The Ingenious

by Darius Hinks

  Isten backed away, shaking her head, cursing herself.

  Now what? she thought as she reached the prow of the boat and leant against the railing.

  This is strange. He should not have challenged you like that.

  Well, he did. She looked out at the river. The shore was even further away. I’ll need to jump soon or I’ll end up drowning.

  You need those weapons. There must be another way to get you back. Let me think.

  Alzen fell quiet, and Isten resigned herself to watching the city rush by.

  Hours seemed to pass and Isten was about to say something when she realized she was finding it harder to distinguish the moonlit surface of the river from the glinting spires of the city. She wondered if there was something wrong with her eyes. Perhaps some remnant of the vistula seeds? She ignored it for a while but, gradually, the flashing of the lights and the swaying of the boat began to make her feel sick.

  The lights look strange, she thought. I can’t see clearly.

  It’s the wall.

  Isten looked around, confused. What are you talking about? There’s no wall here.

  As she turned, the lights whirled across her vision, billowing like embers, merging with the lights on the shore. She backed away from the railings, shaking her head. Is this the cinnabar? She sensed that it was not. The splinters of light were nothing like the hallucinations she was used to.

  Calm down. You’ll draw attention to yourself.

  Isten steadied herself by gripping the railing, but her vision was awash with undulating lights. It was as though she were standing behind a waterfall, trying to see through curtains of falling water. She could still hear the sound of the river slapping against the hull, she just couldn’t see anything. What is this?

  The sublimare, said Alzen. The outer layer of the walls.

  I don’t see any walls.

  Athanor’s boundaries are metaphysical, Isten, not physical. Alzen sounded amused by her ignorance. How do you think we maintain the same climate year after year? Conjunction is not a true joining of Athanor to its hosts. There is no actual wall between us and Brauron. The sublimare is a spiritual partition. We seek sanctuary for a while, that’s all. The Golden City–

  Brauron? interrupted Isten.

  The nation we are currently visiting. Alzen sounded annoyed that she had singled out that word. A squalid kingdom, full of savages. I pray the Old King doesn’t intend to keep us here for more than a year or two. The trade is productive but unseemly.

  Isten was still struggling to follow Alzen’s explanation. You said that the walls are guarded by a Curious Man, like you. How can that be possible if the walls don’t exist?

  The sublimare shields us from the tyranny of physics, but there are other threats. Not every host nation welcomes our arrival. Phrater Herbrus is guarding us against aggression. Beyond here lie Athanor’s extremities – the limbs of the city that stretch furthest into the unknown, the newer regions, absorbed from wherever we have arrived – in this case, Brauron. That’s what we refer to as the walls – the outer reaches of the city, the areas beyond the sublimare that will eventually become new parts of Athanor.

  So the borders of the city are patrolled by Ignorant Men?

  Alzen laughed. Patrolled is the wrong word but, yes, they are present out here, in larger numbers than anywhere else. We greet our new citizens with open arms, but some of them still try to reject us and we react accordingly.

  There was a sinister tone to Alzen’s words and Isten was about to ask him to explain what he meant, but then she laughed in disbelief as the world changed around her. The Sign of the Sun had sailed into a torrential rainstorm. The starlit spires of Athanor vanished, replaced by a rain-lashed forest and a grey, cloud-draped morning. Isten forgot the danger of her situation for a moment and revelled in the strangeness of what was happening. The Elect rarely allowed it to rain in Athanor, beyond the occasional small shower, but as the Sign of the Sun crashed towards a muddy riverbank, a storm slammed into Isten, soaking her robes and filling her eyes, cold and wonderful, reminding her of home. Most of the passengers rushed below deck for shelter, but Isten stayed where she was, savouring the chill and the damp, letting the wind cut into her bones.

  She looked back over her shoulder and saw an equally shocking sight: Athanor, seen from outside. A serpentine limb snaked up into the clouds, a vast, coiled bridge channelling the Saraca into whatever alien river the boat was now crossing. Far above, glimmering in the thunderheads, she saw glimpses of Athanor’s twisted architecture, suspended in the sky, incredible and terrifying. It took an effort of will for Isten to stop herself cowering. She was only seeing a fraction of the city’s enormity, but it was still astonishing.

