Obsidian

by Alan Baxter

  Whatever the cause, he liked it. As Claude worked, scraping up the psychic fingerprints of the ridesprite from Rowan’s psyche, Rowan leaned back on his hands and sighed. It was like he had been living in a factory, constantly surrounded by noise and commotion, only to suddenly awaken in a quiet country barn, far from any industry. Pure, gentle silence reigned and he had never known anything like it. Whatever else this place might be, it was blessedly peaceful.

  ‘Ah!’

  Claude’s breathy exclamation broke Rowan’s reverie. ‘What is it?’

  Claude’s eyes were closed. ‘I feel him. It. Whatever.’

  ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘The thing’s signature is unique in this world. At least, I think it is. Something else tugs at the edges, but this thing, this is what rode you. Not so hard to track. I can’t tell you where because I don’t know this place, but I know the direction.’

  Claude’s magic drained away from Rowan, left him clean and still. He basked in it. ‘You think you can find it then?’

  Claude shrugged, packed away his paraphernalia into his satchel. ‘I think I can track the person it rides now.’ His jaw overworked, his teeth grinding together as he spoke. ‘Although the snatches and images I got disturb me somewhat.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It doesn’t look like a very nice place, and the person seems scared of something … intangible.’

  Rowan nodded, moved to Monty’s bed and lay down. ‘So what now? Wait for Alex so he can maybe try to find this scared person?’

  ‘No, that’s our job.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We need to track this ridesprite thing. I don’t like taking orders from anyone but this situation is prevalent. So we do our bit.’

  Rowan sat up, nerves jangling. ‘We? I don’t think …’

  Claude sneered, undisguised contempt. ‘You really are a selfish, shallow fucker, aren’t you.’

  ‘No, not at all. Only …’ Rowan racked his brain for a reason. ‘Only someone should stay here to coordinate things, no? And help Monty watch the … the prisoners. If Alex comes back before you, I can make sure he knows what’s going on.’

  Claude shook his head, shouldered his satchel. ‘Worm.’ He left the room.

  Rowan sat on the bed, slightly adrenalised. He heard Claude explain to Monty the direction he intended to go, heard Monty’s gruff acknowledgment. Claude passed by the door again without looking in, pulling the grey Austere robes over his head as he went.

  Rowan sat alone, finally, for the first time in too long. Alone and quiet, his mind still and free of shudders.

  17

  Alex walked a circuitous route back to the centre of Obsidian, guiding himself by the imposing Tower of the Autarch. Clamped tight inside his shields of invisibility he was as relaxed as he had been since arriving, but felt no less trapped. This was a terrible place. Alex valued his freedom. Freedom of thought, of expression, of pursuit, as well as movement. Everything about Obsidian was tightly controlled restriction.

  He surreptitiously watched the way the lowen acted and interacted, tried to understand the society. People walked cowed under burdens of roughly woven rugs or clothing, carried heavy baskets of produce or carved trinkets. Some areas seemed far healthier and wealthier than others and Alex spotted certain enclaves where like-minded people clumped together like gulls on a beach. The intricacies of the social order were much like any other undeveloped nation, only utterly contained.

  He studied the rippling blue haze of the dome again, watched the shades drifting from it. He recognised some of the energy, some replacements of natural phenomena to help plants grow and people survive. Even if he could not fathom how they were made, he saw that they were there. But no sun, no water from rains, no air. How did this place exist at all? It was not just unnatural, but against nature, powered and sustained somehow by incredible magic.

  He knew, from his conversation with Parlan, that the source of it, the heart of all these arcane energies, was the Fey anchor stone. And he bore a piece of that very stone as an integral part of himself. Perhaps that was why he sensed the magics at work so clearly, felt the vibrations of the place so keenly. He let that sense out, probed the scope of the protective dome, tried to gauge the size of Obsidian. That it had grown over hundreds of years, and grew more every day, was beyond doubt. Those original thousand unfortunate souls from Averleekan had been bred, grown alongside the expanding rock and earth into this sprawling, blue-tinged metropolis of aberrant habitation. It stretched miles across, the protective dome ellipsing as it expanded longways. His mind twisted and slipped, baulked as he tried to comprehend the place as a whole.

