by Mary Gentle
I remember that the Golden Empire did not build only for a day or a year or a century, but for millennia.
‘Assuming this to be accurate, Dr Akida, what is the rate of decay? How long will the canals continue to function?’
He was quiet, and I could hear the noise of our feet on the earth, and the hiss of the surf. He put lank black hair back from his forehead, wiping away sweat. In pain, I realized; Christ, girl, don’t bait him when he’s doing this to bring the news personally!
‘You push me for definite answers, Ms Christie, and I have only hypothetical estimates. Given that my assumptions are correct, I would say between five hundred and eight hundred years, Earth standard.’
A cool wind blew off the sea, and flared the pitch torches being lit by the ferry, down on the shingle. It brought the sound of voices. Across the water, lights still showed on the island-city; and a rashaku-bazur glided silently within a yard of us, and I started violently at that white apparition. Rashid Akida put out a hand and muttered something profane.
‘I’m not completely divorced from the world,’ he said suddenly. ‘Molly Rachel knew how much social and cultural shock something like this can cause, and I know, and I’ve no desire to cause it, believe me. That’s why I insist on Security. Do you seriously think that, if I didn’t appreciate that fully, I would have allowed Ms Rachel to destroy all trace of five months’ research?’
‘I – no, I’m sorry; I didn’t see that.’
‘That’s five months of my career, of my life. From what I hear, the chances of a research team getting back to that continent are negligible. No, I don’t take this lightly.’
Chastened, I put out a hand to help him over the shingle. We came down to the edge of the sea, and a jath-rai drawn up to the tiny dock. And then the implications hit me, and I stopped dead. Akida looked back at me with irritation.
‘The old civilization, their science – you can’t analyse it?’
He wiped his forehead again. When he felt in his belt-pouch for painkillers, I could see that his fingers were shaking. He said, ‘Negatives are impossible to prove. All I can say is, that with the full resources of Earth’s data-net at our disposal, we’ve failed to comprehend any of it on more than a basic cause and effect level – no, not even that. I don’t understand what the cause might be of any given effect. I know the chiruzeth canal system somehow circulates pure water, but I don’t know how. I have artifacts that perform actions, but what their function is –’ He stopped for breath.
It was as if some knot untied inside me: all I could do was stand on that twilight beach, half deafened by waves, tasting the alien salts of that alien sea on my lips, and think: A synthesis of Earth and Golden technology, is it? Calil, you’re bluffing. You don’t have the knowledge, there’s been nowhere to get it from!
‘We’ll cross to the city,’ I said, and hailed the ferry crew. When I recognized one of the younger Ortheans as Beth’ru-elen telestre, I realized I had a messenger. ‘Dr Akida, there are people we have to see.’
All exhaustion vanished: I could have raised the jath-rai ferry’s sails myself. Akida slumped down on a bench, but I walked up and down on the swaying deck, going to the rail to look first at Tathcaer harbour as we approached, then at Kumiel, vanishing into blue darkness. Brilliant clusters of stars began to come out in the high dome of the sky. I used my wristlink for what calls I could, spoke with the Beth’ru-elen ashiren to send kir to the Citadel; and then returned to gripping the polished ziku rail, feeling the seaspray cold on my face.
Momentarily, I thought artifacts that perform functions and my heart stopped: who knows what relics might survive in Kel Harantish, that treasure-junkheap of the world? Then relief rushed over me. If a weapon was found, I thought, it would have been used before now. The only reason we believed the claim was that possibility that Earth science might restore that lost knowledge. And that possibility’s gone. If they can’t restore the canal system, I’m damned if I believe they can have Witchbreed weapons!
The jath-rai dipped, meeting the turbulence of sunset tide in the Oranon’s estuary. Cold seawater soaked my arm. I stood back from the rail as we tacked across the expanse of water that becomes Tathcaer’s harbour, gazing up at the dark shadows of Westhill and Easthill against the starred sky.
Rashid Akida’s voice came from behind me: ‘I’m afraid, if the situation remains thus, that this world is of correspondingly less value to the Company.’
‘Is it likely to change – is a breakthrough still possible?’
His voice sounded weary. ‘Breakthroughs in understanding are always possible. I should like to compare data on Golden science with that on other Heart Stars and Home Stars worlds. That would mean a five or ten years’ research project, and I doubt the Company will fund that now.’
