by Mary Gentle
Carefully, I lifted myself on to the edge of the heap of fallen brickwork. A house-wall had come down all of a piece here, and bracing my heel I pushed myself up on to it; and then I lifted again and shifted a few inches further up the slope, and felt broken brick under me, cutting sharply. A splinter drove up under the nail of my forefinger. I swore, sucked at it. Push and lift. Brace heel. Now I was a few yards above ground level, I could see how the Square was devastated – buried under the rock-slide of the collapsing cliff. If I can see where I’m going, I thought, and twisted, moving one hand –
Came down on empty air. Bricks shifted, a kaleidoscope of sky, walls, roofs blinded me; there was a horrible grinding noise and I fell. Plunged backwards and down and rolled, throat ripped open with screaming, felt the wooden splints on my leg give – and hit sharp edges with outstretched hands, not able to stop that sickening slide; bricks falling with me, and I hit something that knocked me breathless. Pain convulsed me; I vomited. I was still, but sprawled backwards across the foot of a wall, and splints and belt gone, and leg crooked at an angle. I blacked out.
The pain brought me back to consciousness.
When I felt for pain-tabs, two were gone. A bitterness remained in my mouth. Did I take them? I wondered. And realized that I must have. The white sun dazzled me and I moved my head. The world swung. Nausea made me shut my eyes; when I opened them, I saw my hand lying on the earth in front of me, and realized I must be on my back. Earth, not stone. I raised my head. The rubble-slide had left me on earth, and I lifted myself a little further, seeing that my right leg was still crooked; bruised and swollen.
Reached down to touch my hip, that seemed all hot fire. My leg, lying still partly on broken brick, and the foot and calf turned in at an angle – I shut my eyes, sick; every gasp made pain flare through me, made me sob on every harsh indrawn breath. Which hurts more, the pain or the fear? Fear: I daren’t look at my leg, the torn cloth covering swollen flesh, now torn and ripped, and seeping blood and a pale fluid. The sun was hot on my head and the earth warm under my back and I couldn’t tell what hurt, myself or the earth; pain too large to be contained in blood and flesh and bone.
Time passing: minute and slow minute. Dear God let me black out. Each minute carrying its full weight of hot sun – still just past dawn – and thundering noise. Each explosion made me sob, shake; I shifted, and screamed, and the pain choked me off: voiceless, blinded with tears.
Minute by minute in the hot morning, lips cracking and dusty. If this doesn’t stop I’ll die. And the realization, quite cold and apart, Yes, I will die. Not of the injury, not even of shock and pain, but if the fighting comes this way, or the wreckage burns, or this goes on through days and nights without water and food.
Somewhere in those minutes – twenty of them, or half an hour, no more – I put the last pain-tabs into my mouth, and chewed a bitter dust.
The painkillers cut the edge of it, and I lay for a minute and panted, thinking Pain exhausts and blinking against the sunlight above me. Now I could turn my head to the side, away from the slope of fallen masonry that loomed on my left hand, and strain to focus … into distance.
I lay on broken earth above a slope. A telestre-house wall, hit by projectile fire, had dragged part of the hillside when it fell: landsliding down on the alleys and buildings below. Broken earth began three yards from where I lay. I looked down on earth and uprooted kazsis and a scatter of kitchen implements and two dark-maned Ortheans. One was buried except for a head and arm. The other – an elderly female – lay face down and motionless. I looked away.
The slope of the hill below me shone in the eastern sun. Pale-walled telestre-houses, untouched. Figures ran on flat roofs, scurrying from cover to cover. Beyond that – squinting into the rising sun – the river gleamed. It tumbled and rushed over a fallen bridge. The metal sails of jath-rai shone too bright to look at. Faintly through the air came the whine of CAS weaponry, like the hum of kekri-flies at this distance. There were people down by the bridges and that cold part of my mind observed, Anyone I can see must be dead; the living will be under cover from the firing and I turned my head away: pain hammering behind my eyes.
No wooden slats now, nothing within arm’s reach or even close, to use as splint or support … I caught my breath, eased back – and slumped down: seconds before my vision cleared, and no there’s no point in moving, where can I go? Better to conserve strength.