  As he stared, the magic flexed and warped, the drifting magesign changed its motion. With a start, he recognised elemental forces at work, eldritch knowledge intrinsic to his own practices. The air thickened and sound seemed suddenly muffled. Lowen hurried from their homes, all smiles and chattering excitement as they carried receptacles of all kinds, bowls, cups, vases, cooking pans. A subsonic crack rent the air and rain fell, sudden and heavy, fat drops glistening blue in the dome’s light. Alex tipped his face up and let the rain pour in. He opened his mouth, realising how thirsty he still was, and drank the unnatural water, heedless of where it might have come from and what that might mean.

  The lowen held up their vessels as well as their faces, drank greedily as they collected as much as they could. Alex realised several people had set up elaborate catchment systems on their roofs with buckets and vases beneath. All other activity ceased while water was collected, clearly a precious resource in this broken place. As swiftly as it had started, the unnatural rain stopped. Buildings and streets gleamed, washed briefly clean, shining black again reflecting the shimmering dome. As the last rivulets of the downpour were collected, the people returned to their daily activities, and the excitement of the moment waned.

  Alex made his way through a part of the city clearly centred around some kind of devotional art-making, buildings festooned with strange mosaic icons like parodies of Catholic saints, into the broad open square around the Tower. The large church-like building at the foot of the imposing edifice caught his eye, people queuing and milling before it, pushing to enter. He moved closer and realised a service was about to take place.

  It didn’t take long for the crowd to move inside. Alex slipped into the back of the building and loitered near the door as the people settled in ordered rows on the pews. One of the Kin Priesthood, a tall, tanned man with blond hair, took the lectern. He smiled beatifically for several seconds as the susurrus of conversation faded.

  ‘Obsidianites,’ the Priest said quietly, his voice carrying well in the shining black space. ‘Welcome. Let us start with a hymn.’

  An organ began to play and the people stood, singing without any reference to hymn books or cues. Alex looked for the source of the music, wondering if the organ he heard had been manufactured in the city or slipped through the mysterious pathway he had sent Sil and Jarrod to investigate. So many questions.

  The hymn talked of working hard and praising the gods, living a life of happy breeding before the promise of Ascension. It all sounded so contrived, but it was impossible for him to perceive it as an Obsidianite might, with no other point of reference. It was an uplifting song, delivered from the masses with gusto, but it made him sad.

  The Priest began a sermon about protecting each other and making sure everyone’s promise of Ascension was guaranteed by not harbouring ideas of dissention or allowing others to sway pious thoughts. He spoke of the dark influence of the Hollow Lord, the threat of the Void and how it called to those impure of heart, attracted liars and dissenters to its icy, empty eternity.

  It quickly became apparent the subject was heavily influenced by current events and the Priest was shoring up support for the hierarchy against the possibility of rumour. The presence of Alex and his friends was stirring up considerable discomfort in the ruling theocracy.

  Alex smiled ruefully. They had only ju
st begun. He intended to shatter this deviant city state one way or another. The hierarchy were right to fear his influence. But he needed to move with caution, play his part as quietly and softly as possible. The Kin here may be relatively few in number compared to the lowen, but if this church, this sermon, proved anything it was the iron hold the hierarchy had developed. Convincing the people to rise against it would be hard.

  The service continued with prayer and more song, a parody of any number of religious observances the world over. Alex recognised aspects from many faiths, and others he could only guess at, bastardised together to fit the Obsidian agenda. The Priest brought out large framed images and Alex frowned. They were colourful photographs showing forests of green and lancing sunlight, golden beaches, crystal seas, mountain meadows of lush grass and radiant flowers. ‘Can you imagine creating an image like this by hand?’ the Priest demanded stridently. ‘Can this be anything but a gift from the gods? This is Ascension! This is what awaits the pious and the devout. Further your line in Obsidian, raise children in faith and you will one day rise to walk these wondrous vistas.’