  This is how Athanor grows, she thought.

  Yes, and this river is only one point of conjunction. There are roads, walkways and other tributaries of the Saraca reaching down all along this coast, linking us to Brauron. And when it’s time for the next conjunction, and Athanor moves on, we shall retain those new extremities, adding to the glory of our creation, as we have done for thousands of years.

  Isten looked back at the forest, still delighted by the sight of such violently miserable weather. The Sign of the Sun had almost reached the riverbank and she could see buildings half a mile inland, nestling in the trees. They were tall, slender towers, ghostlike against the colourless sky, half-hidden by the mist.

  Look at the riverbank, said Alzen. You can see the city growing.

  It took a few seconds for Isten to see what he meant, but then she saw curving, winding shapes forming from the mud, rising up through the trees like the earthworks of an abandoned fortress.

  Those shapes will become streets, said Alzen. Linking the local architecture to Athanor. When we leave here, a part of this world will come with us. The people of Brauron who are chosen to join us will always have a piece of their home.

  Isten felt a jolt of shock. Did that mean there was a piece of Rukon somewhere in Athanor? A relic of her old life?

  What’s that? she thought, noticing that the whole coast was littered with dark, contorted lumps. Rocks?

  Alzen did not reply, but as the Sign of the Sun sailed closer, Isten had her answer. She gripped the railings, feeling suddenly sick. The shoreline was heaped with corpses. They were blackened and smouldering, like the remnants of a fire, but she could see grasping, rigid hands and twisted limbs. In places, the crumbling heaps were shot through with golden seams. The metal flashed in the rain, revealing the cause of the massacre.

  You did this? she thought, horrified.

  Me?

  The Elect. The Curious Men. Did you kill all those people?

  When we encounter resistance, we have to protect the city. Phrater Herbrus has defended Athanor, just as I would have done in his place.

  Defended? Look at them, Alzen. There are women and children out there. Isten was gripped by a rising sense of panic as she realized the brutality of the Elect – and of the man she had let into her mind.

  Alzen sounded irritated. Do you know how many kingdoms have risen and fallen while Athanor has endured? They are numberless, Isten. Never, in all of mankind’s history, has an empire survived like Athanor. This timeless city is our only hope. Is that not worth making sacrifices for?

  “You’re insane,” whispered Isten, unable to look away from the corpses. They looked like a landslide. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, heaped in the mud and the shallows, butchered for refusing to leave their homes.

  Alzen sounded even more enraged. Insane? And what would that make you, Isten? You knew what I was when you let me into your mind.

  “I didn’t,” she whispered, but her words faltered in her mouth. Even if she didn’t know about this particular horror, she knew Alzen was a monster. He was right. What was wrong with her? How could she have agreed to work with him?

  A cold fury gripped her. She could not tell if it was directed at Alzen or herself but as it gr
ew in ferocity the heat in the back of her skull also intensified.

  She was gripping the handrails so tightly that it felt like the metal was bending in her fists.

  She recoiled in shock. The metal had bent. Where she had been holding the rail it had warped and twisted, sprouting a mane of golden filaments.

  What is it? demanded Alzen, sensing her shock.

  Isten’s amazement grew as she realized he had not intended to channel his power through her.

  “Nothing,” she muttered. She had no reason to lie to him, but she somehow felt it was important that he did not learn what she had just done.

  It’s just the bodies, she thought. They reminded me of home.

  The Sign of the Sun juddered as they reached the shore, its hull scraping along pebbles and rocks. There were remnants of previous deliveries scattered amongst the bodies: broken crates and empty sacks sprawled in the rain-hammered grass. And, as the crew dashed about hurling mooring ropes, Isten saw a welcome party hurrying down through the trees – a dozen or so hiramites, sliding and stumbling in the mud as they ran through the meadow, trying to stop their cloaks being snatched by the fierce wind.