I turned to watch us dock, so that he shouldn’t see me smile. Of less value to the Company. Dear me, I thought, what a pity. And yet if I do pity anyone, it’s Rashid Akida.
The Beth’ru-elen child scuttled off through the crowd on the quay, heading for the Citadel. It was an easy walk up to Westhill-Ahrentine, but none the less I hired a skurrai-jasin; and came to the telestre-house shortly after full night. The sky cleared, the stars blazed. L’ri-an opened the barred tunnel-entrance to us, and I helped Akida up the steps and into the upper-storey rooms; meeting the stares of first Tethmet Fenborn, then Blaize n’ri n’suth Meduenin, and then – I was equally startled – the shan’tai Hildrindi of hiyek-Anzhadi.
‘I’ve tried to get in touch with Ruric, and Hal, and the T’An Suthai-Telestre,’ I said. ‘Douggie and Commander Mendez will be here as soon as they can – it’s all right Blaize, it isn’t as dramatic as it looks; Rashid, I’ve also requested a medic …’ I relinquished Akida’s weight on to Blaize, as the Orthean male helped him to a couch-chair.
Tethmet blinked dark eyes. ‘She is at the Wellhouse, with the Witchbreed.’
I mentally translated that as Ruric and Pathrey Shanataru respectively. I crossed the room, checking holotank and comlink; and then became aware that the pale-maned Desert Coast male was watching me with a wry amusement. Hildrindi-keretne said, ‘I will go, if you wish, shan’tai Christie, but I am curious.’
‘I’ll let you know if you should go in a minute, shan’tai.
Blaize stood up from bending over Rashid Akida. Harur-blades rang a dissonance. The Meduenin was still in clothes soaked to the knee with seawater, and I wondered how matters had gone in the hiyek fleet. He pushed back yellow mane from his scarred cheek, and looked at me, puzzled.
‘All the technology of the Company, and you bring your business in person? Or is that necessary? Christie, what in Her name –?’ I took his hands in mine. They were dry, warm; with that temperature just subtly different from the human.
‘I’ll tell you I said. ‘If what I’ve heard just now is true, we’re safe.’
36
That Bright Shadow
Westhill-Ahrentine’s crowded upper chambers grew hot, and smelled – or stank – of kazsis-vine, and herb-tea, and human sweat.
‘I’ll tell you what makes it credible,’ Corazon Mendez said, leaning her hip back against the edge of the comlink console. ‘My people have been certain Rachel and Osaka and Akida were attacked for the same reason. Now it makes sense. To keep news of the technology fraud from getting out of the Kel Harantish settlement.’
Oh, it “makes sense”, does it; Molly’s death and their pain? Christ, I’m glad of that!
‘Cory, you –’ But the comlink’s chime interrupted me. ‘Yes. Christie here.’
‘Kumiel base, Representative. Lieutenant Ottoway wants to know if you want day and night surveillance kept up over the Rimnith-Keverilde area.’
‘Yes, I do –’
Cory leaned down to the pick-up: ‘Downgrade it one level. Tell Ottoway he’ll need the YV9s to keep up surveillance over the sea fleet. There’ll be considerable movement there over the next four days: I want it watched.’
‘Acknowledged; will
do, Commander Mendez.’
No, I thought. No. This is not the time to quarrel with Cory Mendez. Or anyone else, for that matter.
A thin ceramic bowl of siir-wine stood on the console-top, and I reached for it; sipping the viridian liquid and welcoming its bite. Corazon Mendez pushed herself upright, weight on her wrist. The thick silver rings on her fingers clicked against the console.
And what are we going to do about Rimnith and Keverilde, and the guerrilla fighters in Melkathi?
This small chamber was crowded: Rashid on one of the couch-chairs, with Kennaway, the black medic I’d last seen up on the orbiter; Doug Clifford in deep conversation with the Visconti woman from WEB-Trismegistus – all of them seeming gross and clumsy beside the frail figure of Haltern Beth’ru-elen, and the two delicate ashiren who ran his errands. Through the bead-curtain, in the other room, I could see the shan’tai Hildrindi talking to Bethan T’An Kyre; and both of them being watched by the silent Nelum Santhil. How did this place come to be neutral ground? And then I thought of the comlink under my elbow, the data-tank; and realized speed of communication.
