Chimaera

by Ian Irvine

  ‘Can you see what that is?’ said Nish.

  Irisis adjusted the spyglass. ‘The bodies of small creatures. About cat-sized. Hundreds of them.’

  ‘Could they be uggnatl?’ said Tiaan.

  ‘I think they are,’ said Irisis. ‘Yes, definitely.’

  Many more barrels were brought out, then the pile began to smoke, the fliers turned towards them and Tiaan headed away. They had just flown across the glass dome when the sound of the mechanism vanished. She took power from another node and climbed a little higher.

  ‘What was that?’ said Nish.

  ‘I don’t know, but it was a lot stronger than when they tried to take my power a year ago.’

  It happened again, though this time Tiaan was waiting for it and switched nodes instantly. ‘I don’t think they like us here,’ she said, turning away.

  A few seconds later, power was snatched from her again. Then again, and each time it was quicker than before.

  ‘Fly!’ yelled Irisis.

  Tiaan tried to, but all at once time seemed to freeze. Nish, his mouth open, went as still as a statue. Tiaan’s hand appeared to solidify in mid-air and the thapter itself to stop, though it did not fall. She tried to reach for the flight knob but her hand would not move. What’s … happening? Her thoughts were so sluggish that she had to force herself to create each word.

  After an agonised aeon, time reverted to its normal beat and she streaked away to safety, without having the faintest idea what had been done to them.

  Flydd was revoltingly pleased to hear about the dead, and the uggnatl, and told them that similar plagues had been reported from two of the lyrinx’s eastern cities, though the number of lyrinx dead was relatively small so far. He was not so pleased to hear about the strange attack on the thapter, though he couldn’t make anything of it either.

  The next day Tiaan kept at a safe distance, observing with the spyglass. The thapter was not attacked again, but a thousand dead were carried out of the city. The day after that Oellyll erupted, lyrinx boiling from it like ants from a broken anthill. They disappeared into the forest too quickly to count, though Nish did his best to estimate the numbers.

  ‘Around twenty thousand,’ he said when dusk cut off the scene.

  Irisis laid down her tally sheet. ‘I make it more like twenty-five.’

  ‘Then we’ll take the difference. Twenty-two and a half.’

  They were back on station at dawn, and found the enemy fleeing Oellyll as fast as ever. By the end of the day Nish and Irisis had estimated another twenty-two thousand. That night was clear with a good moon and they saw that the evacuation continued all night, though it wasn’t bright enough to count them. Finally, around lunchtime of the following day, it slowed to a trickle and the circling lyrinx, without so much as a glance at the thapter, flew east across the sea.

  ‘Fifty-five thousand,’ Tiaan said when Flydd called not long after. ‘And that’s just the ones we saw in the daytime. There would have been roughly as many again at night.’

  ‘So a hundred thousand; maybe a hundred and ten,’ said Tiaan. ‘That’s far more than Flydd expected.’

  The scrutator could hardly speak when she told him the number. ‘And how many dead?’ he said after a long, long pause.

  ‘A couple of thousand, in total,’ she said soberly.

  ‘Is that all?’ he whispered. ‘It’s not near enough. If that’s repeated at the other cities, we’re staring at a catastrophe.’

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ said Tiaan through her farspeaker.

  ‘When you’re sure it’s safe, take a look at the bodies, if they’re not all burnt. Then you’d better go north and see if the same is happening there.’

  That afternoon she landed by one of the main entrances to Oellyll. The bodies lay in great piles, adults as well as infants whose armour had barely formed. The outer skin was red and blistered, the fingers and toes hooked as though the creatures had died in agony. The threat of the uggnatl had meant there was no choice, but Tiaan felt sick. We did this, she thought. I did it, and for what? There’s got to be a better way – a way we can all live together, without slaughtering each other and resorting to ever-increasing barbarities like this.

  By the time they reached the lyrinx city west of Thurkad the following day, the smoking bodies were piled as high as houses between the cliff and the pinnacles. They saw no lyrinx about, which surely meant that this city had also been abandoned.