I heard voices, close at hand, and without any pause to consider, shouted – voice a dry croak, and taking a breath was agony, but I shouted:
‘Help! Over here –’
A head rose over the top of the heap of fallen masonry, and I looked up at a brown-maned and brown-skinned Orthean male, hardly more than ashiren; and his eyes widened, and he called down behind him, S’aranthi!’ and then scrambled over and down – I threw my arms across my face. Grunted with pain – but no slide of fallen bricks came down with him; he stepped lightfootedly down beside me, and squatted down, and glanced first at my leg, and then at this exposed position and the town below.
‘Can you walk?’ he said in a soft Ymirian accent.
‘No I –’ And what’s he to know about it? ‘No, I can’t move; my leg’s smashed.’
‘Don’t worry.’ He flinched as a crack! sounded, and on the hillside below, smoke boiled up from a telestre-house. ‘Hey, Sulis; down here! Quick!’
An older female appeared, so like him that they must be of one telestre, and I lightheadedly thought, I should tell you to get out, it isn’t safe here! and knew I wouldn’t. She scrambled down the heap of bricks and masonry and timber, cat-cautious, her gaze on the river below; and without preamble said to the boy, ‘We’ll have to carry her out’, and to me, ‘This will hurt.’
She grabbed me under the arms, signalling to the boy.
Strong hands gripped my good leg; I felt myself lifted – and screamed: no help for it, screamed and swore at them to put me down for Chrissakes I’m in fucking agony; and the blue sky and the sunlight ran together, and I passed half-in, half-out of consciousness.
And then I lay on the flagstones thinking back where I started with hysterical amusement; this isn’t an hour since I stood in the Citadel and talked with Douggie and Blaize and Hal; and I saw the rubble and realized they must have carried me; how in hell –? The woman and the boy stood over me, talking urgently. Then she lifted her brown hand, signalling.
‘Thank you –’
The boy squatted down beside me. He put one six-fingered hand up to brush back his mane, and his eyes were on the ruins we were in and not on me. Wouldn’t have stopped if you hadn’t called out, t’an. This is our last time through. You’re lucky. You – I’m coming, Sulis. Here!’
Wood hit flagstones with a crash; hands lifted me so swiftly that I had hardly time to cry out; and then there was wood under me, something soft jammed into my side; the tail of the jasin was fastened up again by the woman, and with a jolt we moved. I raised my head, sick; vomited bile, and then retched. I wiped at the front of my coverall, and the stink made me close my eyes. When I opened them, seconds later, the jasin was passing under a grey stone arch, in cold shadow, and out on to a windswept quay, and I thought Where? and we can’t have come so far in moments.
What lay soft against me was an Orthean female, unconscious and moaning; and I twisted to look back over my shoulder, and saw two more Ortheans in the carriage – one stared at me; her arm was soaked black with blood – and a skurrai with the brown-maned boy at its head, and beyond the beast a number of other carts and carriages, and wounded men and women lying on blankets spread on quaystones, and the wind whipped crests on to the river – no, the estuary.
The wide sky was clear, and bright, and the wind brought a fine spray – lips tasting that sweet-salt alien water – and far out, almost to the other side of the water, a ferry tacked in to land on the mainland. I shut my eyes, shivered; was hot and then cold; found that I couldn’t stop shivering. They’re going to move me, going to lift me of
f this cart; going to move me again, Christ Jesus! I opened gummy eyes and stared blankly, and managed to focus on my leg. Swollen flesh: pressing hard against the ripped cloth. The cloth now stained a bright pink. Other leg crooked up, braced against jasin tailboard, how did I have the sense to do that?
‘– she’s an offworlder!’
‘I don’t care, she goes with the rest. I’m leaving no one here that we can move!’
They came into my field of vision, silhouetted against the estuary, and the morning sun off the water momentarily blinded me. The female, Sulis, and another woman.
‘Sunmother, no, I won’t take her! Let her stay here and rot.’
‘I haven’t got time for this!’ The dark-maned female swung round, walking away, and threw back over her shoulder: ‘Ask the T’An – don’t bother me – leave her, then!’
I got a hand on the edge of the jasin and pulled myself up an inch or two. A small quayside area, a steep hill above; and the sun coming from there and so this must be one of the west-river ferries.