  How will I get home? she thought. The sight of the bodies had left her feeling desolate. Suddenly, she no longer cared about the weapons. She just wanted to get away. She had some cinnabar hidden beneath her robes and decided to use it as soon as she could be alone.

  When you speak to the phrater, just listen to me. Let me tell you what to say. I’ve no idea why that soldier behaved so oddly, but Phrater Herbrus will be far too busy to concern himself with you. Then, you just need to spot a chance to touch the weapons crates. All I need is for your hands to be pressed against them and I can complete my work. Once I’ve transported them back to your temple, all you’ll need to do is get back on the boat. It will only take an hour or so to unload everything and then the captain will return to the city and you can go with him.

  The hiramites on the boat had gathered at a crudely built jetty, and the one who spoke to Isten waved her over, still looking at her with a wary expression.

  Dazed, Isten allowed herself to be shepherded onto the shore, and when she climbed up the riverbank into the meadow, she found herself standing with the laborators. As Alzen predicted, they showed no interest in talking to her, or even looking at her, rushing off up the hillside towards the towers, escorted by some of the soldiers. Isten stood motionless, staring at the heaps of dead bodies. This close, the scene was even more horrific, but none of the other passengers even seemed to notice.

  “Quick!” yelled the hiramite who was watching over her, noticing that she was hesitating. “It’s not safe.” He waved at the distant towers, indicating that Isten should follow the other passengers.

  She nodded and hurried off through the rain, keeping her robes wrapped tightly around her.

  As she climbed up the slippery hillside, Isten peered at the towers, trying to make out their design. There were three of them and they were huge, hundreds of feet tall, ominous shadows in the mist. Then, as the clouds billowed away, Isten saw them clearly for the first time and staggered to a halt, horrified. They were not towers, but metal-clad titans, wreathed in glistening coils and spines, staring out across the forest, motionless and inert. Or, almost inert. Steam was rising from their clenched fists and a faint glow was visible between their fingers.

  “Ignorant Men,” gasped Isten, recalling the night of Amoria’s death. The strength went from her legs and she looked back towards the bodies, realizing what had happened to them.

  What are you doing? demanded Alzen.

  They’ll remember me, she thought, struggling to stay calm. They chased me into the sewers. If they see me here they’ll–

  They are not the same Ignorant Men. They are sentinels summoned to guard the walls. They have been conjured by Phrater Herbrus, forged here, in this storm. They won’t have been anywhere near the warehouse where your friend died.

  Isten shook her head, hearing the logic in Alzen’s words but unable to overcome her terror as she looked up at the giants. As the rain lashed their limbs, it flowed in rivulets down the metal, coursing over twines and spirals, giving the impression that they were melting and transforming, just as they did when they pursued her from the warehouse.

  “Move!” yelled the soldier who spoke to her earlier, his upside-down mask looming out of the rain. He sounded furious.

  Go! ordered Alzen.

  Isten began trudging slowly up the hillside, but she could not tear her eyes off the Ignorant Men. She felt as though, at any moment, they would turn and reach down towards her, palms blazing.

  As she fell beneath the shadow of the metal giants, Isten tried not to look up at their cloud-mantled faces. She could not bear to see those dead, inhuman eyes.

  “Over here!” The hiramite waved her on through the storm.

  Isten finally saw what Alzen had actually meant when he spoke of buildings. Cowering beneath the Ignorant Men was a low, circular, brick-built watchtower, only two storeys high, topped with crude, thick embrasures and as grey as the sky. It had deep, arrow-slit windows and it was surrounded by a bristling stockade of sharpened posts. There was a column of smoke snaking up into the rain and figures dashing around the watchtower – laborators, hiramites and brutish, half-naked warriors carrying two-handed axes. Even from outside the stockade, Isten could see the faces sewn into their skin, their armour of blackened screams.

  Headhunters, she thought, passing through a gate and entering the camp.

  Yes. Some locals obviously had the sense not to attack us. You’ve seen them before?

  I employed some. With your money. To protect the Exiles until we are ready to stand alone.

