Lightning Tracks

by A. A. Kinsela

  ‘You’re staring at me like I’m a puzzle,’ she said. ‘Stop it.’

  He dropped his gaze. ‘Sorry.’

  A bell tolled in the distance. Artemis finished her coffee and stood up.

  ‘Are you leaving?’ Nick asked.

  ‘It’s time for your hearing.’

  ‘Oh. That. Why does it even have to happen?’

  ‘It’s just a formality.’

  ‘Yeah, right. David warned me not to reveal my name to anyone, and I can see why. I’ve been treated like a criminal ever since I arrived in Auremos. I know it’s got something to do with my parents. It’s as if none of you want to be reminded of them in case you disturb something you want to keep buried.’

  Artemis said quietly, ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Can’t, or won’t?’

  She chewed her lip. ‘Rayámina must have a good reason for not telling you yet.’

  Nick shoved his chair back and spat, ‘I’m sure David has a good reason. He was the one who branded me with the Arai tattoo. I suppose his reason for that was good as well. But good for who? Me or him?’

  Artemis tucked her fringe behind her ears. ‘Look, Nick, I’d tell you if I was allowed, but Valerius has ordered me not to speak about any of this with you. And if we’re late for the hearing, we’ll likely both end up in the vaults.’

  Nick clunked his cup on the table. ‘Fine. Let’s go. I want some answers.’

  He stomped downstairs and into the crowded heat of Market Square. Artemis led the way, darting around melon stalls, tubs of spices and sizzling portable stoves. Once they were in the shaded laneways, they had to contend with ambling pedestrians and strings of wet washing.

  ‘Excuse me! Council business! Coming through!’ Artemis shouted, trying to squeeze through a throng of women with baskets balanced on their heads.

  None of the women budged an inch.

  ‘Stuff this,’ Nick muttered. He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, ‘Make way for Rayámina!’

  A flurry of gasps and shuffling feet cleared a path to the next street.

  ‘Nice work,’ Artemis said, and dashed through the opening with Nick close behind.

  Twenty minutes later, and two more cries of ‘Make way for Rayámina’, they arrived at the council chamber steps. Nick felt a rush of apprehension as a pair of Bandála guards approached.

  ‘Do you know if David will be at the hearing?’ he asked Artemis.

  She nodded. ‘He’s on the Council. So are Xanthe, Kráytos, Valerius, Julian and some others.’

  Nick swallowed.

  ‘Don’t worry. They’re just going to ask questions.’ She turned to leave.

  ‘Thanks, Artemis.’

  She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine, Nick. Just tell the truth.’

  He trudged up the steps with a Bandála soldier either side of him. The guards took him along a corridor to a large, busy meeting room where a table was strewn with books, papers, ink pots and feather quills. Twelve high-backed chairs were occupied, and the same number again stood empty. The guards pointed to a chair and Nick sat down then looked around for David, but he wasn’t in the room. Kráytos and Valerius were talking in murmurs. Xanthe looked up from her notes and gave Nick a faint smile. Next to her sat Julian, whose blue gun-barrel stare locked onto Nick.

  A hand on his arm made him jump.

  ‘It’s alright. There’s no need to worry.’

  As David knelt beside the chair, Nick felt a confused rush of anger and anxiety.

  ‘Where have you been? I was arrested last night and locked in an underground vault.’

  ‘I know,’ David said, glancing at Julian. ‘It was a misunderstanding. We’re going to sort everything out now. I promise.’

  Nick recalled what David had told him about the Arai calling in a debt of blood, and wondered whether his parents had managed to enrage the Auremos Council as well.

  ‘Am I in trouble because of something my parents did?’

  David shook his head. ‘You’re not in any trouble.’

  ‘Then what’s going on?’

  ‘Rayámina,’ Valerius called.

  David gave Nick’s shoulder a squeeze and took a seat beside Kráytos.

  ‘This hearing is now in session,’ Valerius said. ‘All non-Council members are to leave the chamber immediately.’

