The Devoured Earth

by Sean Williams

  Under a sheet of stiff cloth they found Mawson's headless torso.

  ‘What do we do with this?’ Skender asked Sal. ‘Bury it?’

  ‘I don't think Mawson would care much either way, wherever his head is.’

  ‘Didn't he go with the glast?’

  ‘Well, he's nowhere around here, so I guess so. They make a weird pair, those two, but Mawson's always enjoyed distinctive companions.’

  Skender leaned against a sturdy-looking strut that bent slightly under his weight, provoking a shower of snow from the rest of the wreck. Sal found a rock and sat on it.

  ‘Speaking of being forgotten,’ Sal said, ‘and making sure people learn their lessons, I reckon someone should write all this down.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, half the problems we had stemmed from not knowing what happened in the old days. The Book of Towers is mostly wrong, and even when it's right it doesn't tell us anything terribly useful. It'll be no different in a hundred years if we don't create a permanent record of what really happened here. It's not as if any of us know the full story, after all, and if we drift apart and start to forget, we'll end up in the same position as before the next time something like this happens.’

  ‘You think it will happen again?’

  ‘Well, sure. It's not nature's way to stay still for long.’ Sal sighed. ‘No. What we need is a comprehensive account, so no one will ever forget.’

  ‘That sounds like a long and tedious job,’ he said. ‘Who'd be mad enough to take that on?’

  ‘Someone with lots of time on their hands. And mad, yes.’

  ‘Completely mad, I reckon.’

  Then it hit him. The moment in the Tomb when the Goddess had forbidden him from taking part in baiting Yod. I have a purpose for you, she had said, but had refused to elaborate. Just keep an eye on things, she had told him. Someone needs to do that.

  Someone with a perfect memory and plenty of time on his hands, until his father retired…

  ‘Did she send you here?’ he asked Sal.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Goddess. Is that why we're having this conversation?’

  ‘I don't know what you're talking about, Skender. It just occurred to me then. Don't you think it's a good idea?’

  It is a bloody good idea, Skender wanted to say, but admitting it aloud was halfway to volunteering for the job.

  Two can play at that game, he thought.

  ‘I guess we don't really need her now,’ he said. ‘The Goddess, I mean. She helped after the Cataclysm, and she came back to help us now, but with Yod gone there's not much left for her to do. Once Shilly finishes that charm, everything will be settled. In fact, if you look at it one way, Shilly is the Goddess now. Isn't that a strange thought?’

  Sal didn't say anything for several breaths, just stared at Skender with a speculative look on his face. Skender felt his cheeks begin to grow warm, despite the bitter chill in the mountain air. Then Sal laughed, and the tension was broken.

  ‘You're right,’ Sal said. ‘It's not going to be the same world. The twins won't be holding it together; Yod won't be waiting in the Void Beneath to eat the Lost Minds; there won't be any more wild talents. There'll be new problems, new challenges, and we'll have to find new ways of dealing with them. And that goes for us, just like everyone. If Shilly and I can get that pardon Marmion promised us, we'll finally be able to live and work in the open. We can travel; people can visit. No more hiding for us. That changes everything.’ He stood and came around to face Skender and put a hand on each of his shoulders. ‘I have a good feeling about the future. Don't you?’

  ‘A good feeling?’ Skender didn't have to look far to find the answer to that question, not now that Chu was awake. Everything else, including the Goddess's plans for him, was secondary. ‘I guess I do. It's not a bad feeling, anyway. And at least we have a future now.’

  Sal smiled. ‘Indeed.’ He patted Skender once on the left shoulder and stood back, letting his gloved hands fall to his sides. ‘Shall we go see to it, then? It doesn't look like there's anything for us here.’

  Skender stood, sending a second, much smaller shower of snow to the ground. ‘Sure. But just let me make this clear before we go back: I may think Shilly is a goddess, but that doesn't make you a god. Not even close.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Sal bent down and scooped up a handful of snow. ‘And what if I were to say that you being the new scribe would be a fitting job for the biggest nerd I know.’

