First Family

by Patrick Tilley

  For Mr Snow only one question remained and he prayed that it would be answered before he went to the High Ground. The Sky Voices had said that the cloud-warrior was destined to be a leader of his people. But whose side was he on? Which people would he choose to lead? Was he the Talisman – or was he his dark twin, the Death-Bringer – sired by Pent-Agon, Lord of Chaos, whose hideous strength might, once again, be unleashed against the Plainfolk in the final battle for the blue-sky world?

  When they had finished eating, Mr Snow reached for his pouch of rainbow grass, filled the bowl of his pipe and lit it with a grass taper from the fire-stone. Steve watched him draw the smoke into his lungs then took the pipe from his outstretched hands.

  ‘So… what happened?’

  Good question. Steve had originally intended to feed Mr Snow the same story he had given Malone, then following his capture with Jodi and Kelso, he had hurriedly adapted it to suit his new circumstances. Now that he was here, and had been accepted back with some ceremony he realised that any attempt to lie would totally destroy whatever was left of their original relationship. There were still things that didn’t add up. For that reason alone he had to remain on his guard but it was vital he appeared to withhold nothing. If he hoped to regain some measure of trust, nothing less than the truth would do.

  Or a reasonable facsimile of it.

  Steve drew deep on the pipe and prepared to unburden himself. His decision had lightened him considerably. He hated the mental turmoil, the feeling of powerlessness that came in the dark moments of indecisiveness. He liked things clear, clean cut; the rainbow grass made it all seem simpler still. ‘I have failed you, Old One.’

  Mr Snow took another turn on the pipe. ‘Tell me about it.’

  Steve launched into his confession. How he had been consumed by an overpowering desire to possess Clearwater since first catching sight of her during the ceremony of Biting the Arrow. The furtive looks they had exchanged as she had been escorted about the camp, the fatal night when she had come to his hut while Mr Snow and Cadillac were absent. Powerless to resist and unmindful of the dangers, he had broken his promise to Mr Snow, betrayed the trust of the clan and his friendship with Cadillac. Unable to face the consequences of his actions and in a desperate bid to save Clearwater from sharing in his disgrace, he had decided to run away.

  Mr Snow listened silently, with the occasional solemn nod, as Steve recounted his fight with Motor-Head, Black-Top and Steel-Eye, his perilous flight south aboard Blue-Bird, which had ended at the Pueblo way-station, his arrest and return to the Federation in chains, his trial before the Assessors, his banishment to the A-Levels, and how Roz, his kin-sister had been used as a hostage to wrest the final secret from him. Secrets he had sworn to keep.

  It had, Steve confessed, been a crushing, double betrayal, first by succumbing to his desires for Clearwater, then by breaking under interrogation. It was… unforgivable.

  ‘You’re right,’ muttered Mr Snow, his eyes twinkling. ‘I’m surprised you had the nerve to come back.’

  ‘I had no choice, Old One. I learned many things from your lips last year. My destiny is bound up with the Plainfolk. My life or death is in your hands.’

  ‘Perhaps…’

  Steve went on to describe how he had been unexpectedly lifted out of the A-Levels and offered a chance to win back his former status by becoming a secret agent of the Federation.

  ‘And you accepted…’

  ‘It was my only chance to escape,’ replied Steve. ‘To get back here. To see Clearwater again.’

  ‘Even though your journey could have ended in death…’

  Steve responded with a fatalistic gesture. ‘I’m a Tracker. The overground kills us with every breath we take. If I’d turned down Karlstrom’s offer I’d have been sent to the wall. This way, at least, I can die looking up at the sky.’

  ‘What did your masters ask you to do?’

  After a moment’s hesitation Steve said, ‘They wanted me to find you, win back your trust, then lead you, Cadillac and Clearwater into a trap. The plan was to bring you back alive to the Federation.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘After what you did to The Lady, they fear your magic. The three of you represent an unwelcome concentration of power. They are worried that the M’Calls might join forces with other clans under your leadership.’

  ‘But it is not I who lead this clan. Our chief is Rolling-Stone.’