  Tiaan landed the thapter so that Irisis and Nish could inspect the bodies, then took them up to one of the entrances, as they wanted to check inside. She did not. She sat at the very brink, looking down at the fuming corpses. Many of them were children and infants. Very many. How could peace ever be made between humans and lyrinx, after this?

  But there had to be a way. Tiaan could not bear to think of the war going on in ever-increasing violence and depravity until the world had been utterly laid waste. One side would be annihilated and the other ruined by the legacy of its own viciousness and moral corruption, as it tried to justify more and worse depravities in the cause of victory. How could humanity – should it prove the victor – ever recover from such bloody Histories? It would taint every child born in this world, for as long as the Histories endured.

  I can’t be a party to it any longer, she thought. I must find a solution, whatever it costs me.

  Nish and Irisis came out, pale and silent. They did not speak about what they’d found inside, though Tiaan could only assume it had been more dead, twisted in their last agonies. Neither did she mention to them her resolve – let Flydd get word of it and she’d be deprived of thapter and amplimet, and probably locked up for the duration. Her quest would have to be silent and secret. She could not afford to trust even her new-found friends.

  ‘We’d better report to Flydd,’ said Irisis.

  ‘You do it,’ said Tiaan. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  Irisis nodded. ‘I think I know how you feel.’

  I doubt that you do, thought Tiaan, handing her the slave farspeaker. ‘Let’s go; I can’t bear the smell any longer.’

  ‘We can’t tell how many there were,’ Irisis said over the farspeaker once they were almost to Thurkad. It had taken ages to contact Flydd. ‘Though …’ She squinted into the distance.

  ‘What is it?’ said Flydd, his voice echoing.

  ‘I can see clouds of lyrinx in the distance, flying over the sea towards Meldorin. There must be ten thousand fliers; or more.’

  ‘And I dare say there’s more that you can’t see,’ he said heavily.

  ‘I dare say. And the harbour of Thurkad is full of boats, thousands of them. The enemy must have had them stored under cover. Some are already moving out. They’ll all be across the sea in a few days.’

  ‘I suppose we could pray for a storm.’

  ‘I’ve never seen the sea calmer,’ said Irisis. ‘What’s happening on the east coast?’

  ‘The same,’ said Flydd. ‘Our estimates were low at each city. Their numbers are at least a third higher than we’d thought.’

  ‘A third!’ cried Nish, staring into the farspeaker. ‘But that means …’

  ‘I’d hoped we’d infect most of them, and wipe them out as a threat, but a few thousand dead is nothing.’

  Tiaan was even more shocked than when she’d looked at the twisted corpses. ‘It seemed a lot to me,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Tiaan, each of our armies is outnumbered by an enemy that doesn’t need to outnumber us, and they’ve nowhere to go. They’ll all go to war against us. We gambled and we’ve lost.’

  ‘Can’t you use the spores again?’ said Nish.

  ‘They’re all gone.’

  ‘What do you want us to do?’ said Irisis.

  ‘Do whatever you want,’ Flydd said despairingly. ‘You have my permission to save yourselves any way you can.’

  ‘What would be the point?’ said Nish. He looked questioningly as Tiaan, who was staring straight ahead, her jaw clenched, and gave no respon
se. Irisis nodded. ‘We’re coming home to fight,’ Nish added.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Gilhaelith had been working with Ryll for months before, in late summer, they made the breakthrough. The lyrinx watched him so carefully, and constrained his every movement so tightly, that he could not have lifted a finger without being noticed. On the first few occasions he was watched over by Great Anabyng himself, whom Gilhaelith knew to be a mancer of surpassing power. Gilhaelith was meekness personified, doing nothing without asking permission first. He would be patient. The lyrinx couldn’t afford to waste Anabyng’s talents on guard duties for long.

  Sure enough, after several sessions Anabyng came no more, being replaced by a pair of lesser but still powerful mancers who never took their eyes off him. Gilhaelith kept up the pretence of total acquiescence. In fact they constrained him so tightly, out of fear, that he was almost useless to Ryll. Gilhaelith was happy to go along with that. Sooner or later they would have to give him more freedom, and he would use it to get what he wanted. In the meantime he kept his head down and let his resentment burn. He, a master geomancer, had been reduced to begging for the right to use his geomantic globe, just to save his life. Gyrull had not deigned to reply to his pleas, which made him bitter indeed. Once he got hold of the globe, she would pay. He’d rehearsed his plan so many times that even his reluctant, damaged brain had it down perfectly.