  ‘I knew it!’ The snowball whizzed by Skender's ear and exploded amidst the wreckage. ‘I knew she'd got to you!’

  He threw a snowball in return that Sal easily dodged. That prompted a flurry of insults and snowballs back and forth. Their laughter echoed from the hard stone walls of the ravine, making it sound like the mountains were laughing with them. Skender chased Sal back to where the others waited, wearing a grin on his face as though it was a medal.

  ‘What of the future?

  It will come whether we want it to or not.

  That you can be sure of, if nothing else.’

  A SCRIBE'S BOOK OF QUESTIONS

  ONE MONTH LATER

  Shilly squatted to inspect Vehofnehu's work and found it perfect. The ancient empyricist was much slower than Bartholomew had been in her other self's life, but he was painstakingly methodical. She never had to correct any of his angles or proportions, almost as though he knew before she told him what had to be done.

  Maybe he does, she thought, but forgot that question as someone clumsily skidded to a halt behind her and almost knocked her over. Her right hand thrust her stick down into the ice to anchor her while her left went around her waist.

  ‘Shilly, I'm sorry. I slipped. Are you all right?’

  She steadied herself, and turned. ‘Fine, Tom. Is everything okay?’

  The gangly Engineer shook his head. His hair was slowly growing back, spotted with premature grey. ‘I have a message from the Eminent Delfine. Workers in the south-east sector spotted Pukje an hour ago.’

  ‘Not devels?’

  ‘Not this time.’

  ‘Well, that's good, but—so?’

  ‘So—’ He was momentarily at a loss for words. ‘So the Eminent Delfine thought you ought to know.’

  Shilly bit her lip on an irritated Why on Earth would she think that? Lidia Delfine was in charge of the south-east sector; if Pukje was bothering them, she could handle him herself. It wasn't as if a single imp could do much damage to anyone or anything now.

  But that wasn't the point, and Shilly knew it. Lidia Delfine was telling Shilly because people felt better for knowing that Shilly knew. They looked up to her, Sal said. And that mattered.

  She sighed. Representatives of every known culture were contributing to the project, far more than just those who had been involved in the final battle against Yod. As word had spread about what they were attempting at the top of the world, more and more people came to be part of it, travelling by Way, balloon or other means to the lake. She wasn't ungrateful. As the ice thickened, allowing the carvers more and more safe surface to work on, and as the moss-farmers from the forest grew spores by the vat-load, hands were desperately needed. But the ever-increasing number of volunteers created its own problems. She was glad she had Sal to lean on when the going got tough. All she wanted to do was get the charm finished and go home. And sleep for a week.

  ‘Give the Eminent Delfine my thanks,’ she told Tom. ‘I'll alert the other sectors.’

  Tom nodded and went to leave.

  She grabbed his right arm and pulled him back, mindful not to topple both of them. ‘Any dreams?’ she asked him.

  He shook his head, then nodded. ‘Yes. Not as many as before, but they're becoming more frequent.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, even though that wasn't the answer she wanted. It was in fact the answer to a very different question, one she couldn't bring herself to ask. ‘Anything I should know?’

  He shook his head, sending long black curl
s dancing, and hurried off.

  Maybe I'm imagining it, she thought. Maybe it's all in my head.

  She put both hands on the top of her stick as a faint wave of disorientation swept through her.

  No. There it is again. That feeling.

  Someone was trying to reach her from the future. From a future. She didn't know whether to fight or to welcome it. What if the communication brought bad news? What if the Old Ones and their jailer, glimpsed briefly heading for rugged mountainous territories in the north, were coming back in force to undo her decision? What if she learned that all her hard work had been for nothing?