  The two Bandála guards and a few other people left, shutting the doors behind them. Despite Artemis and David’s reassurances, to Nick the councillors looked like an execution squad.

  ‘We’re going to ask you some questions, Nick,’ Valerius said, ‘and we’d like you to give honest answers. Everything you say will remain confidential. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. State your full name, please.’

  Nick looked at David, who raised his eyebrows in encouragement.

  ‘My name is Nicholas Kári Williams.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘What are your parents’ names?’

  ‘Phoebe and Jonathan Williams.’

  Valerius paused at this. The councillors shifted, frowning and muttering to their neighbours.

  ‘Where did you grow up?’ Valerius continued.

  ‘Buckadgery Creek.’

  ‘And where is that located?’

  ‘Um...’ Nick checked with David, who gave a nod. ‘It’s a small town on the other side of the song gates.’

  This unsettled the councillors even further. Some took frantic notes and flipped through books. Others shook their heads and cast disapproving glares at David. Nick was beginning to suspect that his credibility wasn’t the only thing in question.

  ‘Who did you live with?’ Valerius asked.

  Nick swallowed. ‘Mía. And David, until I was eight.’

  The councillor sitting nearest to Nick slapped the table and growled, ‘Show some respect, boy. You will refer to him as Rayámina. Not David.’

  ‘No,’ David said firmly. ‘He can call me David. He’s not being disrespectful. He’s just never known me by any other name.’

  ‘You permit this, sir?’

  ‘Yes, and so will you.’

  Valerius raised his hand to silence them both then asked, ‘Nick, where is Mía?’

  Nick folded his arms. ‘I don’t want to talk about Mía.’

  ‘If we are to believe your claim, you must tell us everything,’ Valerius said.

  ‘I don’t care if you believe me or not! Why are you treating me like I’ve done something wrong? I haven’t!’

  Valerius leaned forward and replied in a firm voice, ‘Nicholas Kári is supposed to have died thirteen years ago, so if you’re claiming to be a dead boy, you’d better be able to prove it.’

  The chamber fell silent. All of a sudden, Nick found breathing difficult.

  ‘David? Is that true?’ he asked.

  With a sigh, David leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. He looked tired. ‘Yes, Nick. It’s true.’

  ‘How...?’ Nick gulped. ‘How am I supposed to have died?’

  Valerius shook his head. ‘We’re asking the questions, Nick. You’ll get your chance once the hearing is over.’

  Nick hugged his chest and drew a shuddering breath, wishing he was anywhere but here.

  ‘Now,’ Valerius said, ‘tell us about Mía.’

  Chapter 18: Valerius’ book

  It was dusk when Nick trudged back up the stone stairs to his apartment. All he could hear in the building was the crackle of the kitchen fire. Amaránta had left a fresh loaf of sourdough with a plate of cheese and wild plums on the table, but Nick had no appetite. He stared out his bedroom window at the distant copper dome of the council chamber. The councillors had been brutal with their questioning, scrutinising every detail of his life, forcing him to relive things he wanted to forget, and hounding him for information he didn’t have. They’d interrogated him for
hours, and still he didn’t know why. David had said he would come by the apartment tomorrow, but Nick didn’t want to wait for answers that David might not even give him.

  He took a minute to study the view and get his bearings. Fortifications and watchtowers ran the entire way around the city. To his right, on top of a hill, stood the stone columns of a ruined temple. Far beyond that, aqueducts soared out over the battlements and shot into the mountains. Streams of water glided down the aqueduct channels like silver ribbons.

  His gaze drifted back to the copper dome. The councillors had taken heaps of notes during his hearing, so the best place to find answers was probably inside the chamber.

  In the street below, Bandála soldiers stood guard. Nick would have to find a way out other than the front door. He went into the stairwell and climbed to the trapdoor, shoving it a couple of times with his shoulder before it popped open. When he clambered out, he found himself on the roof, which was bare except for the trapdoor. A low stone ledge ran around the perimeter, but none of the adjacent buildings were anywhere near jumping distance.

  ‘So much for a roof escape,’ he muttered.