  Anger rose hot and vibrant in Alex. These were places the people here should be walking anyway, the right of every living person, instead of being farmed in a prison of which they weren’t even aware. The audacity of the hierarchy simply showing photographs to people who couldn’t conceive of a camera infuriated him.

  He had wasted enough time in the church, and had only further confirmed what he already knew. Fascinating though it was, it only hardened his resolve to do something about this hideous penitentiary. But he needed to get out first, and for that he needed to learn what the humans who travelled before him knew. He slipped from the church as the crowds rose to their feet to leave. As he passed one small group outside, he was distracted by their fervent conversation.

  ‘Hush, ye’ll get us taken by the Guard!’

  ‘But haven’t ye heard the rumours? There are people here from somewhere else!’

  ‘Ha! Somewhere else! Where, the Void?’

  ‘I don’t know. But not here and not Ascension. Somewhere else!’

  ‘This is nonsense. And the kind of talk that will get ye thrown into the pits.’

  ‘How many times have I asked ye where the wood of our furniture comes from? The metal of our cooking pot?’

  ‘And I’ve told ye. The hierarchy provide. The gods provide!’

  ‘I’ve never believed it and I believe it even less now. Something is changing, surely ye can feel it.’

  A woman stepped between the two men. ‘Silence, please! Ye’ll have us all in the pits.’

  ‘Something is changing,’ the first man said again. ‘And I’ll be ready when it does. Mark my words, and be ready too.’ He stalked off across the square.

  Alex smiled. The populace were oppressed, not foolish. He crept around the large building to the foot of the Tower.

  Confident though he was in his ability to remain unseen, he could not help creeping like a thief through the streets and open spaces. He scanned constantly, watched for anyone who might look his way or appear to notice his presence. At the door to the Tower were two of the Autarch Guard. They looked more bored than alert.

  Alex took a deep breath and tiptoed towards them. The door was heavy wood, studded and banded with black iron. It stood ajar, a few inches open. Not enough to allow him to slip through. He stepped lightly between the Guards and gently pushed one side of the door. From the corner of his eye he saw one of the Guards turn his head, eyebrow arched in curiosity, and Alex stepped through the gap he had opened. The Guard reached out and pulled the door back to, his hand almost brushing Alex’s hip.

  Heart hammering, Alex stood stock still in the dim corridor and waited. The door didn’t open again and he was alone. He breathed long and deep, used his chi gung training to control his adrenaline and centre his mind. With a subtle nod to himself he set off into the Tower, hoping it wouldn’t take too long to find the people he wanted, and hoping even more that they had some way to help him.

  Jarrod and Silhouette made their shuffling way across Obsidian, following the directions Lily had given. Silhouette had asked Lily if she could write down the instructions, and Lily had raised her eyebrows, astounded that Silhouette could read and write.

  ‘That’s a privilege reserved for the hierarchy,’ Lily had said, and Silhouette had seen the glint of anger and hurt in her eyes.

  She wondered how many more like the stoic resistance leader were out there, suspicious, distrusting. It would seem the Priesthood and Guard made a habit of weeding out the free-thinkers and disappearing them, keeping the population dumb. Reverse selective breeding of the worst kind. But dissention would always find a way, the history of the world was proof enough of that. But where would dissent get them if pure human blood kept people trapped here? It was one thing to be rid of the hierarchy that fed on an unknowing population, but there was nothing resembling real life here for the Obsidianites, with or without an oppressive regime.

  She felt a terrible sadness for the thousands trapped, but they knew no different, however much they might suspect. For herself and Alex, and the others, this place was a prison they had to escape. If they could find the pathway, she and Jarrod had a way out. That was some comfort for Jarrod, but of little consequence for her. She meant it when she said she wouldn’t leave without Alex. In all her long life she had constantly sought someone capable of being with her, accepting her, and no Kin ever measured up. Alex, the more-than-human, was very special to her and she would not lose him.