  Her gaze drifted upwards to where a stronghold was nearing completion on the site of the stubby remnant of Tower Gimel, less than a hundred metres away. Griel had accepted the position of First Maintainer, and Oriel had allowed it, more, she suspected, to get his old rival out of the Panic city than out of respect. Like the Alcaide and Skender's father, Oriel had returned his efforts to governance of his realm once the crisis had passed. Attention was officially drifting elsewhere, even as everyday people responded to the greater challenge at the top of the world.

  Although the possibility existed, she couldn't imagine Griel letting anyone damage the charm without a considerable fight. However, if there was anything she could do to minimise that possibility, she had to do it now rather than later.

  Okay, talk to me, she said to the origin of that distant feeling. But whoever or whatever it was had gone for the moment. She had no doubt the feeling would return, like Tom's dreams and Vehofnehu's wandering stars. The future was as relentless as an avalanche, and as frustrating as watching water freeze.

  Cold sunlight reflected off something on the shore, something that hadn't been there before. Reaching for a spyglass—no sleds were allowed on the lake now the charm was so near completion, and there was no way she was going to walk all that way to satisfy idle curiosity—she peered through the polished lenses to see what was going on. The Flame was burning on the hillside where Marmion had died, not far from the monument erected in the honour of those who had fallen. She scanned the area around the monument, but detected no sign of the Goddess or the twins. They hadn't been seen since Shilly had put the charm into effect. Only the Flame, popping up every now and again.

  Shilly had noticed that the Flame's reappearances roughly corresponded with her nagging feelings from the future. She suspected the two were connected. If she could only work out how or why that might be, then either or both might stop bothering her. Perhaps the feeling was a side effect of the Flame's presence; or perhaps the Flame was stopping the feeling becoming more than that, performing some sort of protective function on the new world's causal pathway. Part of what had rendered the seers blind, she had realised, was the presence of her future selves where they weren't supposed to be. The knot had been too hard for even the very talented to untangle. So the Flame could simply be stopping another knot from forming.

  By the crisp afternoon light, the charm looked magnificent, even foreshortened as it was by her position on its surface. From the air, it took her breath away. Two days earlier, Griel had taken her for a ride in one of the three combat blimps that would be permanently stationed at the stronghold. The complex tangle of lines and shapes that she had once despaired of ever grasping stood out in crystal clarity through the thin layer of ice protecting it from the elements. Ink-black moss provided by the foresters’ gardens was ‘planted’ in furrows cut a hand's-length deep into the ice, where it continued to grow strongly and steadily, despite the ice that formed naturally over the top. In even those most unlikely futures where the Maintainers had somehow failed and let the great work stand untended, the moss would grow to plug any gap that formed. The living, self-repairing charm would only ever completely fail if the lake melted—and recovered Ice Eater records indicated that not once in the previous thousand years had such ever come to pass—so it would, most likely, outlast her by many, many centuries.

  Vehofnehu touched her arm. ‘Is everything all right?’

  She lowered the spyglass. ‘I think so. But I'd like to send a runner to Sal and Highson, just to make sure.’ Father and son were jointly responsible for the devel watch, for the time being. Even though Sal's wild talent had dropped back to its usual level, it hadn't retreated any further yet, and the pair made formidable opponents. Individual devels had learned not to harass the carvers and planters on the ice, but there were still occasional groups, willing to take the risk in order to disrupt their work and bring about a Cataclysm, either way.

  ‘I'll organise it immediately.’ The empyricist downed his tools and hopped nimbly across the charm to where a cluster of workers had gathered around one of Shilly's detailed diagrams.

  She watched him go, wondering at how comfortable he seemed on the ice. He had traded a climbing hook for clawed boots much more easily than anyone else she knew. Perhaps it came with extreme age, this incredible ability to adapt. One either changed with the changes or died.

  A sudden twinge in her gut made her hiss through her teeth. She leaned forward, placing her left hand over her midriff. This wasn't the first time she'd felt unwell in recent days, like cramps but without the usual bleeding. Her period was in fact three weeks late, a detail she had noticed with the distant concern of someone who didn't want it to be a problem, but was afraid to confront it directly just in case it was. She hadn't been sick, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. There had been a few women in Fundelry blessed with easy pregnancies. Perhaps she would be like them, if her suspicions proved correct.