  Eventually they had given him a little freedom – enough for Ryll to discover what he needed to complete the flisnadr, yet not enough for Gilhaelith to take control of his globe. And the instant Ryll had it, the guards had taken Gilhaelith straight back to his watermelon-shaped stone cell and locked him in.

  This time Gilhaelith knew he was doomed. The damage caused by the phantom crystals was close to irreparable now, and in a month or two it would be. A few months after that, if he was still alive, he would be little better than a vegetable. And he probably would live that long. They would keep him alive until the flisnadr had been tested and was ready for use, just in case. But as soon as it was ready, he would go to the slaughtering pens. Apart from any other considerations, he knew too much about the power patterner to be allowed to live.

  Liett hurtled into the patterning chamber, skidding halfway across the stone floor before she could stop herself. Her claws screeched on the shale, gouging pale marks across it. ‘Ryll!’ she screamed.

  He set down the bucket of gruel with which he was feeding the human females sealed in the linked patterners, but didn’t turn to her at once. Ryll was used to Liett’s histrionics, and he was deep in thought. The flisnadr was the size of a beer barrel now, almost fully grown, and he’d already carried out most of the tests. The results were encouraging, though he wanted to keep testing for a month or two, just to be sure that he had mastery of it well before it was needed. ‘What is it?’ he said absently, watching the flickering chameleon colours on its skin.

  ‘We’ve been attacked,’ she cried.

  ‘Attacked?’ Ryll spun around. ‘How?’

  ‘One of the enemy thapters flew right to the main air shaft, the one with the bellows, and hurled in a barrel of the skin-rotting spores.’

  Ryll’s skin turned a dull, creeping yellow, fading to grey, and he felt an involuntary urge to scratch himself. He resisted. ‘When?’

  ‘Just ten minutes ago. Mother ordered the bellows shut down and the shaft sealed but … it may be too late. The spores could have blown anywhere by now. What are we going to do?’

  ‘We don’t panic,’ said Ryll, heading for the door at a run. ‘First, we burn brimstone in the sealed shaft.’

  ‘Will that work with spores?’ Liett was trotting beside him.

  ‘I don’t know. It saved a few of our uggnatl, but that was a different kind of infection. We seal all the floors the shaft blows air to, wash everything down into the gutters, and burn the washings outside. Did we get the thapter?’

  ‘Almost, but the black-haired pilot got away in the end.’

  His heart sank even further. ‘Tiaan was the pilot?’

  ‘Yes.’

  For once Liett refrained from making the obvious accusation. Tiaan had thwarted them a number of times now, and all because he, Ryll, had allowed her to escape from Kalissin a year and a half ago. Shame made his stomach throb, for all that he’d followed his honourable instincts, and few could fault that. His mind was already projecting the worst possibilities from this attack, and they were very bad.

  On the upper level they ran into a group of desperate lyrinx, milling back and forth, barely able to contain their terror. Recalling the fate of those infected by the spores in Borgistry, he could hardly blame them.

  ‘Where’s Matriarch Gyrull?’ said Ryll.

  A squat female, whose dark-green crest looked as though it had been chewed by a dog, pointed down the corridor. ‘She’s receiving. She can’t be disturbed.’

  ‘What about Great Anabyng?’

  ‘Outside, strengthening the defences.’

  ‘It’s too late for that,’ said Ryll. ‘They won’t come back.’

  ‘If they’re trying to frighten us,’ Liett said savagely, ‘they –’

  ‘They’re not trying to frighten us, Liett. They’re trying to wipe us out.’ Ryll headed up the corridor searching for Gyrull, and found her in a small room, crouched in the corner with her hands over her ears, her brow ridges knitted in concentration. She would be mindspeaking to the other matriarchs.

  He waited silently, and after several minutes she dropped her hands and looked up.

  ‘What did they say when you told them, Wise Mother?’ said Ryll.

  ‘All our cities have been attacked in the same way, at the same time. All the attacks succeeded save the one at Thurkad, where the pilot of the thapter was shot and those inside it were killed.’