  ‘In name only,’ replied Steve. ‘You’re the brains of the outfit. I’ve watched Cadillac. I know how it works. And so does the First Family. They know all about wordsmiths and summoners and rings of power. And they know about the Talisman Prophecy too.’

  Mr Snow smiled. ‘But do they believe it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. They heard about it a long time ago.’

  ‘Why did they choose you?’

  Steve shrugged. ‘I was the only one that could identify you. And the only person with any chance of getting near you.’

  ‘Of course, yes… and if the plan to kidnap us failed?’

  ‘I was told to kill you.’

  Karlstrom had called it ‘removing them from the equation’.

  Mr Snow accepted his reply with a brief nod. ‘I see. Thanks for letting me know. Tell me – were you supposed to do all this single-handed?’

  ‘No.’ Steve unsheathed the doctored combat knife and laid it on the mat between them with the handle towards the old wordsmith. ‘Somewhere out there is an eight-man team waiting to hear from me. Inside the handle of that knife is a device which allows me to speak to them.’

  Mr Snow picked up the knife, inspected it closely and shook his head in wonderment. ‘It is said your people are masters of the High Craft.’ He handed the knife back to Steve. ‘Whatever will they think of next?’

  ‘Don’t you want to know how it works?’

  ‘Do you intend to use it?’ countered Mr Snow.

  ‘Not unless you want me to.’ Steve slipped the knife back into the sheath strapped to his leg.

  The old wordsmith eyed him carefully. ‘So – does this mean you are prepared to betray your masters?’

  ‘Have I not told you everything, Old One?’

  ‘You have told me many things,’ replied Mr Snow. ‘But words are not deeds. Are you also prepared to kill your own kind? And what about your kin-sister?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten. She’s the one big problem. It’s a risk I have to take. I think she’ll be okay. If they kill her, they no longer have any leverage.’ Steve shrugged. ‘There comes a time when you have to choose whose side you are on.’

  ‘Fortunately I don’t have that problem,’ said Mr Snow. ‘But for someone like you it, uh… must be a difficult decision.’

  Steve shrugged. ‘Something happened to me out here. Don’t ask me what it was. All I know is that when I went back underground I felt as if I was being buried alive. Since the day I was born I’ve been taught to think of you people as the enemy. As sub-human creatures who must be wiped offthe face ofthe earth. You and Cadillac taught me to see things differently, to understand that there was another way. When I got back I tried to tell them but no one would listen. They told me I was sick in the head. That’s why they sent me to the A-Levels, as punishment for daring to suggest there was room for both Tracker and Mute in the blue-sky world.’

  The old wordsmith closed his eyes as he inhaled more smoke. ‘You were brave to speak such words but you were wrong. It will never be possible for the Plainfolk to breathe the same air as the sand-burrowers. We spoke of this before. Your masters are the slaves of Pent-Agon. Their forefathers unleashed the War of a Thousand Suns that drenched the world in blood and put an end to the Old Time. As punishment, they were buried beneath the earth and there they must remain until the River of Time runs dry.’

  ‘But that’s crazy,’ protested Steve blurrily. ‘You’re being as blind and as unyielding as they are. There must be some way we can do a deal.’

  ‘Compromise’ was the word he ought to
have used but it was not part of the Tracker vocabulary.

  Mr Snow shook his head. ‘No way, Brickman.’ For the Mutes, too, the word had perished along with the Old Time.

  ‘But you’re prepared to give me a chance. What about the other people who feel the same way? Like these renegades you’ve captured, for instance.’

  The old wordsmith smiled distantly, his eyes half closed. ‘Why should you care about what happens to them? They tied you up to a corpse and left you to die.’

  Steve lowered the pipe and placed a hand on top of his head in an effort to hold his brain in place while he grappled with this totally unexpected remark. ‘Wait a minute, wait a minute… are you telling me you saw what they were doing and did nothing about it – that you left me tied up for two whole days while you sat around picking your nose? Christopher Columbus! How could you –’

  ‘Whoa! Hold it!’ Mr Snow made a soothing gesture. ‘Slow down. I was miles away.’ He took the pipe back. ‘Someone told me what happened. Anyway, what are you complaining about? The girl left you a knife. By the time I arrived on the scene you were up and running with your new friends. You certainly don’t waste time, Brickman. What story did you tell them?’