Muzzily, I called out, but the Orthean woman was no longer there. The air was full of noise: explosions in the distance, CAS fire much nearer; the crackle of wood on fire, voices shouting, and voices in pain; screams, so that I sank back and gasped and sweated.
A hand touched my hot forehead: the fingers like ice.
‘Don’t –’ And then I focused. Delirium, I thought, quite certain of it; so certain that I didn’t speak; and someone called, ‘T’An, there’s another boat to load, which lot do we take next?’ and Ruric raised her head and called, ‘By the steps – there.’
She looked down at me and said, ‘What can I do? Think and tell me, Christie. What can we do that will help you, not hurt you?’
‘What are you doing here?’ Then I thought how urgent it was to move. ‘I had a splint, to keep the bone from grating – Ruric, for God’s sake! What are you doing?’
She stayed leaning against the side of the cart. The sun shone on her black mane, thick now with dust; and on the sharp lines of her face; and her gaze went to the estuary, watching the half-dozen small ships rocking on the water. ‘Getting people out. You should have seen the Wellhouses! They must have moved hundreds in the first hour – anyone who can walk has gone, or if they haven’t, they’re fools –’ She broke off to shout an order down the quay. ‘– and now it’s casualties. The harbour …’
‘What time is it?’
‘About an hour before midday.’ She grinned, and the lines in her face deepened. Membrane veiled yellow eyes against the dust. ‘That’s my S’aranth!’ And she turned away, giving orders to another Orthean.
The noise deafened me. Vision swam: I was aware that I was fever-hot. Then a sharp pain convulsed me, I sat upright; cried out. There were makeshift splints bound round my right leg with strips of a torn cloak, and in confusion I thought, When did that happen? and Ruric Orhlandis said ‘Better?’
‘I – uh; yeah, better.’
‘Liar.’ She raised her head. The wind blew her cropped mane back from her face. The sky above her seemed hazy, and I realized it was high cloud; daystars barely visible in the milky blue. No shuttles, I thought. The Orthean woman said, ‘You’ll be on the next boat across.’
The splints felt tight. My knee throbbed; but now at least every breath didn’t move it. The skurrai-cart being needed, I was lifted off and laid down on the quayside with a dozen other Ortheans. The flagstones were sun-warmed. Intermittently my sight blacked out, and the pain began to bite as the painkillers wore off; I thought, How can I get to a shuttle? to Kutniel? no medics here –
An Earthspeaker who tended the other wounded crossed the quay and examined my leg; but didn’t touch it. Glad or sorry? I wondered. Human anatomy is not Orthean: I’d sooner they didn’t meddle. Christ, somebody do something!
People still came down on to the quay from the alleys. As the sun rose to midday, the noise of firing increased. A cold sweat came out on my face and neck and back: I thought, No. This is enough. Too much. Not again. All I could see was smoke and dust that hung in the air at the top of the hill. Towards the sea, downriver, black smoke rose and fires raged; and it was a long time before I thought, That’s Westhill and heard the sharp crack! of a beampulser.
I looked down, across the water, fearing to see the metal sails of jath-rai.
‘– and come back across.’
Ruric’s voice, speaking to a dark-maned male in Rimon dress. As he moved off, she came to squat down beside me; where I lay propped up against the wall of the quay steps. The noon sun dazzled on the water. One of the Ortheans with me – the female with the wounded arm – muttered something under her breath; a male grunted and looked at Ruric and spat: ‘Orhlandis!’
Ruric ignored him. Her hand moved to rub at the stump of her arm with long dark fingers; and I saw that her shirt was filthy and her britches dust-stained; and she carried a CAS-handgun at her belt. The smooth butt had no Company logo stamped on it. And so it must have come from the hiyeks, I realized; and in what riot and confusion – does it matter?
We’ll have to move,’ she said quietly, ‘they’re moving upriver from Westhill. S’aranth, crossing over is risky, but so is staying here.’
Her eyes followed the Rimon male she’d spoken to. I saw him supervising the loading of stretchers on to a small boat, shouting at the ashiren that was all his crew. The boat lifted and fell: tide flowing down towards the estuary. Ruric lifted her head, looking at the hillside and the telestre-houses above us: ‘There’s more need bringing out.’