  The ice in his stomach developed needles that pricked right through him. ‘Is this the time, Wise Mother?’

  ‘For victory or annihilation? I don’t know, Ryll. The spores may do nothing. We won’t know for some days, but we’d better be ready.’

  ‘Are you going to release the uggnatl?’

  ‘Maybe in the east, where we have enough to make a difference. Not here. How is your work going?’

  ‘The flisnadr has passed all but the final tests. I could use it now if I had to. Within weeks I’ll have mastered it.’

  Matriarch Gyrull smiled. ‘Well done, Ryll. It’s been a mighty labour, and few among us thought it could ever succeed. Even I had my doubts, but you’ve done everything I asked of you, and more. We may save something out of our ruin after all. It – it’ll be the last thing I do for my people.’

  ‘But, Matriarch!’ he cried, aghast. ‘No – we need you.’

  ‘Don’t be troubled,’ she said. ‘I’m not dead yet. But my time as matriarch has been a long one, and I’ll be glad enough to hand on the flask and the cup to a younger leader. One who’s fit to lead us into our new future – if there is one for us.’

  ‘Have you chosen the new matriarch?’

  ‘Not yet, though I’m close to it.’

  ‘May I ask if … Liett?’ Ryll didn’t know whether to hope she was chosen or rejected. Either way Liett would be insufferable. And yet, Ryll felt she would make a good leader in time. Unfortunately, time was no longer on their side.

  ‘You may not.’ She smiled. ‘It may be Liett, or another. I’ll be watching to see how the favoured ones acquit themselves over our coming trials.’

  Some days after the attack, six lyrinx guards came for Gilhaelith. This is it, he thought, they’re taking me to the slaughtering pens. He tried to summon up some vestige of his earlier rage but, after the months of solitary confinement, he felt too apathetic. Could that be due to the brain damage? His every sense, his every emotion, felt damped down these days, and perhaps it was for the best. At least it would put an end to his troubles.

  The guards said nothing, just stolidly led him up the ramps towards Alcifer. Other lyrinx ran past all the time, close to panic. Gilhaeli
th smiled grimly. It was clear that the city had been attacked and the lyrinx did not know what to do. It no longer concerned him. At least he was going to die out in the fresh air, not in a claustrophobic, reeking chamber down in the pit.

  But they did not take him to the slaughtering pens. The guards kept going up the road towards the central point of Alcifer, the five-armed white palace with the glistening shell roofs, at the intersection of the seven boulevards. Just there, beneath the glass-domed roof, he had completed the geomantic globe last autumn. So they weren’t going to kill him after all – at least, not just yet. They still wanted something from him.

  Gilhaelith was led inside and, to his unparalleled joy, the globe stood on the stone bench where he’d last used it, under its dust cloth. Ryll was waiting beside it, along with one of the lyrinx mancers who’d kept watch over Gilhaelith previously. He felt another tickle of hope. Perhaps in the present crisis they couldn’t spare the second mancer. The fellow’s skin was flashing and flickering in all the colours of the spectrum, such was his agitation. Ryll maintained a studied calm, though he kept scratching his claws across the bench.

  ‘I’ve brought you here for the final tests on the flisnadr,’ Ryll said, indicating a barrel-shaped object covered with a canvas. ‘Let’s begin.’

  ‘I need answers before I’ll agree to help you,’ said Gilhaelith, who was beginning to see the faintest possibility of escape.

  Ryll extended his claws towards Gilhaelith’s face. Gilhaelith didn’t flinch. ‘If you could do without me you would have killed me long ago. What’s going on?’

  Ryll didn’t even think before answering, which meant that things were desperate and the need for the flisnadr urgent. ‘The humans have attacked Oellyll with the spores of a fungus that causes us to shed our outer skin and tear ourselves to shreds in agony.’ He explained the circumstances of the attack.

  Gilhaelith recalled the infected lyrinx that had been put out of its misery as they’d fled from Snizort last summer, and saw the implications at once. Had humanity got the idea from him? He vaguely remembered talking to someone about the incident, at Fiz Gorgo, he thought. ‘Are you abandoning Oellyll?’