  Steve tried to collect his thoughts. Before his last-minute decision to opt for a full confession he had been about to tell Mr Snow he had become a fully-fledged breaker, running with the pack. Close! ‘Uh… they changed their mind about killing me. Going along with them was the only chance I had of staying alive. I planned to break away at the first good opportunity.’ He smiled. ‘I had no idea you were going to find me first.’

  It was Mr Snow’s turn to shrug. ‘Like I said, Cadillac saw it in the stones.’

  Steve took another turn on the pipe. ‘What else did he see?’

  ‘Ohh… lots of things.’

  ‘Like what for instance?’

  ‘Like the fact you would come back for Clearwater. However…’ Mr Snow took the offered pipe and drew deep. ‘… I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment.’

  Steve blinked rapidly in an effort to overcome a sudden wave of drowsiness. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Clearwater isn’t here. Neither is Cadillac. They flew to Beth-Lem.’

  Steve felt his stomach turn to stone. ‘Flew…’

  ‘Yes. Flew. After you took off with Blue-Bird, Cadillac built another craft from the pieces we kept hidden from you.’

  ‘B-but how?’

  ‘How?’ Mr Snow laughed. ‘You showed him how! And in so doing, you allowed him to pick your brains. Some wordsmiths – and I regret to say I am not one of them – have special gifts when it comes to absorbing and transmitting knowledge. When you gave him the chance to make the connection he just added the totality of your knowledge to his.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Steve. His voice seemed to come from outside himself. He tried to shake off the pleasantly numbing effect of the grass.

  ‘It’s true nevertheless,’ continued Mr Snow. ‘Pity you didn’t see it. It had a motor, seats for both of them. I must say, I was very impressed. And I’m sure the Iron Masters were too.’

  This isn’t really happening, Steve told himself. It’s the grass. I’m imagining all this. It can’t be true. It can’t be… ‘But why go to the Iron Masters?’ he heard himself say.

  Mr Snow spread his hands. ‘It was part of the deal. We agreed to deliver an arrowhead and the secrets of flight and, in return, the Iron Masters promised to give us new long sharp iron. Something that will stop a wagon-train dead in its tracks.’ He leaned forward and patted Steve on the knee. ‘And it’s all thanks to you.’

  Steve started to come down rapidly. He thought about what Karlstrom had said about teaching Cadillac to fly. If the First Family ever discovered that Cadillac had passed on the whole goddam technology of flight to the Iron Masters then he, Brickman, would be well and truly shafted.

  ‘Wha-when did this happen? When did they, uh – go?’

  ‘Last year. Before the White Death.’

  Steve swallowed hard. He could see that Mr Snow was enjoying himself hugely. Bastard… Six months… ‘Are they coming back?’

  ‘Yes. When the wheel-boats ride up the great river.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘In one and a half moons.’

  Six weeks. Time for all kinds of things to happen…

  Mr Snow smiled mischievously. ‘Do you think you can wait that long?’

  ‘I can wait forever, if necessary,’ said Steve. ‘Is she, uh – are they well?’

  ‘I believe so, yes.’ Mr Snow didn’t actually know for sure but he felt Brickman was in need of a little reassurance.

  ‘Thanks for telling me,’ muttered Steve. His mind was still reeling from the news of Clearwater’s absence and the countless ramifications that proceeded from the manner of her departure.

  ‘You shared your secrets with me.’

  ‘I wanted to. I needed to.’

  Mr Snow responded with a slight bow of the head. ‘I appreciate your honesty. In return, there are things I must tell you. The Sky Voices – in which you do not yet believe – grant me knowledge of many things. Wisdom, however, does not cure our natural weaknesses; it only illuminates the path to perfection.’ He shrugged. ‘I still have a long way to go. There are times when I fall prey to foolish conceits but… I am not easily deceived –’

  ‘I am not trying to de –’

  Mr Snow held up his hand. ‘Hear me out. I already knew about the relationship between you and Clearwater. I could see you both felt the same way, and wanted the same thing – in fact you could think of nothing else – but it was I who made it happen.’