‘What’s happening?’
She shook her head, and was silent. A roar sounded over the noise of explosions and the whine of CAS weaponry, and a shuttle soared high across the city and vanished over to the east. Another explosion rocked the quay: loud and sudden and there was blood where I bit my lip; Ruric stood and gazed east, listening, but the roar died smoothly away. She sank back down. Now I could smell burning again, over the stink of sea and fear.
‘Sunmother!’ she whispered, ‘I’ll make them bring the boats back across here.’ She threw me a quick glance, and rested her hand on my shoulder. ‘Christie, don’t worry.’
‘The Citadel –’
She said nothing, but the membranes slid back from her yellow eyes, fever-bright in her dark face, and she looked up at the city from under dark brows; and my pulse stuttered, a stab of adrenalin cold as ice. Her fingers locked on my shoulder.
‘You don’t ask what keeps the fighting to the harbour and the rivers.’
Pain making me stupid, I muttered, ‘Keeps it?’
‘They’re fighting offworld technology with winchbows and harur-blades. As a diversion.’ Her mouth moved in something that might be a smile: ancient and sardonic; and then it was Ruric Orhlandis again, her face sharp with pain, who said, ‘Christie, who do you think? The T’An Commander, the guard; a handful of mercenaries. They’re down there now.’
She stood up, shouting across to Ortheans bringing two more loaded skurrai-carts out of the alley-entrance; brown-robed Earthspeakers ran to the wounded, and I tried to shut my ears to the noises, the pain. Blaize. Confusion muddled me; childlike, I thought T’An Commander, that’s Blaize Meduenin and then no, he can’t be back there, I don’t believe it! and sobbed on an indrawn breath: yes, he’s there; Jesus Christ –
‘Get him out. Ruric, get a message; get him here!’
‘What about the rest of them here? If we don’t get people out of the city –’ She swung round: ‘Get them on board! There isn’t time for that; carry them if you have to!’
I don’t give a fuck about anybody else; get Blaize out; and where’s Hal, did he get out early? And Cassirur and Nelum; this is …
The raw pain and the fever reached a balance: I thought, with utter certainty, This is a nightmare. It cleared my head. The sun made my eyes water. The sea-wall was hard against my back; and three of us lay propped up against it: a pale-maned female with an arm roughly bandaged and stained bloody; a young male; an older m
ale who cradled a hand smashed and wet. The sound he was making tore at my gut. Sunlight, white and harsh, shattered on the surface of the river; and the wind off the water made me shiver. I hugged my arms across my chest, feeling the sting of cut palms.
Every crash, every loud explosion, made me shake.
Blank-walled telestre-houses on the hillside above the quay were quiet, pale in the sun; and I strained to see figures on roof-tops – nothing. For how long? The sun blinded me. Ahead, where the river curved, must be Westhill; clouds of smoke rolled down now to the water’s edge, hiding the city there. I dropped my gaze and looked along the quay, it was a confusion of people rushing about; makeshift stretchers manhandled down on to the deck of the small boat; one of the Earthspeakers glanced down at a male on the quayside and shook his head; Ruric – when did she go? – came back at a run with two males, pointed at the group of us; and they went to the pale-maned female and lifted her, carrying her towards the boat.
‘Look.’ I pointed. Ruric knelt down beside me, veiled her eyes, and stared downriver against the sunlit water. I saw how my hand shook. Dirt and blood. Then the dark Orthean woman drew in her breath as if she’d been hit.
‘I see it.’ She straightened up.
A glint of light on metal … and then it turned with the wind and was clearly in view: a jath-rai, metal sail gleaming, emerging from the smoke that hid the side of Westhill. Staring across a hundred yards of open water, I saw small white-robed figures on the deck. A thunder of explosions made me wince: I shrank back, realized that wasn’t this side of the city and got my hands to the top of the wall, and hauled myself upright, weight on my good leg.
Another ship appeared from the smoke. The two jath-rai caught the wind, prows curving slowly as they came round. For a split second I thought they’re going back and then sails shifted, figures ran about the decks, both ships began to head upriver towards us.