  They passed through the area Lily had called Hound’s Run and Silhouette wondered where all the hounds were. They had seen any number of chickens, some running the streets freely, others penned near buildings, but the only other livestock was in the farmland that Jarrod had spoken about. Hound’s Run was right next to the edge of Ward One, the oldest part of Obsidian, and Silhouette wondered if there had been hounds once, but they were gone now. Eaten, perhaps, as the city struggled through its growing pains. Perhaps only the fastest breeding and least edible creatures would have survived Obsidian’s transition from a town in the world to a magically sealed humanity farm in the Void. She suspected rats thrived, maybe cockroaches and some other insects. What kind of ecosystem could really exist in a place like this?

  Jarrod gestured subtly. ‘There’s the broken house Lily mentioned.’

  On a corner of two streets a dwelling stood, clearly abandoned, one entire corner gone as if a giant hand had snatched it away. The edges were sharp, jagged spikes and planes of fractured black glass. ‘I wonder how that happened,’ Silhouette said.

  Jarrod shrugged. ‘How did any of this happen? We need to pass it and turn right and that should lead us across the narrowest part of Ward One to Oldtown. That’s what she said, right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  As they moved forward, the street became more broken down, less populated. A sense of dread settled over Silhouette, some preternatural foreboding that she logged. Long experience had taught her not to dismiss such feelings. ‘This place is a real ghost town.’

  Jarrod paused, looked around himself. ‘There are strange forces here, but it feels almost artificial.’

  ‘Maintained,’ Silhouette agreed. ‘Maybe designed to keep the lowen out. After all, if this is where the Kin come and go, they probably value their privacy.’

  ‘Which means we’ll stand out, shuffling around here.’ Jarrod pointed between two dirty buildings. ‘I can see wooden structures that way.’

  They glanced around and, seeing no one, ducked a little more swiftly than the Austere ever seemed to move, between buildings and into the rough earth and rotten wood of Oldtown.

  ‘People are watching,’ Silhouette whispered and they slowed their pace. From the corner of her eye she saw faces peering nervously from windows behind them, eyes and mouths wide. ‘So some people live in Ward One.’

  ‘They seem disturbed,’ Jarrod said. ‘And not just by us. I mean, they feel disturbed. D
amaged.’

  Silhouette sighed, her sadness deepening. ‘Even Obsidian has its slums where the broken people live, forgotten and ignored.’

  ‘Must be good feeding grounds for the hierarchy.’

  ‘No doubt. But I bet they leave a lot of the people here to further dissuade the good citizens of Obsidian from venturing near.’

  Buildings stood ruined and neglected all around, the streets littered with wood and stone. As they picked their way through the remains, Sil tried to sense around, search for any kind of power source. ‘This place is like an old Hammer horror movie set,’ she said quietly.

  Jarrod drew breath to answer her and they both froze, melting into the shadow of a ramshackle house. Two figures, talking quietly, moved along the street, casting furtive glances left and right.

  ‘Kin,’ Silhouette whispered.

  As they passed the end of the street, snatches of conversation drifted through the still air. ‘… many more can we get?’ one asked.

  The other shrugged. ‘Who knows. We pass the message on to the few members not here right now and hope they all come.’

  ‘What a fucking mess …’

  They passed out of earshot and turned a corner.

  Silhouette put a hand on Jarrod’s shoulder. ‘They’re sending for reinforcements.’

  ‘Sounds like. Follow them?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  They moved from the shadows, affected the listless shuffle of the Austere again. Keeping a distance, moving through darkened corners and hiding behind broken walls to avoid detection, they passed along several more streets. The two Kin finally stopped at a large building, in slightly better repair than the others. A metre or two of stone made the base of the walls, wooden planks above, rising to a slate roof. The Kin went inside.

  Almost immediately, the doors opened again and two Kin pushing a large wooden cart, like a giant wheelbarrow, emerged. The barrow was loaded with sacks, boxes and barrels.