  Laughter and shouts rose from the bathhouse pools next door, and Nick wished he could go for a swim to clear his head while he thought up a plan. He’d have to settle for a bath instead.

  He scuffed downstairs, shut himself in the bathroom, turned on all four taps, and kicked off his boots. As he pulled off his shirt, his Bandála necklace snagged on a button and the leather cord snapped. The copper disc clattered onto the tiles and fell through an iron grate.

  ‘Oh, crap!’

  He dropped onto all fours and peered through the gaps. His necklace lay in a dry drainage canal a metre below the floor. He lifted the grate off, leaned through the hole, and scooped up his necklace. As he did so, he noticed the canal seemed to continue beyond the wall of the house and beneath the street.

  Someone rapped on the door. He straightened so fast he smacked his head on the tiles on the way up. Grimacing and rubbing his head, he pulled the door open a crack to find a Bandála soldier.

  ‘Amaránta wants to know if you need more hot water,’ the man said.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m fine.’

  Nick shut the door, counted to ten, then raced across the bathroom, strapped on his boots, knotted his Bandála necklace around his neck, dropped into the hole, and fitted the grate back into place over his head. He crawled through the drain, brushing cobwebs off his face and sneezing from the dust. The canal was less than a metre high, and his knees and head banged repeatedly on the uneven bricks. He reached a dead end and climbed out through another iron grate above. As he stood up, he bumped a shelf, causing a large container to fall and shatter. Pungent oil oozed over the tiles.

  Nick swore, kicked the grate back into its groove and lunged across the puddle. He rattled the door handle but found it locked. The only other way out was back through the canal, which now smelled of concentrated potpourri. Nick’s gaze flicked over the thick iron latch and reinforced wooden slats and hinges, wondering if he could pick the lock. Then he smiled. The hinges were pin-barrels, just like the ones on the flyscreen at home. He’d had to replace those pins thousands of times. These hinges were thicker than the flimsy flyscreen ones, so Nick took off his belt with the intention of using the buckle prong to prise the pins free. His pants, which were too big for him, slipped down to his hips, and he hoisted them up a few times as he coaxed the hinge pins out. As soon as he was finished, he put his belt back on and heaved the door open just wide enough to slip through.

  He was inside the bathhouse which, being so late in the day, was nearly empty. Nick made his way to the front entrance, hiding behind a pillar when he spotted two Bandála soldiers on the street. Once the soldiers had disappeared, he scooted past the cashier and ducked into a laneway, heading towards the council chamber dome. Without the crowds, it only took about fifteen minutes to jog to the plaza. He settled on a doorstep in an alley to wait until nightfall.

  His mind roiled with thoughts. He’d said many things during the interrogation that had unsettled the councillors, and he relished the thought of breaking into their offices and rifling through their things. While he was in there, maybe he’d prise the pins out a few door hinges and remove the nails from some council chair legs. It would serve them right for treating him like a criminal.

  As soon as it was dark, Nick left his hiding spot and circled around to the back of the council chamber. He checked to see whether anyone was nearby, but this section of the plaza was empty. He stood on tiptoes to get a good look at the lock on one of the windows. It was a simple internal latch that didn’t need a key, and there was a small gap between the window and the frame that might allow a thin object to slip through. He removed his belt again, holding his pants up with one hand while slotting the prong between the window and frame with the other. After some awkward jiggling of the belt, he heard a soft click. The window creaked open. He buckled his belt on again, hoisted himself onto the ledge and dropped down inside. A rug muffled his landing. He shut the window as quietly as he could, then turned around and stared.

  Skyscrapers of books filled the room with narrow paths winding through them like a labyrinth. One path led to a heavy bloodwood desk with a mountain of papers. Another meandered to the door. More trails zigzagged towards the bookshelves, which were crammed with more books. Even though it was dark, Nick could make out the writing on the spines. The titles covered everything from medicine to engineering to commerce. A slim, tattered volume with Yándi Mythos written in flaky gold lettering on the spine caught his eye. Carefully, he pulled it down from its shelf and opened it. The book was a collection of Yándi stories. He skimmed over a few familiar ones that Mía had told him as a child and paused at one titled The First Lightning Walkers.