  Steve’s eyed widened. ‘You –?’

  ‘Yes, I know. I warned you to stay away.’ He threw up his hands. ‘Situations change. I just do as I’m told. All any of us can do is play it as written. But if it’s any help – and this is strictly off the record – I once went through something similar myself once. Loving someone you can’t be with is like having a red-hot knife twisted round in your guts. I understand, believe me. But there are still dangers. Be cautious, but do not feel ashamed. Treasure the moment. They don’t come that good that often. It was meant to be. You are both guided by the will of Talisman.’

  The next question was a long time coming, ‘Does, uh – Cadillac know what happened?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does he understand?’

  Mr Snow grimaced ruefully. ‘He will eventually.’

  Steve placed his palms together and bowed low over them. ‘I treasure your words, Old One.’

  Mr Snow replied with a similar gesture. ‘You are wise to do so. Where I’m concerned, advice, like wisdom, is a gift that is rarely bestowed twice.’ He passed the pipe to Steve. ‘We’re talked enough. Let’s hit the sky.’

  Steve closed his eyes and inhaled deeply several times.

  Mr Snow saw the cloud-warrior’s body relax visibly as his mind floated free. That’s right, Brickman. Make the most of it. And hang onto your hat. Because when you come down I’ve got a feeling you’re in for a bumpy ride…

  High in the night sky on the southern horizon, two Skyriders from Karlstrom’s private air force flew back and forth along cloud-stacked corridors in a pattern that kept the planes one hundred miles apart. Other pilots had been doing the same during the hours of darkness since High Sierra had told Karlstrom that Hang-Fire had been captured along with thirty-two other renegades. Their patience was finally rewarded when their radio equipment picked up the transmission they had been waiting for. The signal was made up of two code groups repeated several times in accelerated bursts. Seconds later, the on-board computer gave each pilot a bearing on the signal, enabling them to get an accurate fix on its location.

  * * *

  When he had replaced the knife in its sheath, Steve had put the blade in back to front, engaging a pressure pad that activated the concealed transmitter. As he sat there talking with Mr Snow it was automatically broadcasting his call-sign an
d a codeword which would tell Karlstrom he had made contact with the clan M’Call.

  Steve felt no sense of betrayal. He had told Mr Snow of his mission, and he had meant everything he had said. He did feel detached from the Federation. He longed to see Clearwater and felt drawn back into his previous relationship with Mr Snow. But the old wordsmith had been right. His kin-sister was a problem. He could not abandon her. He had to send the message that Karlstrom was waiting for. It was the only way to make sure Roz stayed alive. He was obliged to play a double game until he could figure out the best thing to do for all concerned.

  Fourteen

  The next morning, when Steve returned from washing in a nearby stream, he found Night-Fever squatting outside Mr Snow’s hut. As he approached, she hurriedly assumed a kneeling position and unwrapped his breakfast – a meal of flat-bread and sliced rings of dried fruit.

  Steve thanked her politely then proceeded to eat without paying her the slightest attention. He didn’t object to the food parcels but he was definitely not interested in the fun and frolic she clearly had in mind. Not with Night-Fever anyway.

  As if sensing his disinterest, the She-Wolf waited patiently with eyes averted. When he had finished the meal, she took away the straw mat then got to her feet and went to fetch something behind Mr Snow’s hut. A moment later she returned carrying Steve’s quarterstaff. Kneeling down, she laid it reverently before him. The last time Steve had held it in his hands was on the edge of the bluff when he had faced the triple menace of Motor-Head, Black-Top and Steel-Eye. And here it was – except now, a gleaming blade, fashioned from a Tracker machete, had been fixed to one end by means of a metal collar. Below it, two spikes made from crossbow bolts had been threaded through the shaft at right-angles to each other to deflect downwards blows from an opposing blade. At the other end, the staff had been balanced by a second metal collar.