  “And then?” asked Shilly. She gripped her stick tighter as all eyes turned to her. “You'll talk. What if he won't listen?”

  “He has no reason to mistrust us,” the Guardian said.

  “That won't stop him. People can be stupid sometimes and that goes for the Panic too. What if nothing you say makes a difference? What if he insists on blaming you for the Swarm attacks?”

  “Then he is a fool, and we will treat him as a fool deserves.” The Guardian's expression was grim and determined. “We have no alternative. This is the course of action we will follow. We take it in the hope that those who would call us enemy will accept it for what it is: an expression of trust and respect, unmotivated by anger or fear. We will meet as equals, and talk as fellow victims of the crimes against the forest. I hope we will emerge as allies.”

  “Have you convinced your ministers of this?” asked Jao, unmoved. “Have you swayed those who wanted to shoot me out of the sky before asking me what I wanted?”

  “That is a different battle,” the Guardian conceded. “I'll fight it when this one is over.”

  There were no more questions. Servitors came forward to prepare the party for the meeting. Fresh clothes were offered, along with breakfast. Shilly didn't feel hungry, and she wasn't reassured when she tried to pin Marmion down on who exactly of the visitors would participate in the negotiations.

  “I'll be there, of course,” he said, “and Kail, representing the Strand. Mage Kelloman will stand for the Interior, since Skender isn't here.”

  “What about me?” she asked.

  “It depends on space. I have no problem with you being present, but the Guardian makes the final decision. She might wonder what you can bring to the discussion, who you represent, why she should put you in the firing line. You understand, don't you?”

  Shilly could see his point, but she didn't have to like it. “I understand.” It didn't matter that she had met the Angel, or that man'kin seemed to think her and her dreams important. It didn't matter that she and Sal had been caught up in the story of the Homunculus from the start. It didn't matter that Tom seemed to think that she would be critical when the crunch finally arrived. It didn't matter that she hated feeling left out while everyone else got to be important.

  She tried to keep her disgruntlement to herself, knowing it to be just that, as dawn approached.

  A horn sounded, then another.

  “That's the signal from the lookouts.” The Guardian clapped her hands for attention. “The city has been sighted. Places, everyone! Set the brands alight.”

  Shilly watched as servitors ran in all directions raising a dozen massive poles, each no wider than her forearm but many metres tall, around the perimeter of the open area. When they were in place, a bearded man in a yellow-and-brown robe brought them to life. Bright yellow light flared from their uppermost tips, casting pale shadows in all directions.

  More horns sounded.

  “Remind the archers that the first to fire leaves the forest forever!” The Guardian looked for Seneschal Schuet, and waved him to her.

  The humming of a chimerical engine ascended from the background hubbub. As it registered, chatter gradually ceased until it was the only sound to be heard in the citadel. A steady, low-pitched drone, it seemed to be coming from all quarters of the sky at once.

  Then a bulbous, multilobed shape appeared, lit from below by the brands. Four balloons bound together in an elongated clover shape suspended a rectangular gondola high above the open area of the summit. Its twin engines glowed like red eyes through the fog as it circled once, then came in to land. Archers followed its movement, ready to loose a volley of arrows at the slightest false move.

  The Guardian and her entourage backed away to make room. Shilly stayed as close as she was allowed, craning for a view of the gondola's interior. When their heads finally came into view—one human and a crew of three Panic—she felt a pang of disappointment that Highson wasn't among them. Neither were Oriel or Griel. The only people she recognised were Rosevear and Ramal, the latter standing at the front of the gondola, scowling from under heavy brows at the humans watching her descend.

  Rosevear leapt out as soon as the ground came close enough. He ran to Marmion.

  “Griel and Oriel sent me to tell you that everything is organised and ready. Everyone intending to come to the barge needs to board this balloon, and it'll take you there.”

  “Please tell the Guardian.” Marmion indicated the woman waiting stiffly to his right.

  “Yes, of course. I apologise.” The young warden sketched an awkward bow. “It's an honour.”

  The Guardian waved away the formalities. “Have they acceded to my demands? Will Lidia be present?”

  “She will.”

  “Then I see no reason not to proceed.”

  “How many can that balloon carry?” Shilly asked.

  “Fifteen,” Rosevear replied, acknowledging her with a quick nod.

  Shilly performed a quick count: the Guardian, Seneschal Schuet, Marmion, Kail, Kelloman, Rosevear and Highson and at least three guards to balance out the Panic crew, and two empty seats for Lidia Delfine and Heuve, after the meeting.

  She stepped back as the Guardian picked exactly the people she had expected.

  “Don't worry,” whispered a voice in her ear. “There's a widow's walk running the entire length of the upper wall.”

  Shilly turned to see Minister Sousoura standing directly behind her. The woman pointed up at the edge of the open-air roof.

  “A what?”

  “An observation deck. Somewhere to watch from.”

  Shilly blushed, feeling decidedly provincial even though she had had no way of knowing what the term meant. “Will you take us up there?” she asked, wondering why Sousoura was suddenly being so friendly.

  “When the Guardian has gone, I'll show you the way.”

  The boarding party filed onto the gondola, one by one, through a gate that opened in the side. Kelloman was puffed up with self-importance and appeared not to notice the tiny creature that followed him aboard. Kail moved stiffly, obviously in some discomfort, while Marmion walked with quiet dignity, as did the Guardian. Seneschal Schuet stayed close to her at all times, accompanied by the three guards. Two of them lugged the wooden box aboard with them. The third
carried a black cotton sack over one shoulder.

  Ramal boarded last, closing the gate behind her with a firm click. The moment they were all seated, the pitch of the engines increased. With a brisk gust of air, the balloon ascended smoothly into the sky.

  The clouds had begun to lighten. Dawn was growing near.

  “About that observation deck…” Shilly prompted Sousoura, taking some comfort from the possibility that she might be able to see after all.

  “Of course. Do you want to ask your companions?”

  The minister gathered together a contingent of peers and servitors as Shilly asked Jao and Banner whether they would like to watch from the widow's walk. They agreed, looking equally at a loss as to Sousoura's interest. When the minister pronounced the group ready, they hurried to a stairwell tucked neatly into one corner of the building. The stairs turned in a tight spiral up through the sturdy wooden walls before emerging, as promised, at the very top.

  There, the narrow walkway ran the entire circumference of what, in another structure, might have been the roofline, with occasional platforms large enough to hold a group of twenty people or so. The view from the walk was unobstructed by trees. The tall belltower loomed behind them, facing the mountains.

  Shilly, when she climbed stiffly to the top, had to force her way through a crowd pointing in amazement and dread at the floating city half-visible as a vast, light-speckled presence within the clouds. The lack of clear detail made it look much larger than the first time Shilly had seen it. Its edges blended with the clouds, borrowing some of their immensity. Even she thought it an ominous, threatening sight.

  The balloon carrying the Guardian and the others looked tiny in comparison—and so did the barge where the meeting itself would take place. A broad, square, flat-bottomed vessel supported by two cigar-shaped balloons tied in an X, the barge was stationed exactly midway between the two cities. Shilly could make out several figures standing in the barge, waiting for the Guardian to arrive, but she couldn't tell who they were.