The bead-curtain on the outer door clashed back, pushed aside by a fair-maned male and a dark female, both in the shabbiest of Orthean dress; who were, respectively, T’An Commander of the Hundred Thousand and Hexenmeister of the Brown Tower … Sunlight shone in: this morning far advanced. Blaize nodded a brief acknowledgement, on his way through.
‘I’ve spoken to the Peir-Dadeni s’ans, they’ll let the fleet travel up the Ai River, but it must be done in small groups –’ His voice became muffled as he came up with Nelum Santhil, and spoke to the T’An Suthai-Telestre in that familiar accented Rimon.
Ruric, bowing with a studied formality, said to Cory Mendez, ‘Forgive me, I must take the Representative from you for a short time.’
I took the hint instantly, and followed Ruric back outside. A table in the inner courtyard had been set with a meal, and we walked down the steps and seated ourselves there. The morning sun was warm, shining on the red ziku and the pale sandstone. Haze put a faint bloom on the morning: soft blue.
‘I can’t spare long,’ I said. To be truthful, I could have sat on that wooden bench and gone off to sleep. Avoiding that, I took a drink of the herb-tea on the table; and leaned back and studied the dark Orthean female. ‘Not masked?’
She chuckled. Lines showed in the fine-grained black skin round her eyes. ‘Officially, I’m not here. Unofficially, there are still those who know me – having been up at the Citadel, that’s unavoidable. Khassiye Reihalyn, I beg his pardon, Khassiye n’ri n’suth Andrethe – you remember him? – was appalled. But there seem to be people from Melkathi who still have a kindness towards me.’ She shook her head; smiled. ‘Strange.’
‘No, not really. What about …’ I looked at the scar on her forehead.
‘Truly, yes, I should find myself in the Citadel’s prison. Or else the lesser penalty, death. Maybe it’s that much is forgiven someone wearing the robes of the Brown Tower. And that,’ she said, ‘is what I’d speak with you for, S’aranth. My Tethmet reminds me constantly that I shouldn’t be outside Kasabaarde, and I begin to think I should not; so I’ve come to beg a favour of you, and that’s a journey in one of your shuttlecraft.’
‘Of course.’
She turned her head to look across the courtyard, through the entrance archway to the alley outside. The shadow of ziku dappled her dark face. Light fell on that narrow jaw, the fine line of her mouth and chin; left her eyes in shadow, citrine-bright.
‘When will you leave?’
She smiled. There was nothing of Orhlandis in it; it was an expression I have seen before, in a far southern city, on the face of an old male Orthean, in the Brown Tower. I hardly recognize her, I thought. No, no need for Ruric Hexenmeister to go masked in Tathcaer; who would know her?
‘A day or so,’ she said. ‘Christie, I dare not stay longer than that. If I did, I couldn’t leave.’
Humid heat brought out sweat on my face, under my arms; and I leaned back, thinking why is there always an ache somewhere? and thirty-eight isn’t old. The haze of the morning was creeping down to blur the flat white roofs of telestre-houses, and hide the distant view of the harbour at the bottom of Westhill.
And Molly was, what, not quite thirty?
I looked up at the upper-storey windows, hearing voices, but not able to see faces. Doug Clifford, and the Akida: both mauled by this world. And Molly Rachel not going home at all, unless it’s in coldfreeze; and that (as we used to call it in the Service) is the short way home to Earth, shipped back faster than living tissue can stand.
Flagstones gritted dusty underfoot, and I leaned forward to reach the jug of herb-tea, and was suddenly conscious of how far, how very far, this hazy courtyard is from the acid heat of the Desert Coast … Have we really done that? Started a war and then stopped it? No: we were only the pebble that triggered an avalanche, and avalanches can be diverted, but – at a cost?
That’s not for me to judge; if there was a price, it wasn’t me who paid it. And we will never know, I thought, all that has happened on Orthe in this last half-year. How many lives have changed, on the canals, in the siiran. What hurt it is, when you are Rimnith or Keverilde, and smoke darkens the sky … What deaths have happened, in cities without walls, in rooms without doors.
‘One more thing.’ Ruric’s voice broke into my thoughts. ‘Pathrey Shanataru comes back with me to the Tower. He being closest to the bel-Rioch child, I wish to know what he knows. You’re aware I can discover more than you offworlders.’