  They’ll cut your throat if someone offers them better money.

  The hiramite was waving to Isten from the doorway of the watchtower and she rushed towards him, starting to shiver from the cold. He stepped aside as she reached the door, waving her inside.

  The entrance hall was a wide, low-ceilinged room, with a staircase at the centre, spiralling up to the next level. The narrow windows did not admit much light, and the place had the air of a crypt: cold, dark and hewn from heavy, damp stone. The walls were cracked in some places and covered in blue-grey lichen, and there were patches of moss on the floor. The only furniture was a table and chairs, just inside the door. The rest of the place looked like a warehouse – there were rows of crates, sacks and locked metal chests stacked at the back of the hall, surrounded by piles of falcatas and discarded armour. The laborators had vanished, presumably up to the next floor, but there were a few more soldiers, crouched in the darkness, fiddling with weapons or adjusting their armour. She was excited to see that some of them were loading crossbows, identical to those used by the Aroc Brothers. Behind her, the crew of the Sign of the Sun were already arriving, staggering under the weight of more heavy crates, and Isten noticed that they were branded with the same symbol as her robes. The weapons? she thought, but before Alzen could reply, a hiramite wandered over. He had been talking to the soldier who spoke to Isten on the boat.

  “The phrater’s upstairs,” he said, giving her a suspicious look. He removed his disorientating helmet. He was a young man of twenty or so, but his face was thin and drawn and there were dark circles under his eyes. He wore the same metal cuirass as the soldiers that had just arrived, but his was battered and scorched and one of his arms was wrapped in a bloodstained bandage.

  Isten panicked, wondering how to reply, but Alzen quickly interceded.

  Say you’re here to gather minerals and that you just need somewhere to rest after your journey.

  Isten did as she was instructed but the soldier looked unconvinced. “Caystrus tells me you need to explain yourself to the phrater, but he’s far too busy at the moment, so you can rest. There are beds and food upstairs.” He gave her a warning glance. “The headhunters have warned us of another attack any moment, so don’t leave the tower.”

&n
bsp; “I won’t.”

  The hiramite frowned and Isten realized she had made no effort to lower the pitch of her voice.

  He stared at her with a puzzled expression. Then he shrugged, yawned and wandered off out into the rain, fixing his silver helmet back in place.

  Are the weapons in those chests? she wondered.

  Yes, some, but that’s not the full load. There are more still on the boat. You need to wait until they’ve all been carried up here. Go upstairs.

  Isten’s head was full of the death she had seen outside, so she shuffled over to the steps like a sleepwalker, cursing her own stupidity under her breath.

  She shook her rain-sodden robes as she emerged onto the next floor.

  The laborators were huddled around a large stone fireplace, talking to another robed figure that she presumed was the phrater. He was wearing the same robes and flame-shaped helmet she had seen Alzen wear, but he was ancient. Where Alzen was upright and solid-looking, Phrater Herbrus was stooped and frail. He also looked desperate, swaying and gesticulating angrily as he gave his attendants orders.

  None of them paid Isten any attention as she approached the fire, reaching out to the flames. Athanor had made a weakling of her – as a child she would have thought nothing of a good soaking, but now she was shivering. The fire was a large one and the heat felt good, dragging steam from her robes.

  She could hear the conversation between the phrater and his servants, but none of it made much sense. They were discussing the contents of bags the laborators were holding and he seemed unhappy about something. Isten looked around and saw that there were more hiramites up here and they looked as haggard as the one she spoke to downstairs. They were sleeping on dirty mattresses near the fire, still wearing their armour and looking like they had been asleep before they hit the floor.

  There was a window near Isten and she could still see the rain-drenched bodies outside. Do all of the Elect think it’s fine to murder innocent women and children? she thought.

  Alzen did not reply for a moment, and when he did, she could feel his rage. You have no idea what sacrifices are made on your behalf, so you can live safely in the city, indulging your habits. How do you think Athanor has survived all these centuries? It is because the Elect are prepared to take on the burden of preserving your way of life. There is nothing we would not do to preserve Athanor.