  Many ancestors ago, the first Korelians arrived on these shores from across the seas, bringing with them a thousand Yándi slaves. The Yándi cleared the land and built roads, ports and cities for the Korelians. The Korelians admired the strength of their slaves, but they were also wary of them, and so were ruthless masters, punishing with brutal vengeance any Yándi who broke the rules.

  More Korelians arrived in their ships, with yet more slaves, though these new slaves were different to the Yándi. They were pale-skinned, dark-haired artisans, not sun-browned city-builders like the Yándi. The new slaves called themselves Highlanders. They were kept in a separate prison, away from the sunlight, and in shadow they crafted the finer details of the kingdom.

  One day, a great flood washed away the walls of the Yándi prison and the slaves escaped, disappearing into the wildlands beyond the city walls. The Korelians used their pale Highlander slaves to track down the Yándi, and after a fierce battle with the Korelians the remaining few Yándi were cornered. In that desperate moment, with nowhere left to run, and with all their weapons broken, the sky gods stepped down from the stars and told the Yándi to cover themselves in red earth.

  When the Yándi had done so, the sky gods called on the wind spirit to blow the powder away, but no matter how hard the wind tried, she could not shift a single grain from the skin of the Yándi. Next, the sky gods called on the river spirit to flush the powder away, but despite nearly drowning the Yándi, the river could not cleanse them. Finally, the sky gods called on the mountain spirit to crush the Yándi, but even with his immense weight, the mountain could not crack the layer of powder.

  Then Rima, the lightning goddess, lit up the sky and lashed the Yándi with her white fire, turning their red powder into silver shields. When the Yándi faced the Korelians once more, they overpowered their old masters and drove them back to their own kingdom.

  The Yándi called their shields maléya, meaning ‘strength’. As they walked the land in search of a new home, the Yándi left lightning tracks in their wake. Those ancestors became the first nallindéra. The lightning walkers.

  ‘That explains a few things,’ Nick muttered, tucking the little book into his pocket.
>
  He crouched down to examine a wooden chest similar to the one he’d seen in Xanthe’s mudbrick hut in Yándemar. He cleared the books off the lid and opened it. Inside he found a green silk scarf with some dark patches that looked suspiciously like blood. He placed it aside with a grimace. Underneath was a stack of papers tied with string, a small silver ring, and a map written in Korelian. There were no weapons or Arai uniforms like he’d found in Xanthe’s box. He put everything back inside, shut the lid, and replaced the several dozen books that had been left on top. As he stood up, something crackled beneath his boot. It was the map. With a sigh, he dropped to his knees and began taking the books off the chest again. He glanced over the map as he worked, tracing the lines with his gaze, sounding out the names of cities and geographical landmarks that were becoming familiar.

  Then he noticed something different. Little red marks had been added. They seemed random, as if someone had flicked a paintbrush at the paper, but when he examined the map closely, he saw a key in the top corner that read: Song gates. A rush of excitement powered through him. He checked the marks in Yándemar and found two about where Buckadgery Creek should be. He scanned the map for Auremos and spotted another red mark just nearby, next to a place called Blackrock Falls.

  ‘Eureka,’ he said with a grin. If he could find this song gate behind Blackrock Falls, then he could get back to Australia.

  He stuffed the map into his boot then went to the desk and thumbed through the wads of paper, hoping he’d locate some notes from his hearing. He found heaps of information about road reconstructions, water storage and food supplies, but nothing about his hearing. With a huff, he slumped onto the chair. Surely there was something useful among the piles of writing.

  He shifted a tower of papers and found a book the size of an encyclopaedia, with a brown leather cover and dog-eared pages. The title was The Monarchy of Korelios. He was about to move it aside when he noticed an imprint on the cover. It was a circle like the Arai mark, except it had two curved arms spiralling outwards, one on the top, and one on the bottom. Curious, Nick opened the book. The pages were stiff and stained, as if someone had spilled tea over them, but the Korelian handwriting was quite legible.