I met her gaze, thinking, Havoth-jair.
‘Last time you asked me that, I consented. You are Hexenmeister, aren’t you?’
Her long fingers rubbed at the stump of her amputated arm as if it pained her.
‘Christie, I said then and I say now: the Tower must stand. Any danger to it is a danger to Orthe. I want to know if Calil bel-Rioch heard somehow of that devastation she calls “ancient light”, and if she knows that it isn’t ended but only held back …’ She blinked fine membrane down over honey-yellow eyes. ‘And if she heard it, I must know where, and stop it being heard again. Or if she remembers, I want to know how it is that a Golden-blood has past memories. You know I have to do this. For our own safety.’
‘Will the Wellhouse let you take him? Sorry, no. That’s stupid of me. When did the Wellhouses ever refuse the Brown Tower?’
The bells for mid-morning rang across Westhill, muffled a little by the sea mist. Small rashaku soared up from the flat roof of the telestre-house. When the bells ceased, they gave way to a silence in which only the humming of kekri-flies could be heard.
‘I’ll let you have the transport,’ I said.
Such a reward for betrayal, I thought. To leave Calil bel-Rioch, to bring valuable information here, to be imprisoned in the Wellhouse; and now to be taken south and have one’s mind and memories ripped open … Pathrey, Pathrey – and I can’t stop the Hexenmeister doing it, because I, also, remember; and know that it’s necessary.
And then I sipped herb-tea, and with an Orthean black humour thought: You wanted to help us, Pathrey; you’ll be more help than you intended. And who was it told me there’s no justice? Nobody gets what they deserve, not you, and not Molly Rachel, that’s for sure.
Ruric leaned back, cupping a bowl of herb-tea in her single hand. Though she still looked towards the archway, her gaze seemed turned inward. She said, ‘A day, or two. Nelum Santhil doesn’t fully trust the hiyeks, I think, and the past has given him good reason not to, but still, we can’t falter at this last stage. It should end well for the Coast, as well as the Hundred Thousand. If there’s a way it can be done, I’d have it end well for Kel Harantish.’
I said, ‘And for Earth?’
She grinned at me then, raising her bowl in a mocking salute. ‘And for Earth, too.’
The comlink dragged me up from a heavy sleep in the early hours of Merrum Secondweek Fourday, the following day.
I pushed back the chirith-goyen sleeping-cloths and sat up, half-dazed. Westhill-Ahrentine’s rooms are lit at night with kiez-oil lanterns, and the yellow light shone on rumpled clothes and my discarded coverall, and on the half-uncovered back of Blaize Meduenin beside me: that line of naked shoulder and hip and thigh, made subtly different by alien musculature, and the tangled roots of a yellow mane. His body warm, dry, against my skin – and then he rolled over, coming awake with less than a mercenary fighter’s swiftness.
‘Sunmother! what –?’
‘Jesus, it’s an alert.’
I staggered through to the next room, pulling on my coverall, and slapped the acknowledge key on the comlink console. Blaize, behind me, grunted as he banged against the edge of the holotank; and I saw that instinct had made him, all oblivious, catch up harur-nilgiri before all else. Who’s here? I wondered: a reasonable question considering the activity in Westhill-Ahrentine the last two days, Nelum and Hal at the Citadel; where’s Douggie? –
The wail of the alert cut out. Ottoway’s image appeared in the comlink ‘tank.
‘What the fuck is going on?’
Ottoway vanished, abruptly replaced by Corazon Mendez: ‘Lynne, get back here – I’ll send a ‘thopter in now to pick you up.’
‘What’s happening?’
The white-haired woman turned her head away, speaking to someone out of comlink range; then turned back: ‘Is Doug Clifford with you?’
‘No, he’s with the takshiriye in the Citadel. Cory, what the hell –’
‘We’re getting sensor readings from the sea vessels in the islands, your hiyek-ships, Lynne; they’re moving.’
The bead curtain rattled, and Blaize came back dressed and pulling on harur-blade harness. He went to the head of the inner stairs, calling, and a wide-eyed ashiren came up from the kitchens.
‘Send word to the Citadel, arykei-te?’ he said. ‘The child can find Clifford. What message?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t understand – Cory, those ships are going to move. They’ve got to find safe moorings, reprovision before they can go north. What’s the problem?’