  As she waited for the discomfort to pass, a new wave of disorientation hit her, one that had nothing to do with her gut. The world spun, and the Flame flared up like a landbound star. She eased herself down onto her knees, not wanting to fall and not caring what people thought. Voices called her name in the distance, but she barely heard them.

  A strong mixture of grief and yearning flooded her, feelings she had indulged only once since she and Sal had returned from Fundelry. There had been no holding it in then, and time was only slowly making it easier: on seeing Marmion and Kail laid out together she had wept for what felt like days, mourning the family she had never had. She had valued her relationship with both of them; they had come to feel like family, even if they weren't. And Marmion had saved Sal's life just as Kail had saved Marmion's. Now they were both gone. There was just her and Sal, and a nebulous possibility that she was too afraid to test, just in case it didn't turn out to be true.

  The feeling became stronger. She closed her eyes, gasping. What was this? She hadn't felt anything so severe during her time with the seers. The visions from her future selves had been clear in their intentions, even if they had confused her at first. This felt unfocussed, forced. The Flame's interference, if such it was, was making the sender's job even more difficult than it must already have been.

  She wondered which future this message was coming from. Was she trying to warn herself, or offer reassurance, perhaps advice? Was something coming she had to know about immediately? Was a crisis looming just as the charm neared completion? What had they missed?

  The disorientation increased, and a strange familiarity crept over her. She knew the person at the other end, trying desperately to make the connection. It wasn't her, though. There were enough differences to make the distinction absolute.

  Who are you?

  Her mental voice parted the veils between her and the sender, just for a moment. She glimpsed a youthful, vigorous mind with considerable raw talent behind it. A girl.

  Mummy? Is that you?

  Shilly didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

  What's your mother's name? she asked the girl, not wanting to jump to a wrong conclusion. Where is she now? Why isn't she keeping an eye on you?

  The girl giggled. Pukky told me you'd be angry. I told him not to be scared of you. You only really get angry at Daddy when he doesn't do the dishes. The rest of the time you're just pretending.

  I'm—what? Tea
rs welled in her eyes, but at the same time she felt powerfully like laughing. A joy as pure as any she had ever experienced rose up inside her. Okay, I'm not angry at you. Not right now. But you shouldn't be here. It's probably dangerous.

  No, it's not. Pukky showed me how. It's really not that hard, not for someone smart like me.

  I bet you are smart. And I bet I know who this cursed Pukky is, Shilly wanted to say, but didn't.

  Is Pukje there? she asked instead. Could I talk to him?

  No. He flew away when Daddy shouted at him.

  Did he tell you to come here?

  No. I wanted to. It was my idea.

  Really? Are you sure he didn't suggest it to you first?

  Yes, really. Don't you believe me?

  The girl sounded resentful enough to confirm Shilly's guess. You have to go now. This is a bad thing you're doing. Pukky wants to hurt Mummy and Daddy's work, and he's using you to do it. I'm not angry at you, but I want you to stop. And I want you to stop listening to Pukky. He's not your friend. Do you understand?

  Is Daddy there? the girl asked.

  No, Shilly said firmly. He's busy.

  You're mean. I just wanted to say hello.

  Well, I'll tell him you said hello. I'm sure he'd want to say hello back. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Do you really think I'm mean?

  No. I love you, Mummy. Look after me in your tummy, and don't be afraid. It'll all be okay. That's what you tell me, and it makes me feel better.

  It does make me feel better. Thank you, Shilly said, weeping again. I love you too.

  Goodbye.

  Goodbye, for now.

  The girl was gone before Shilly could ask her name. The disorientation passed, and she was suddenly and acutely aware that her knees were cold and damp and that a crowd of people was pressing in all around her.